From: eponine119 <eponine119@att.net>
Date: Sun, 01 MAR 1998 02:22:19 -0800 
Subject: NEW: Bed Springs III [1/13] 

Disclaimer: The X Files and its characters belong to Fox, 1013 and Chris
Carter.  They are used without permission.
The original characters of Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo were created
by Char Hall and Vickie Moseley in "Bed Springs."  They are used here
with permission and great thanks.



Bed Springs III 
By eponine119 and Char Hall
November 28, 1996 - November 28, 1997

Part One
-----

Reflecting Pool
5:45 am


        A light breeze carried fragments of a weathered old 
newspaper through the air.  They swung in a carefree fashion, 
until something seemed to reach out and snag it.  If you looked, 
you'd probably be able to find the entire newspaper.  Part of the 
business section clung to a fence; the sports section was hanging 
from a tree branch.
        Just her luck, the comics section had a fixation with her 
leg. 
        Chloe Grant bent down and plucked the lonely newspaper 
page away from her leg.  She sat back on the bench and folded the 
page in half, tucking it under her arm. 
        She been sitting on the bench for nearly twenty minutes, 
just observing the early-morning joggers.  Well, that wasn't 
entirely true.  She was actually watching one man in particular, 
but he seemed oblivious to her relaxed gaze.  Either that, or he 
chose to ignore it.  He continued to run around the pool, like he 
was running from the demons that she knew still existed within 
him.
        Fox Mulder, to her, was a frightening man.  He had 
intimidated her from day one--not that she ever let anyone know 
that--and still remained something of a wonder. 
        His brilliant mind was incomparable to other men who
were 
in his age group, and she knew he had a knack for frightening 
away most people that were in their line of work.  
        Most people, of course, did not include the woman Chloe 
held the most regard for--Doctor Dana Scully Mulder.  With Dana, 
Fox Mulder had found happiness, and a sense of security.  He had 
found love.
        Chloe smiled as she watched him approach again.  He was 
concentrating on something, and she knew that he wouldn't notice 
this time around either.  She watched him pass, but this time she 
stood quickly and followed.
        Dressed in a pair of cut-off jogging shorts, Nike running 
shoes, and a light T-shirt, Chloe looked just like any other 
jogger who had graced the beaten path.  
        It wasn't much of a struggle for Chloe to catch up to her 
boss.  His long legs carried him swiftly, but her equally long 
legs had won her many athletic awards while she had been in 
training at Quantico.
        And so, when Special Agent Chloe Grant came up beside
him, 
Section Chief Fox Mulder only glanced sideways at her.  They 
shared a similar adoration for a little bit of adrenaline to 
start off a fresh new day.
        "Chloe," he said, nodding.
        "Mulder,"  she said.  She realized that she'd been running 
oddly, one arm still pressed tightly against her side.  The 
newspaper. He must've thought she was a nutcase.  
        She pulled the newspaper out from under her arm and 
crumpled it into a little ball.  She kept the ball in her fist, 
refusing to return the newspaper back to its original carefree 
form of blowing in the breeze.
        "What've you got there?"  Mulder asked, barely glancing 
her way.
        "Just a page from a newspaper,"  Chloe said.
        "It's the comics, isn't it?"  Mulder asked.  It was the 
mark of a keen observer.  And it was classic for the man she had 
recently come to call a friend.  It was also something she found 
fascinating about him.
        She had often asked herself how she could be so 
intimidated by the man, while still holding an intense 
fascination for him.  And the answer was simple--she could learn 
from Mulder.  She could learn the vital tricks for to use when 
out in the investigative field.
        "Yes," she answered simply.
        To her surprise, Mulder stopped running and began to jog 
on the spot.  Chloe had to back-track to where he stood.  He held 
out his hand.  She placed the crumpled ball of paper in his 
outstretched hand, and watched him curiously.
        Her observation skills kicked in.  His ruffled brown hair 
was sweaty, tousled, and looking like he hadn't even bothered to 
brush it before hitting the pavement.  He was wearing a light 
gray sleeveless shirt, and a pair of dark blue jogging pants.  
His hazel eyes had that feverish look to them that instantly told 
her that he'd had a nightmare the night before.
        She heard him chuckle at one of the comics, and smiled.  
So complex, yet so simple.  That was the thing with Mulder--he 
was contradictions within himself.
        He looked up when he sensed her eyes on him.   
        "Was there something bothering you, Chloe?"
        Chloe swallowed.  Here it comes, she thought.  The real 
reason she'd come out here.  
        "Sort of," she answered.  She still hadn't sorted through 
it herself, and she had avoided thinking about it, but she had 
come here with the intention of mentioning it to her superior, 
and she was determined to do it.  "Mickey's gone and opened his 
mouth again," she mumbled.
        Mulder laughed.  "Is this what's been eating away at you?" 
        Slowly, Chloe nodded.
        "Chloe, Agent Callavelo came to see me shortly after the 
incident.  He asked me for advice on how he should proceed."
        Michael Callavelo was Chloe's partner.  He had recently 
given a presentation at a local high school.  The talk had gone 
fine, until after, when he was gathering his things to leave.  
He'd offended the principle.  It was really just a ridiculous 
situation, something that hardly warranted worry on her part, but 
it was beginning to become a habit.  
        But Mickey didn't do it on purpose.  He never did it on 
purpose. In fact, he was one of the sweetest men she'd ever met.  
        What was bothering her about the whole thing was that he 
hadn't told her himself.  He'd kept it under his hat.  
        "You see, that's just it.  I wish he had told me.  Doesn't 
he trust me?"
        Mulder looked at her, a stern look commanding his face.  
"Chloe Grant, after what you two have been through together, I am 
surprised that you would ask that question.  The situation is not 
that serious, and I forbid you to give it any more thought,"  
Mulder said.  His seriousness dissolved into a look of 
compassion.  "Look, Chloe," he reached out and put a hand on her 
arm.  "Mickey looks up to you.  I know he trusts you more than 
anyone, but I know that he didn't want you to worry about his 
'little problem'."
        Chloe nodded, dumbly.  She had been stupid to be so 
worried about it.  And second guessing Mickey's trust was the 
lowest thing she'd ever done, or at least it felt that way.  She 
felt a hell of a lot like the scum that was swirling on the 
surface of the water which they stood beside.
        He patted her arm.  "Chloe, it's going to be a rocky road 
for a long time to come.  Once you two fully understand each 
other and they way you each operate, you'll fit together like 
hand in glove.  Eight months of working together may seem like a 
long time, but its hardly enough time to learn the pros and cons 
of each other."
        She knew he was speaking from the core of his experience.  
It had been much the same for him and Dana, she expected. 
"Thank 
you, Mulder," she mumbled. 
        "Any time, Chloe."  After observing the look on her face, 
he added, "I won't mention this to Mickey.  It wouldn't do him 
any good to worry that *you* didn't trust *him*."
        It's just a big circle, Chloe thought.  
        "It's about time for my second cup of coffee, you want to 
join me?"  he asked.
        Feeling comfortable in his presence, Chloe nodded.  "I'd 
like that," she answered.  Together they walked off the path, 
heading towards parking lot.

-----

X-Files Offices 
FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
7:30 am

Michael Callavelo pursed his lips together as he ran a hand 
through his dark locks of hair.   He sat behind his desk, a 
steaming cup of coffee next to him, and an empty IN box before 
him.
        Seconds later, Dana Scully Mulder wandered in, with a 
thick folder tucked in her arms.
        "Dana, any idea why this is empty?"  he asked, picking up 
the plastic box which would normally hold scads of files on cases 
they were working on.
        Solemnly, the auburn haired woman nodded her head.  
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered.  She tossed the file folder 
on the desk before him.  She drew up one of the extra chairs and 
sat down wearily.  The day had hardly begun, and Michael was 
getting the sense that it was going to be hell.  "Assistant 
Director Skinner wanted me to clear up our cases so that we could 
focus on *that*."
        She sounded disgusted.   Mickey opened the folder and 
immediately knew why.  He raised his eyebrows.  "A VC case?  
Mulder isn't going to be happy, is he?"
        Dana shook her head.  "Quite the opposite.  I think, 
although I'll never be able to prove it, that he requested this 
one."
        "Requested it?"  Mickey was interested.  "That doesn't 
sound like Mulder."
        Dana remained quiet, staring at the office wall over 
Mickey's shoulder.  After a moment of reading, Mickey glanced up 
and saw that she had closed her eyes.
        She looked so vulnerable and diminutive.  He recognized 
that as one of the many ways that looks could deceive.  If given 
the chance, Dana could take out a man twice her size.  "Take 
out," Mickey reminded himself, for her meant that she would 
incapacitate, and possibly render the person unconscious.
        And all of that was wrapped up into this little five-foot 
tall package.  The redheaded wonder.  
        "How is Samantha?"  Mickey asked, trying to bring her
back 
to the present, with a neutral topic.  Her eyes opened and she 
smiled.  For once he'd picked the right topic to touch on.  He 
could tell by the way her blue eyes shined with love for the 
young woman.
        Samantha Mulder, Fox's sister, was living with Dana and 
Mulder.  On their very first case together, Mickey and Chloe had 
accidentally stumbled upon the then missing girl.  It was a good 
thing, when he thought about it, because it had also brought the 
four agents closer in their friendships.  If the Mulders need 
someone to keep an eye on the girl, Chloe and Mickey took turns.  
He often found himself delighted by the young woman's maturity, 
and sense of self-preservation.  It was almost impossible not to 
fall in love with the adorable dark-haired angel.
        "Sammi's doing great.  I had to drop her off at a friend's 
house in order to come in here early and get those cases sorted 
out and ready to go to the other agents, but she doesn't mind 
that,"  Dana replied.
        "No, I don't imagine that she would.  Have you planned 
anything for this weekend?"  Mickey asked.
        Dana shrugged.  "Fox might have, but I don't think so.  
Why?"
        "I wanted to know if you think she'd like to go to the mud 
wrestling tournament with me,"  Mickey said, a wide grin 
spreading on his face.  
        Dana looked shocked.  "Uh, I don't think so, Mick," she 
replied.
        Mickey did his best to appear saddened, but the smile was 
too hard to suppress.  "Okay, how about to the Derby?  I promise 
that she won't partake in the gambling."
        Laughing, Dana shrugged.  "Run it by Mulder."
        "Run what by Mulder?"  A familiar voice drifted into the 
office, and Fox Mulder followed it.
        "He wants to take Sammi to the Derby,"  Scully said.
        "Only if I get to have a 'Derby' of my own while she's 
gone,"  Mulder joked and winked at his wife.
        Mickey saw the red that crept into Dana's cheeks, but he 
also knew that his own were turning red.  
        "Well, you find yourself a racehorse, Mulder, and we'll 
see what we can do for you,"  Dana answered.  She stood up, and 
walked over to him.  "But she'd better not be blond."
        "Hey!  What's wrong with blondes?"  Chloe Grant asked as 
she strode into the office.
        The Mulder's broke into laughter, and Mickey just 
shrugged, slightly embarrassed.
        Chloe looked from one to the other, blinking rapidly.  "I 
have a feeling I missed something."
        "Nothing vital, Chloe,"  Dana said.
        Mickey looked over his partner.  She was wearing a blue 
business suit, which complimented her sandy blond hair.  Her 
azure eyes shone with the intelligence that he had become 
familiar with.  And he could almost tell what she was thinking.  
        "From the way Mickey has brightened, I'd say it was pretty 
vital.  C'mon, Big Boy, 'fess up,"  Chloe teased, dropping into 
the chair that Dana had recently vacated.  At Mickey's continued 
silence, Chloe decided to skip to the next topic.  She leaned 
forward and tapped the empty plastic IN box.  "What's up with 
that?"
        "We have better things to do, apparently,"  Mickey said, 
throwing a cautious look at Dana, who refused to meet his gaze.
        "Oh,"  Chloe said, ignoring the slight tension that leapt 
through the office.  "And what would that be?"
        "Helping the behavioral sciences unit with this violent 
crimes case,"  Mickey said, handing Chloe the folder.  "I've only 
read the first bit, but I'd say it's going to be tough."
        Chloe arched an eyebrow at him, but quickly looked away, 
focusing on the case file.  She skimmed through the preliminary 
stuff, right to the report.  She licked her lips.  "We have six 
victims so far.  From what it says here, there are no apparent 
links and no distinguishable motive."  Chloe sat back and closed 
the file.  "How quaint."
        "That's an interesting way of putting it, Chloe,"  Mulder 
said.  He glanced at his wife, before stepping forward and asking 
Chloe for the case file.  "May I?" he asked.
        Chloe shrugged.  "Well, I wasn't planning on making it my 
breakfast.  Be my guest."
        Mulder thanked her and carried the case file over to a 
table he'd cleared off the night before.  He opened the folder 
and flipped to the very back, where several photographs had been 
slipped into an envelope.  He took out the photos and spread them 
out on the table.
        "Chloe, Mickey, come look at these and tell me what you 
think," Mulder said.
        The agents glanced at each other, but quickly moved to 
Mulder's side.
        Mickey glanced down and wrinkled his nose.  Fine job of 
mutilation, he thought.  "Bet they couldn't identify some of 
these people right away,"  Mickey said.  In fact, he was pretty 
sure there'd be no telling gender either.  Blood-typing would be 
required for identification and an autopsy in order to find out 
the gendertype.  And that was mutilation in the highest, most 
grotesque form.  How any human being was capable of such an 
atrocity was *far* beyond Mickey.
        Layers of skin had been flayed off the chests of each of 
the victims, the entire face was missing.  Hair was nowhere to be 
seen, and teeth had been surgically removed, from the look of the 
picture.  As surgically as the psycho who did this could get.  Of 
the skin that was left, there were deep incision lines, that 
seemed random--but not.
        He glanced sideways at Chloe, trying to get a feel for 
what she thought.  She was looking down at the photos, a look of 
deep concentration on her face.
        Instead of waiting for her to finish her observations, 
Mickey began to rearrange the photos.  Something was bugging
him, 
and he wanted to look at the photos in different positions on the 
table.  His hands worked quickly, like he was on a strict time 
limit.
        By now, Chloe had stopped looking at the photos, but was 
studying his face intently.  The look on her face clearly asked, 
"What the hell are you doing?"
        He swallowed hard as he slipped the last photo into its 
respective place.  He pointed down at the mess of overlapping 
photos, his hand shaking slightly.
        "Mickey?  What's wrong?"
        "Look," he said, his voice weak.  He followed the lines of 
the "random" slashes.  They weren't so random anymore.  In fact, 
that painted a frightening picture.
        "Oh my God,"  Chloe whispered.   She had finally seen
what 
he had been trying to point out.  "Is that an ear?"
        Mickey nodded.  
        "The murderer is drawing a picture using humans as the 
medium?"  Chloe asked, incredulously.  "But that's six victims 
and we've only got part of an ear and a bit of an eye."
        "Exactly,"  Mulder said.  He and Dana had been watching 
silently from a few steps away.  "That's why we had to get those 
other cases reassigned."  He took the folder from the table and 
flipped it open again.  "Each of these victims was found exactly 
six days apart.  We can tell you when the next one will turn up, 
right down to the last minute,"  Mulder said.  "That's the only 
pattern that we can distinguish.  Whoever is doing this is 
probably an obsessive compulsive who takes pride on doing 
everything on a schedule."

-----

End Part One

Bed Springs III 
Part Two
By eponine119 and Char Hall

        Dana shuddered.  "God, that's horrible," she said softly.
        The three agents looked at her - Chloe and Mickey
curiously, Mulder with more worry and compassion.  After a
moment more of looking down at the photographs arranged on the
desk, Dana realized she had made herself the center of attention. 
She looked up and elaborated, "Knowing that someone is going to
die, and when, but because the killer has not maintained any sort
of a pattern, there's next to nothing that we can do."  She shook her
head and looked away.
        Mulder's eyes lingered on his wife.  "Well, we have a little
time to figure something out.  I don't want to see anyone else die,
either."
        Chloe and Mickey exchanged a look.  "Do we have any
witnesses?" Mickey asked.  He had the idea that Mulder knew
more than he was telling - after all, he had known the corpses
assembled into a photograph before he asked for their ideas.
        "We have the profile from VCS.  They've been working
with it for two weeks, but haven't come up with anything," Mulder
said with a grim look on his face.
        Mickey began to dig through the file to locate the profile. 
Chloe watched Mulder.  "What do you think?" she asked him. 
"Have you done your own profile?"  Dana looked at her sharply,
but said nothing.
        Mulder nodded once.  Yes, he had done a profile.  But he
did not speak.
        "You're the one who figured out the photographs formed a
larger picture," Chloe said, figuring it out.  No wonder he had
taken this case from VCS, she thought, they had no clue what they
were dealing with here.  But Mulder did.  She didn't know how he
did, but he did.  She looked at him, trying to see what was going on
in his mind, but he was unreadable, as usual.
        "This profile is crap," Mickey said, tossing it back down
onto the table.  He ran a hand through his dark hair.  "I could write
a better profile than that - the killer feels inadequate, he wets his
bed, he failed art classes and was probably traumatized by
fingerpainting in kindergarten?" he read from the paper.  "No
wonder they've gotten nowhere."  He shook his head.
        Chloe crossed her arms over her chest and looked Mulder
in the eye.  "What do you have for us, Chief?"
        "The killer's an artist, probably amateur, or not very well-
known.  I'd guess pen and ink studies, judging from the style of the
picture we have forming here.  He or she makes a living taking
photographs, but not artistic ones.  GlamourShots, school photos,
weddings...strictly small time.  The killer resents the fact that the
world refuses to acknowledge their talent."  Mulder said, the words
spilling out in a flat tone as though he'd memorized and rehearsed
them.  Or was channeling them from some higher source.
        "Why do they kill?"  This from Mickey.
        Mulder shrugged slightly.  "Power."
        "Recognition?" Chloe asked.
        Mulder shook his head.  "If they wanted recognition for
this, they would have stepped up their efforts when nothing
appeared in the press following the first few killings.  It's been
more than a month, and still the killer stays on the schedule.  They
have all the time in the world.  And the bodies are dumped in out
of the way locations.  Not meant to be found."
        "Could there be more bodies out there that we don't know
about?" Chloe asked.
        "I doubt it."  Mulder responded.  "Not until the next one."
        "Okay," said Mickey, reassembling the file and putting the
photographs back out of sight.  He set the documents out of the
way.  "Where do we start?  You mentioned possible professions -
do we start asking questions?"
        Chloe's lips quirked in a faint smile.  Forthright, eager
Mickey, she thought.  She could imagine him knocking on doors,
questioning every one in the city who owned a camera. 
Wait...camera.  She looked to Mulder again.  "If the killer is
working with photographs, as we are, to document the
killings...those pictures have to be developed somewhere."
        "The killer must have access to a lab," Mulder said.  "These
aren't exactly the kind of thing you take to get double prints at the
drugstore."
        Chloe's mind began to work double-time.  "We could check
out that angle, then, it's a place to start. People who work at taking
school photos don't have access to labs, we can leave them out. 
That leaves -"
        "I think the killer has a home lab, Chloe.  Or access to a
school darkroom."
        "School?" Mickey asked, his voice slightly choked.  "You
think the killer's just a kid?"
        "College.  Possibly a returning or older student - I'm not
sure," Mulder said.
        Mickey let out a breath.  "That's a lot of places to start," he
said warily.
        "That's why they put the 'I' in the FBI, kid," Mulder said
ironically.
        Mickey rolled his eyes.  He hated it when people treated
him like a kid.  "I'll get right on it, then," he said and left the room
to locate a telephone book and a cup of strong coffee.  It was going
to be a long, long day.  But maybe he would get lucky.
        Chloe merely grinned at Mulder's statement.  "How do you
come up with this stuff?" she asked him softly.  She wished she
could do what he did.  See the connections as he did.  She wanted
to learn how.
        Mulder shook his head and his eyes were dark.  "It just
comes to me," he said.  
        "I have one question for you, Mulder," Dana said abruptly,
her tone harsh as she spoke for the first time from the corner where
she'd been silently standing, listening.  "Where's the X File in
this?"
        Chloe's eyes darted from the agent to his wife and back
again.  Dana sounded upset and Chloe couldn't imagine why. 
Mulder looked as though he had no idea either.  "There isn't one,"
he said shortly.
        Chloe had the feeling they were going to argue.  It made
her stomach feel strange, the bottom dropping with uncomfortable
fear.  It was as though she were a child who had stumbled across
her parents fighting.  "Excuse me," she said and headed for the
door.  She'd catch up with Mickey.  Maybe formulate some
theories of her own.  She wanted this case solved, now, before
someone else died.
        Mulder and Dana watched the door close behind her, and
then turned to each other.  Mulder looked at his wife's stiff posture,
her arms crossed defensively across her chest.  "What's wrong?" he
asked, his voice soft.  He wanted to walk over to her and touch her,
but he wasn't sure she wouldn't bite his fingers off.  
        "Why drop everything for this case, Mulder?"
        "People are dying, Dana."
        "People die every day.  Why this case, why now?" she
demanded.
        "VCS is floundering -"
        "They aren't really the idiots you always make them out to
be, Mulder.  I'm sure they could handle it," she snapped.
        "They asked for my help."
        "And you just dropped everything.  Without asking me."
        "Is that what this is about?" Mulder said, his eyes wide.
        Dana's head jerked from side to side. No.  "This didn't
come across your desk this morning, did it, Mulder?"  He looked
down at the floor.  "Four days ago - five?" she asked.  He nodded. 
"And you didn't tell me.  You just let the nightmares take you, tried
to keep them from me.  Why are you having nightmares about this,
Mulder?"
        His eyes flashed at her.  "I have nightmares, Dana.  They're
part of the package.  You knew that."
        "I'd just like to wake up with my husband once or twice,
Mulder.  Not have him take off on a running binge at four in the
morning.  If that's really what you're doing."
        He gaped at her.  "I would never cheat on you," he said in a
low voice, his eyes fixed on her with intense love.
        "I know," she sighed, and dropped her arms.  "I just...it
makes it really difficult."
        "Why are we fighting about this?" he asked, moving in to
stand next to her, so close that she had to tilt her head all the way
back to look up at him.  She shook her head and shrugged.  She
had no answer to his question other than irrational fear.  Mulder
put his arms around her and hugged.  After a moment, she gave in
and accepted his embrace.  "We're going to be fine, Dana," he
promised her ardently.
        "I just have a bad feeling about this case," she admitted.
        Mulder nodded.  "We can't stop talking to each other," he
said.  "No matter what happens."  Dana nodded and managed to
smile.  Everything was going to be all right.  He was right, she
thought.

-----

        Mickey had gone in to use Mulder and Dana's office while
they remained in his and Chloe's.  They were all one big happy
family on the X Files, they wouldn't mind, he thought, slogging
through the yellow pages with notebook in hand.
        "How do you think he does it?" Chloe asked, taking a seat
across the desk from Mickey.  She took a phone book from the
stack and opened it.
        "What?" Mickey asked, glancing up at her for only a
second.  He knew she meant Mulder.
        "Come up with stuff like that out of nowhere, stuff VCS in
all their infinite wisdom never thought of," Chloe elaborated,
flipping through pages to Community Colleges.  She wanted to
check out the darkroom angle.
        Mickey shrugged.  He looked at Chloe again, not really
comfortable with the note of awe he heard in her voice for their
superior.  He knew that Chloe and Mulder had a terrific
relationship, and that Chloe saw the older man as something of a
role model.  The type of agent she wanted to become.  But at the
same time, she didn't seem to see that Mulder had problems, too. 
"It's the way his mind works, Chloe.  He has a different base of
experience than them, is all, so different things come to mind.  It's
not anything amazing or mystical," he said practically.
        "They're in there arguing," Chloe said, glancing over
towards the door, as though she thought she should do something
about it.
        "It's their right," Mickey said.  "Marriage isn't a bed of roses
all the time, you know."
        Chloe nodded and they fell into silence looking through the
books together.
        Mickey's eyes lingered on his partner.  She seemed
unusually quiet. He wondered if he'd said something that offended
her.  "I was thinking of taking Samantha to the Derby this
weekend, if you'd like to go," he said, striving to sound casual even
though he really wanted Chloe to come with them.  Sam was fun,
but with Sam and Chloe together, the three of them always had a
blast.
        "We'll probably be working on the case, Mick," Chloe said
distractedly.
        "Yeah.  You're probably right," he said, feeling awkward,
like he shouldn't have even asked.  He stuck another post it note in
the yellow pages.  "I wonder if we could get employee's names
from the IRS and run broad-spectrum checks on them," he mused.
        "Go for it," Chloe said, smiling at him briefly before
burying her nose back in the book.
        "What do you think our killer might have on their past
record?"  Mickey asked, doodling on his notepad.
        Chloe looked up while she thought for a moment.  "I don't
know.  Maybe nothing.  A lot of serial killers appear to be model
citizens."
        "Why do you think Mulder wouldn't commit himself to a
gender on the killer?" Mickey asked.
        "I wondered about that," Chloe admitted.  "Most serial
killers - and perpetrators of such violent acts - are men.  I think
because he didn't say, that he suspects the killer might be a woman. 
But he doesn't have anything to back that up, so he doesn't want to
say it for sure.  We should keep our options open."
        "Makes sense," Mickey said.  He got to his feet but didn't
move away from the table. He wasn't sure why he hesitated. 
"Well, I guess I'll go check this out then."
        Chloe nodded.  "I want to get online and see if I can get
enrollment lists from these colleges." She looked at him.  "Then
we can cross check our references, okay?"
        "Yeah," Mickey smiled.  "Hey, Chloe?"
        "Mm?"  She didn't look up.
        "You don't this is going to turn into an X File, do you? 
That the killer is going to turn out to think they're possessed by the
ghost of Van Gogh's grandmother or anything?" he asked.
        "You never know," Chloe said with a charming grin.
        Mickey thought about that for a second.  She was right,
they never did know what they'd find.  "Well, see you later."
        Chloe just waggled her fingers in a tiny wave as he left. 

-----
end of part two.
-- 

Bed Springs III
part three
by eponine119 and Char Hall

-----

        Dana stepped out of the autopsy bay and into the changing
room, feeling chilled and alone.  Gore from the horribly mutilated
bodies covered her gloved hands and clothes.  The procedure had
not answered many questions.  For her, it had only brought up
more.
        She sighed and pulled the bloody clothing from her body,
dropping it into the biohazardous waste can as she headed for the
shower.  She stood under the spray for a long time with her eyes
closed, letting the hot water and steam soak into her skin, trying to
get warm.  She wished she could relax.  All she wanted to do was
go home and get into bed, pull the covers up and never peek out -
and have Mulder by her side.
        His distraction bothered her.  This case bothered her.  She'd
just examined the ripped apart corpses of two young, healthy
women who had been killed to serve as a twisted artist's canvas.  It
made her sick.  It all made her sick.  And it had never done that
before.
        She shut  off the shower and got out.  Automatically, she
pulled her suit back on and began to think about where she might
find Mulder.  
        No one was in their offices when she arrived there. 
Everyone was out, checking out leads, following up on their ideas. 
Leaving her here alone.  Dana smiled sadly and walked over to
turn on the computer.  She'd best write down her thoughts about
the bodies now, while they were fresh in her mind, before she
forgot the questions she wanted answered.
        She began to type, looking over the photographs she'd
taken herself and replaying her tape recorded notes.  But her mind
wandered.  The silence in the office was deafening; the absence of
another human presence too profound.  She found herself staring at
the wall where Mulder had his news items tacked up, some of
them layering over others.  A glass skull that was purported to
scream.  Fuzzy photos of UFOs that were probably just US test
planes.  A poster printed with   Mulder's philosophy: I want to
believe.
        The photos of the bodies he'd shown to Mickey and Chloe
were taped to the wall like a jigsaw puzzle.  From where she sat,
Dana could clearly see the picture drawn with the killer's incisions. 
She stared at it a moment, mesmerized.  And then she felt her
stomach beginning to rise up into her throat again and turned
away.  She had to get out of the office.  Into the fresh air and
sunshine, clear her head a little bit.

-----

        There were no leads.  Damn it, thought Chloe, tapping her
pencil against the desk in a nervous rhythm.  She could feel the
pressure of time on this case.  None of the victims had anything in
common, so in essence they were flying blind and hoping that
Mulder's profile was more accurate than VCS's had been.  Because
his intuitions and notions about the killer, wherever he had gotten
them from, were all they had right now.
        She'd been staring at a computer screen for the better part
of the afternoon, calling up work records and enrollment lists at
local colleges.  None of them were a match.  Maybe they were
barking up the wrong tree here, maybe Mulder was wrong.  But
she didn't think so.  She could feel it, he was right.  She glanced
down at the scribbles on her notepad.  He had to be right.
        A light touch on her shoulder made her jump.  "I'm sorry, I
didn't mean to startle you," Mulder said even as she began to turn
around.  She looked at him.  "Any luck?"
        Chloe shook her head.  "I hate this as much as paperwork. 
I want to be out there, in the field, *doing* something."
        Mulder nodded.  "I know what you mean."  There was a
haunted look in his eyes again, she noticed.
        "What about you?  Did you find out anything?"  Chloe
asked.
        "No.  I left Mickey about to begin interviewing owners of
camera shops about applicants they've turned down recently.  I
don't think it will do any good, but...we have to try everything," 
Mulder said.  Chloe nodded sympathetically.  She wished Mickey
had stayed in to play on the computers and that she had been
allowed out, but it didn't really matter.  And she could type faster
than he could, and understand more about the way computers
worked and their shortcuts, so it was more efficient for her to do
the boring work.  "I was looking for Dana."
        "Isn't she still in the autopsy room?"  
        "I went there.  Apparently she finished.  The computer in
our office is on, but there's no sign of her."
        A twinge went through Chloe's stomach.  "Are you
worried?"
        "No, she took her purse with her."  Mulder flashed her a
pained smile.
        Chloe touched his hand.  "Is everything all right between
the two of you?" she asked, not sure she should bring it up, but
unable to let it slide by.  "I mean, she didn't seem to happy about
taking on this case."
        "She's not happy about it.  Something about it is bothering
her."  Mulder drifted into silent thought for a moment, as though
trying to determine what it could be.  "It bothers me too, but Dana
doesn't usually let things affect her."
        Chloe nodded. It was one of the things she admired about
her friend - her ability to keep a clear head no matter what was
thrown at her.  "It'll be all right," she said, knowing it was
inadequate.
        "Yeah," said Mulder.  "I'll let you get back to it."  He began
to withdraw from the small computer space.  "I was going to pick
up some dinner, do you want me to bring something back for you?"
        "Sure," Chloe said, turning back to the computer screen.  It
was going to be a long night.  The door closed behind Mulder and
she sighed, beginning to type again with one finger, wishing she
was outside.  A second later, her pager went off.  She pulled it out
of her pocket and looked at it, expecting to see Mickey's cell phone
number in its display window.  
        She frowned at the number she saw there. It the telephone
number of her apartment.

-----

        The camera shop owner wouldn't let Mickey see his filed
applications, or his hiring records.  "But I'm with the FBI!" Mickey
cried, displaying his badge once again.
        "No, no, no!" was all the answer he received.
        "Listen to me, people are dying. And the only lead we have
is-"
        "Not at my shop they aren't!"  replied the owner.  "What I
do, is none of your business."
        "I'm a government official and you're blocking the progress
of an investigation."
        The owner, who stood a couple of inches taller than
Mickey and at least fifty pounds heavier, crossed his arms
stubbornly.  "Then where's your warrant?"
        "I haven't got -"
        "Then get out of my shop!"  the man roared. "It's closing
time."
        "Sir," began Mickey as diplomatically as he could manage.
        "We're closed.  Bye-bye."
        The two men stared each other down for a moment.  Then
Mickey retreated, unwillingly heading for the door.  "I sure hope
you have nothing to fear from the IRS," he muttered under his
breath.  The guy really pissed him off.
        A hand closed over the back of Mickey's jacket.  "What
was that, you scrawny little punk?"
        Oh jeez, thought Mickey.  Didn't this guy know that FBI
agents carried guns?  He shoved the man away from him.  "Let me
go, I was just on my way out.  Sir.  I'll be back when I've got a
warrant."  This had become a supreme waste of his time. It was
highly unlikely that this man had any piece of information that
they would need.  They were grasping at straws and Mickey had
drawn the short one again.  He wished Chloe had come with him -
she was good at this sort of thing.
        "I'll have you know my brother works for the IRS!"  the
man said.
        Mickey didn't say anything. He knew when it came down to
it that if he opened his mouth again, he was going to get a fist
slammed into it.  He opened the door and went through it.  A
glance over his shoulder from half a block away assured him that
the shop owner was still watching him.  He got into his bureau car
and slammed the door.  That's enough, he thought, I've had it for
today.  He swung out into rush hour traffic and heard the horns
blast behind him.  Hopefully Chloe or Mulder had better luck.  Or
Dana had found something that they were overlooking. That was
her specialty.  Rational thinking and detail.
        She and Mulder balanced each other in almost every way,
Mickey mused as he sat at a traffic light.  When Mulder tended to
run on intuition and hunches,  Dana remained calm and was able
to sort through them.  They needed each other.  They were the
perfect team. He smiled.  And they were doing a terrific job with
Samantha, a child who should have been a holy terror, but who
with love from her family, was growing into a beautiful young
woman.
        Mickey wondered if he would ever find someone who
balanced him so completely.  He and Chloe were a good match as
far as partners went, but they both tended towards hotheaded
flights of fancy. Different flights, different fancies, but they didn't
function as the same sort of well-oiled machine that Mulder and
Dana did.  Not yet.  Their supervisors kept telling them it would
come in time.  In the meantime, Mickey tried to stay as calm and
rational as possible and keep his mouth shut.  But he was rarely
successful.  And he could see that Chloe idolized Mulder.  He
could see the wheels turning inside her head every time she looked
at their team-leader, trying to scientifically analyze the thought
processes in his head to figure out how he knew the things he
knew.
        What a mess, Mickey thought, looking at cars blocking the
intersection ahead of him.  His cell phone rang and he grabbed it. 
"Yeah," he said, expecting it to be Chloe, or maybe Mulder, with a
lead for him to follow.
        What he heard instead was a soft woman's voice on a
recorded message.  "You have reached the office of Schoenberg
and Shine.  We're not open right now..."
        Mickey listened to it, wondering what exactly it could
mean.  It was an answering machine message, but how had he
received it as an incoming call?  It had to be a clue.  The message
stated the address of the office, and he was ridiculously close.  He
cut across a lane of unmoving traffic into the left turn lane and
caught the end of the yellow light, zooming across the intersection
just as it turned to red.
        A moment later, he saw red and blue flashing lights behind
him.  "Darn it!" muttered Mickey, pulling over to the side of the
road and fishing out his FBI credential.  He rolled down the
window as the officer ambled up.
        "What kind of move was that, young man?" the officer
inquired.
        "I'm with the FBI," Mickey said.
        "Where's the fire?"
        "Huh?"  Mickey didn't follow.
        "You don't have a light on the top of your car.  You don't
have a police escort.  What's the hurry?"  the officer asked him.
        "I just got a lead and -"
        "And it was so important you had to go endangering the
lives of innocent citizens to pursue it?"  the officer asked him
frankly.  Mickey didn't know what to say; he just clutched his
badge tighter between his fingers.  The officer pulled out his ticket
pad and Mickey clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything. 
"Let's see, illegal lane change, running a red light, speeding,
reckless driving..."  Mickey ground his teeth together. His father
had been a policeman.  He knew better than to argue.  "May I?" he
asked, pulling the badge from Mickey's fingers to copy his name
and number.  "What's the license number?" 
        "It's from the bureau car pool," Mickey answered.  "I don't
know.  I have the papers -"
        "That's all right, I'll just jot it down."  The officer walked in
front of the car to get the number, then handed Mickey the ticket. 
"Drive safely," he suggested.
        Mickey rolled up the window and shifted back out into
traffic.  This was turning into a terrible afternoon.  It occurred to
him that the way his luck was running, there could be danger
awaiting him at the offices of Schoenberg and Shine, whoever they
were, and so he dialed the X Files office phone on his cellular. 
There was no answer.  They were probably out on leads or at
dinner.  It went to voicemail after four rings and he disconnected
without leaving a message.

-----

        Mulder headed for the deli he liked to get sandwiches from
near the J. Edgar Hoover building, but as he got closer, he saw that
the line was out the door.  At least half of the people in line were
wearing suits and shoulder holsters.  It was going to be a busy
night at the FBI, he thought.  Agents would be earning their
overtime.  He walked on past the deli.
        It was a pleasant spring afternoon, fading into evening. 
The sun was just beginning to think about setting and was
changing the sky to oranges and pinks.  Mulder stopped to wait for
a walk signal and just stared up at the sky.  He wasn't really a
sunset person - he got his kicks looking at the pure darkness of the
night sky - but he could appreciate its beauty.  Dana would have
liked it, he thought.  The colors made him think of her.
        The light turned to walk, so he did.  He wondered where
his wife had gone.  He hoped she was out on a lead.  They needed
one, and if she came up with something, it would mean she was
getting drawn into the case.  She was resisting that, so far.  She
didn't want to be involved.  It troubled Mulder.  There had only
been a few cases that he'd seen shake her this strongly from the
outset.  One that would remain etched into his mind was the case
with Donnie Pfaster, when she almost become the killer's next
victim.  Mulder sometimes thought Dana had a sense about things
like that - when a case would end badly.  He knew she would deny
it fervently, and he tried to convince himself  that it was merely
woman's intuition and not some inclination to precognition.
        He couldn't accept that for the same reason she couldn't.  It
scared him.
        But the thought was there in the back of his mind. 
Something about this case had Dana on edge.  
        Mulder had lost track of where he was going and found
himself on the mall near the Smithsonian museums.  He checked
his watch, but most of them were closed by now or would be
closing in a few minutes.  He stopped outside one of the art
museums, wondering if the killer spent their days among the works
the masters, being inspired and wishing their own art adorned the
same walls.  The killer had a secret yearning to go down in history
for their art.
        Even if it was a history of serial killings, Mulder thought.
        He watched the people who milled around the doors for a
moment.  Tourist families, with kids who were bored and tired and
cranky from a day walking around looking at paintings.  Older
ladies and men in tidy clothing.  Art students in funky dress.
        He turned away and walked on.  He thought better when he
was outside, when he was moving.  Mulder switched to a fast walk
to get his blood moving again as he headed over for the memorials,
his brain on auto pilot so he could process information without
thinking about it, let his subconscious chew on the case for a
while.
        The cherry blossoms would be in bloom soon, he thought
as he approached the Jefferson monument and tidal basin.  The
city would be inundated with beauty, and tourists with cameras. 
That thought stuck in his brain for a moment, but just as quickly
dislodged.  The killings had been spread over a six week period so
far.  No one turned up that early for spring in DC.
        He began to walk around the water, looking into its depths. 
The sky was turning to a brilliant orange and it reflected in the
gentle ripples of the pool.  He passed a couple making out on a
bench, two skaters on another bench who had stopped to tie their
shoes, and an older couple reading poetry to each other.  Spring
was waking up the city and life was all around.
        He saw a woman sitting on a bench alone, with her knees
drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, staring
thoughtfully into space.  The sun glinted off her hair.  She was
beautiful.  
        He'd found Dana.
        "Is this seat taken?" he asked softly.
        Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at him. 
"Mulder. What are you doing here?"
        "I went out to get some dinner and got sidetracked.  
Chloe's probably starving."
        "Chloe?  I thought you went out with Mickey."
        "I did, but I came back to the office alone, looking for you. 
Chloe's still trapped in front of the computer and it's driving her
crazy."
        "You couldn't bear to sit still, either," Dana said, looking at
her husband.
        "Something was drawing me here," he said, joking mildly. 
"I should have known it was you."  She didn't say anything, just
nodded and continued to look off into the distance.   Mulder's
manner turned serious. "What did you turn up in the autopsy that's
bothering you?" 
        She glanced at him.  "Why aren't the bodies decayed?"
        Mulder had no answer.  He hadn't thought of it before.
        "The core body temperature and generations of scavenger
flies are much lower than I would expect in a body that's been dead
for so long," Dana explained, "but the bodies show none of the
damage consistent with being dumped into a freezer.  There's also
no apparent cause of death."
        "What about the wounds?"
        She shook her head.  "They were incurred after death."
        "Interesting."
        Dana nodded.  "I think the bodies were submitted to cold
temperatures and died naturally as a reaction to that induced state. 
They were then frozen, not in a freezer, but in a block of ice."
        "Before or after the wounds were inflicted?"
        Dana shook her head.  She didn't know.  "But we're talking
about a process that takes a fair amount of time."
        "Like six days?"  he asked.  She merely nodded.  "So the
killer probably already has the next victim."  She nodded again,
closing her eyes for a moment.  Mulder looked at her.  "That's not
all that's bothering you."
        She looked at him, her blue eyes bright with something
akin to anger.  And fear.  "Who took those pictures you showed to
Mickey and Chloe?  The ones that assembled so neatly into the
greater whole?"
        "Some of them were taken by VCS," Mulder answered.
        "Who took the rest?"
        "I did," Mulder admitted, trying to figure out why that was
such a crime.  Dana didn't say anything, but he could feel her
muscles turn rigid and feel the waves of anger coming from her
body next to his on the bench.  "What is it, what's wrong?" he
asked, touching her.
        She didn't respond to his touch, and he dropped his hand. 
"You looked at the pictures VCS took and figured out what was
going on.  That the killer was making a drawing using incisions on
bodies, and taking pictures that assembled into a greater whole. 
And you went to the other corpses and were able to find the right
spot to fit into the painting.  You took the same picture that the
killer must have taken."  She looked at him, and could see that he
didn't understand.  "You saw what the killer saw.  You got that
deeply into their mind, into their thoughts."
        "Do you want to solve the case or not?"  Mulder demanded. 
She looked stricken by his anger and he relented.  "I can't help
seeing things the way I do.  It's not something I do on purpose. 
You know that."
        "It scares me," Dana admitted, and he heard a vulnerable
tremble in her voice.  He put his arm around her shoulders.  "Your
nightmares scare me.  Because they're part of it."
        "And you don't understand," Mulder said, wishing there
was a way he could explain it to her.  "You don't believe."
        "It's not a matter of believing," she informed him.
        "Then what is it a matter of?" he asked gently, his fingers
playing in her hair.
        "If you see as the killer sees, if you feel what they feel - and
you do, in those dreams, don't tell me that you don't - what makes
you different?"
        Mulder swallowed hard.  "Because it affects me differently. 
I use their anger to find them.  Not to satisfy myself.  I don't have
the urges that they do."
        Her eyes were clear on his.  "But you do," she said.  He was
shocked, but she continued before he could argue.  "That's why you
go on those running binges after you have the dreams.  Seeing the
killing gives you energy.  The same kind of rush as the killer
experiences.  And pounding the pavement for a couple of hours is
the only way to drive that back.  Isn't that right?"  One eyebrow
went up.
        "No," Mulder said.  "That isn't how it is at all."
        He was telling her that she couldn't possibly understand it,
she thought, but she didn't believe him. She wasn't a psychologist,
like he was, but she knew that she was right because she knew
him.  "Running like that isn't normal," she said.
        Mulder just shook his head.  "Let's go back to the office."
        "I want to stay here a little while longer."
        "It's almost dark, Dana."
        "I'll be all right."
        His hand on her arm implied force, force she knew he
would never use against her.  "Come on."
        After a moment, she looked up at him.  And rose from the
bench silently, giving in.

-----

        Mickey stood outside the closed, locked, glass doors of
Schoenberg and Shine.  It was a nice office.  An investigative firm
that worked on insurance claims cases.  He had no idea what he
was doing there.
        He paced around the hallway for a moment and then
peeked in through the glass doors again. There was no movement
inside; no one staying on late.  Perhaps someone had been about to
meet him and given up when he didn't arrive right away.  Because
he'd gotten pulled over for that ticket.
        Mickey still felt incredibly stupid about that.  He'd pay it,
and not mention it, but he couldn't believe it.  There were at least
fourteen thousand other bad drivers in DC on a given day, why did
they have to get him?  And at such an important moment?
        His number had been up, he thought.  Mickey shook his
head and shoved his hands into his pockets.  The light above the
elevator lit and dinged with its arrival a second before he pushed
the button to call for it.  Shrugging, he stepped inside.
        "What are you doing here?" he asked the woman who stood
in the elevator car.
        She smiled a mysterious smile at him.  "It's a small world,
isn't it?" she said.
        "Purity, what are you doing here?" Mickey demanded.  He
knew this woman - she had been involved in a case that had taken
him and Chloe to New York about four months ago.  He'd never
been able to determine if it was coincidence that she kept showing
up, or if she had been involved in the killings in some way.  And
now she was back, in all of her frustrating glory.  As if he didn't
have enough to deal with.
        "Here, in DC, or here, in this elevator?" Purity asked, the
image of innocence.  But Mickey knew that looks could be
deceiving.  She looked into his eyes and saw the anger darkening
there. "The symphony's in town."
        "What a coincidence I should run into you," he said
roughly.
        The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors
opened.  Neither of them moved.  "Are you the one who called
me?" Mickey asked.
        Purity didn't answer.  He hadn't expected her to.  She
looked  down at the floor for a moment, letting her long dark hair
sweep over her shoulder and across her face.  Then she looked up
and met his eyes again.  "Do you want to go out?" she asked.  "Get
some coffee?  Talk."
        "I don't think that's a good idea," Mickey said.  Every time
he saw this woman, he ended up drugged or beaten up.  He didn't
think that was coincidence, either.
        She nodded.  "It is good to see you again," she said, putting
her hand up on the side of his face and pulling him down into a
quick kiss before he knew what was happening.  She released him
just as quickly.  "Just remember, time is of the essence," she said
and darted out of the elevator.
        Mickey's jaw dropped in shock.  He ran after her, but she
was nowhere to be seen.  He felt anger rise up in his chest for
having been such an idiot.  For letting her not answer his questions,
and then get away.  "Time is of the essence," what the hell did that
mean?  He couldn't help thinking that somehow, it related to their
case.   He couldn't believe she had shown up in his life again.  It
had been a really crazy day, he thought, and started for the car.

-----

        Chloe picked up the phone in the office and dialed her
home number.  This had to be a joke, or some kind of a trick, she
thought, but it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.  There was no
answer.  The machine picked up, and she broke the connection.
        She stood there with the phone in her hand, thinking. If
someone wanted to get in touch with her, why wouldn't they just
use her cell phone?  It was still in her pocket and it hadn't rung. 
That was the number Mickey would use if he got himself into
trouble, and that was the number that was printed on her business
cards, if someone had a lead about something.  She couldn't think
of anyone who wouldn't have that number.  
        She also couldn't think why her pager would ring with her
home number.  It was weird.
        She dialed her number again and this time she punched in
the code to pick up her messages.  As Chloe listened, her muscles
became tense and her eyes grew wide.  She hung up the phone and
grabbed her bag.  She had to get home.


-- 
-----
Bed Springs III
part four

        The lights were on in her living room when Chloe reached
home.  The sun was just beginning to set and turn the skies dark. 
Yet the light over the door already blazed, welcoming her home. It
was not a light Chloe ever left on for herself.  After all, she was an
FBI agent; she could take care of herself.  She wasn't afraid of the
dark.
        She sighed as she paused by the door, her fingers working
against the metal of her house key. She didn't have time for this
right now.  Not in the middle of a case, and especially not in the
middle of this case.  This was big.  She could feel that in her
bones.  Some of it came from the intensity Mulder had displayed
in the past day or so - a feeling that was contagious.  The rest was
just a hunch.  This wasn't just a simple murder.
        Things rarely turned out  to be simple, though, did they?
        Chloe turned the key and opened the door.  
        "Chloe!  Darling!"  She only got two steps inside her
apartment before she was enveloped in the sweeping hug of arms
clothed in bright colors.
        "Hi, Mom," said Chloe, pushing her mother away slightly,
although she couldn't hold back a smile.  Her mother was just as
flamboyant and unexpected as ever.  Her eyes went over her
mother's shoulder to the face of her father, halfway across the
living room. He looked distinguished, as always, with his proud
features and steel gray hair.  Chloe's smile widened into a grin for
a moment.  "Hi, Dad."
        "How are you doing, Chloe?" asked her father, approaching
to clap her on the shoulder.
        "Good," she nodded, just as he was reconsidering his
formal move and decided to pull her into a hug.  "What are the two
of you doing here?" she asked when he released her.  She looked
from her mother's face to her father's and back again.  For a
moment, neither of them answered and Chloe began to feel
worried.
        "We missed you, sweetie," her mother said at last.  "So we
thought we'd drop by for a little visit."
        "Unannounced?" Chloe asked, trying to keep the edge of
tension she felt out of her voice.  She was happy to see her parents,
but their timing could have been better.
        Her mother's face fell.  "If you don't want to see us - if
we're inconveniencing you -" she began.
        "No, Mom, that's not it at all -!" Chloe began to try to
smooth things over.  "It's just...I'm in the middle of a big case.  I
won't really have a lot of time to spend with you two, as much as
I'd like to.  So I wish you'd called first."
        "That's all right," her mother said, her smile returning,
although dimmer than before.  "Your father and I can tour the city
together.  We just wanted to see you."
        "We understand that you've got your work," said her father. 
"We're very proud of you, Chloe, and everything you've achieved."
        Chloe couldn't help smiling at that.  "Thanks, Dad."
        "But we've been worried about you," he continued in his
deep voice.  "We've barely spoken to you since that whole...New
York...thing."
        Chloe looked down.  When he said 'New York,'  they both
knew he really meant Nick.  It hurt to be reminded of Nick, again,
just when she thought she was beginning to be able to heal and
move on.  Her parents always supported everything she did, and
she loved them dearly for that, but she never felt that they'd
understood how she felt about Nick.  No amount of explaining
would ever make it clear to them.  They'd been upset for her when
she and Nick had split.  She hadn't told them about their brief
reconciliation in  New York before Nick's death.  She hadn't told
them half the things that had happened to her since she'd begun
working on the X Files.  Suddenly she felt guilty for worrying them
needlessly.  She should have tried harder, been a better daughter. 
After all, they had done so much for her.
        "It's okay, honey," her mother said, arranging her hair away
from her face as though she were a young girl, still in school.  "We
know it takes time."
        Chloe nodded.  She didn't know what to say.  There was a
huge lump in her throat all of a sudden and she was determined not
to let them see her cry about this.
        "We wanted to see how you are, that's all," added her father
gently.  "We just want to know you're happy."
        Chloe nodded again.  Then she blinked and pulled herself
out of it. "Have you had dinner yet?" she asked them.  "'Cause
there's a great little place just down the street, and I'm famished."
        "Are you eating enough?" her mother asked immediately,
and Chloe had to laugh.  It was strange, the way being in her
parents' presence made her feel like a child again, but at the same
time, there was something comforting about the way some things
never changed.

-----

        Mickey was almost frantic.  He'd rushed back to the
basement offices of the X Files, needing to talk to someone about
the clue he'd been handed. Or, at least, he thought he'd been
handed.  He didn't know what it meant, even though his mind was
racing trying to fit the piece into the puzzle.  He wanted to talk to
Chloe. Maybe she'd be able to figure it out.
        Although she wouldn't be happy to hear that Purity had
made another appearance.  Chloe suspected the woman.  Mickey
had to admit that his partner was right, that when Purity was
around, things tended to happen - but he didn't think she was bad,
exactly. He didn't know what he thought about her, except that he
would never see her again after New York.  Otherwise he would
have done some checking.
        But there was no one in the office.  Even more disturbing,
the door was standing wide open.  The lights were on.  The
computer was on and humming, although its monitor displayed a
multicolored screensaver.  Mickey walked over to it and tapped the
space bar.  The screen saver disappeared.  Someone had left the
computer running with their password still typed inside, allowing
anyone who walked up free access to the Bureau's many resources. 
He frowned and cleared out of the system, wondering who had left
in such a hurry.  And why.
        It wasn't like Mulder do such a thing.  He was much too
paranoid.  And Dana shared some of her husband's paranoia, even
though Mickey had to admit she tended to be a lot more rational
about it.  Although she had seemed a little distracted and out of
sorts earlier in the day.  Chloe might have done it, but only if she'd
left quickly.  Even then, he thought she would have turned off the
lights as she passed by.  Chloe was concerned about the
environment and waste.
        Maybe the lights were left on by whoever broke in to use
the computer, Mickey thought.
        Now who's being paranoid? he asked himself.
        He sat down in the chair, feeling more frustrated than
before.  He was an FBI agent, and he couldn't even figure out who
had been the last person to leave an office.  A smile touched his
lips as he thought, maybe I should dust for prints.  
        "You're losing it, Mickey," he murmured to himself as he
typed his password into the computer.  It was futile to sit around
wondering about the computer at a time like this.  He had better
things to worry about; there was a killer on the loose.  As well as
his mysterious informant whose presence usually preceded his
being drugged, knocked out or injured.  He couldn't be too
prepared.
        With that in mind, he got up and locked the door to the
office.  If his partner or one of the Mulders returned, they would
have a key and be able to get in.  That done, he set about collecting
information about Purity.
        He heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned, waiting. 
Mulder appeared a moment later.  "Why is the door locked?" he
asked, a frown carved into his face.
        "Precaution," Mickey answered.
        "Against what?" Mulder asked, not willing to let the matter
drop so easily.
        Mickey shook his head, indicating he had no answer to
give.  "Do you know where Chloe is?" 
        "She was here when I left," Mulder replied, tossing a bag
down on the table next to the keyboard.  Mickey recognized the
logo on the brown sack as belonging to the deli down the street,
where many of his colleagues went to pick up meals while they
slaved away on cases.  "Guess that means you can have her dinner.
Hope you like roast beef."
        Mickey rolled his eyes, recalling the infamous tale of the
FBI agent abusing his position by showing his badge to demand a
meatier sandwich.  Regardless, he reached for the bag and began
eating.  "What did you learn at the photo shops?" Mulder asked.
        "Nothing," he replied, wolfing down his food.  He noticed
Dana watching him just as he was wiping his mouth with the back
of his hand and felt his skin redden with embarrassment.  "Sorry,"
he said in her direction, looking in the bag for a napkin.  
        "We think we know the cause of death," Mulder told him. 
Mickey's eyebrows went up, but it wasn't Mulder who elaborated.
        "Freezing," Dana said with a strange edge to her voice. 
"From performing the autopsies, I believe the killer immersed the
victim in water and slowly lowered the temperature until the water
transformed into ice."
        "So, they drowned?" tried Mickey.
        "No," Dana frowned.  "They froze.  Judging from the lack
of tissue damage, I think it was done slowly.  Which may account
for the six day spacing of the crimes."
        "He already has the next victim!"
        "We think so," Mulder agreed grimly.  "And we have no
leads."
        Mickey's heart hammered within his chest.  It was now or
never.  Even though he didn't have a good explanation, he had to
tell them about his informant.  He wasn't sure how to put it,
exactly...  "I think I might have something, actually," he began.
        "There was a fortune cookie in that bag I didn't see?"
quipped Mulder wryly.
        Dana rolled her eyes, but Mickey didn't acknowledge the
joke.  "My cell phone rang and  - in New York, a few months ago,
there was this girl - um, woman - well, she was there - and it's
probably a bad sign or it doesn't mean anything, but I have the
feeling it does so -"
        Dana reached over and lay her hand on his wrist. "Michael. 
You're not making any sense.  Slow down."
        He took a deep breath, feeling foolish.  "I got a weird call
on my cell phone. It connected me with an answering machine for
some sort of office - Shoenberg and Shine.  I thought it meant
something, so I went there.  I didn't find anything, but I did meet
up with an old acquaintance.  Someone who was always in the
right place at the right time during the New York case, a few
months back."
        "Who was it?"
        "Purity," he answered.
        "What did she tell you?" Dana asked him with an intense
look in her blue eyes.
        "She said time was of the essence. Whatever that means. I
don't know what to make of it, the entire experience was just really
weird."
        "It may be weird," Mulder conceded, "but it gives us a
place to start."  He indicated that Mickey should move from the
seat in front of the computer and he did so.  "Were you looking
into Shoenberg and Shine?"
        "No, I was trying to find out about...her," Mickey admitted,
moving to sit next to Dana and Mulder sat down in front of the
computer, his fingers moving rapidly over its keys.
        "They look pretty clean," Mulder said after a moment. 
"Insurance brokers.  Mostly auto.  Some upscale clients, big
accounts.  Investigation department..."  He broke off, pushing the
keyboard away.  "I don't know what I'm looking for."
        "It's all right," Dana said quietly.
        "It's not all right!" Mulder cried, his eyes blazing.  "People
are dying.  More people are going to die."
        "We're doing what we can," Dana told him firmly.
        "It's not enough," Mulder snapped.  Mickey just watched
them, wondering what was going on. Had they had a fight? Dana
was being unusually quiet, he thought.  Mulder's desk phone rang
and the older agent grabbed it.  "Yeah," he said roughly into it.
        Mickey watched as his face changed.  He could feel Dana
tense beside him, equally aware of the change that washed over her
husband.  His face grew white and his shoulders tightened as his
head dropped forward slightly.  Bad news.  Mickey felt himself
clutching the seat of his chair, where his fingers had been merely
resting a few moments before. Chloe, he thought.  Mulder hung up
the phone.
        "What is it?" Dana asked, rising from her seat as though
pulled to her husband.
        "Time is of the essence," Mulder said almost
philosophically, swallowing hard.
        "What does that mean?" Dana demanded.
        "It's been six days. They've found another one."
        Mickey thought he saw Dana physically sway at the news. 
"We have to find Chloe," he said.  Both agents looked at him
sharply, and he realized there was probably a better way to have
said that.  A way that wouldn't have worried them.  "I mean, she
probably just ran home for a minute.  You two go on to the crime
scene; I'll catch up."
        Mulder looked at him for a moment before Dana took his
arm and they left the office together, steeling themselves for the
horror they would undoubtedly be facing in only a short amount of
time when they reached the crime scene.  Another death.  One that
should have been prevented. 
        Mickey turned off the computer with one hand and dialed
Chloe's cellular number on his phone with the other.  It rang, but
there was no answer.  He flipped off the lights and closed the door
soundly behind him.  Hopefully he was right, he thought.  She was
probably at home.

-----
        
        Chloe's mother was keeping her entertained with stories
from home while the three of them ate take-out from the place
down the street.  This is nice, Chloe thought, wondering why she
hadn't made the effort to keep in better touch with her family.  But
she knew she had been busy.  When there were crimes to be
solved, it unfortunately didn't leave a lot of time to catch up on old
times.  Her father had just begun to tell her about the annual picnic
for employees and their families at the large corporation he'd
founded when there was a knock at the door.
        Chloe started to get up from her place on the carpet - after
all, she lived alone, so she didn't need that many chairs - and found
it more awkward than she'd expected.  "Don't bother," her mother
told her airily from her seat near the door, jumping to her feet and
opening the door.  "Hello there," she said just as Chloe was getting
up.  "Can I help you?"  There was apparently no answer, because
Mrs. Grant turned to gesture to her daughter.  "Chloe, dear, do you
know this young man?"
        Chloe hurried to her mother's side and saw Mickey
standing on the other side of the threshold, looking pale and
suspect under the harsh glare of the porchlight.  "Chloe," he said. 
There was a perplexed look on his face as his eyes lingered on her
mother.
        "Mickey, what brings you here?" Chloe asked.  "Come on
in."  She moved out of the doorway, moving her mother along with
her so that her partner could come inside.  She closed the door and
Mickey just stood there, looking awkwardly at her parents, who
were looking back  just as awkwardly.  "Mickey, these are my
parents.  Mom, Dad, this is my partner, Michael Callavelo."
        "So nice to finally meet you, dear," her mother said
warmly, taking Mickey's hand and shaking it.  "Chloe's told us ever
so much about you."
        "She has," Mickey said as though he didn't quite believe it.
Or didn't want to believe it.  Chloe wasn't certain which.
        "It's good to meet you," her father said gruffly, rising to
shake Mickey's hand.
        "And you, sir," Mickey replied.  Then his eyes slid to
Chloe. "I didn't know your parents were in town."
        "I didn't either," she admitted with a smile. "They decided
to surprise me."
        "I'm sorry to have interrupted," Mickey said, moving
slightly back towards the door.
        "You didn't say what brought you here," Chloe said, afraid
he was going to run away before he told her.  It had to be
important, or he would have just called, wouldn't he?  With a
sudden burst of guilt, she remembered thinking she heard her cell
phone ringing as they came in the door from getting the take out.  
        "I'm afraid there's been another victim," Mickey said as
delicately as he could manage.
        "Oh, man," breathed Chloe.
        "Victim?" cried her mother.
        "Yes, ma'am," said Mickey because some sort of response
seemed to be called for, although he wasn't sure that was the right
one.
        "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go," Chloe said to her
parents as she rushed around the living room, sliding her feet back
into her shoes and collecting her jacket, her ID and phone and her
gun.  "I'll probably be gone for a few hours - maybe more.  Lock up
when you go to bed, and don't worry about me.  I'll take the couch
and I'll be quiet when I get in.  I'm sorry about this, Mom.  Dad." 
She leaned in to kiss her father on the cheek, and then her mother
as she neared the door.
        "But it's dark outside," her mother said.
        "Mo-om," Chloe complained and Mickey had to smile at
how much she sounded like a teenager.  "I'll be fine."
        "I'll wait up -"
        "*Don't* wait up for me," Chloe ordered.  "It could be
really late before I get back.  I'll be perfectly safe, Mom, honestly. 
I'm an FBI agent, remember?"
        "I know, sweetie," her mom replied.  "But you're still my
little girl."
        "Mom!" Chloe cried.
        "Catch the bad guys and kick their butts, okay?" her mom
suggested and Chloe just ground her teeth and opened the door. 
"Nice to meet you, Michael!"
        "Nice to meet you," he smiled at her and waved back over
his shoulder.  Chloe pulled the door closed behind them with brute
force and turned the lock, clearly aggravated.  "They seem very
nice," said Mickey.  Chloe rolled her eyes at him.  "They do," he
insisted.
        "I'm so sorry you had to be a witness to that," Chloe told
him, heartfelt.
        "What?  They love you."
        "They're nuts!"
        "But you love them, too," Mickey told her.  That much was
obvious.
        "Yeah," she agreed.  They went to his car in silence, and he
allowed her to go around and claim the driver's seat.  "So tell me
about the latest victim," she said, serious and instantly focused on
the case.
        "Dana and Mulder are already there. They went on ahead. 
We'll be there soon enough," Mickey said, wondering what would
be waiting for them at the scene.

end of part four.

Bed Springs III
part five

        The bathroom was immaculately clean.  The contrast to the
body was startling.  A red, destroyed person in the middle of a
pristine white floor.  A floor that looked as though it had been
scrubbed with a toothbrush for hours until it shone.  Counters and
sinks that could be in a TV ad.  And in the midst of it all, a
horribly dead body.  The paramedics were tending to the person
who'd discovered the body as well as the policeman who had
followed up on the call.
        Chloe tensed when she heard Mickey sigh beside her even
as they crossed the threshold into the small room, but he didn't turn
away.  He had a strong natural revulsion toward dead humans, one
that was quickly overcome by most agents.   He was learning,
Chloe thought, looking at Dana and Mulder.  Nothing could turn
Dana's stomach, yet she was looking pale and drawn,  Chloe
observed.  Mulder's face was screwed up with disgust and thought.
        "What have we got?" she asked quietly, almost unwilling to
break the peace in the small room.
        Mulder glanced at her as though he hadn't noticed her come
in.  "It's another one."
        "Specifics?" Chloe asked.  She felt silly almost as they all
four stood around the tight space and looked down at the body. 
There was nothing they could do, but it felt wrong to stand here
and talk over it.
        Dana shook her head quickly, a short jerk conveying all
there was to say.  "As with the others, we'll need to do an autopsy
to learn anything.  DNA testing is our only hope of identification."
        "Whose house is this?" Mickey asked.
        "It's a model home.  This is a fairly new complex, and they
haven't sold many of the houses yet. No one lives here."
        "Who has access?" Chloe asked.
        "During the day, almost anyone," said Dana.  "But it's kept
locked at night."
        "Has this body been here since earlier today?" Chloe asked.
        Dana shook her head again.  "And we don't know who else
has a key, besides the manager who let us inside.  He's the one who
found the body."
        "What was he doing here so late?" Mickey asked.
        Mulder raised an eyebrow. "He says he had a fight with his
wife and she tossed him out for the night.  She's done it before,
according to him, and he spends the night here."
        "Can she corroborate his story?"  Mickey reached for his
cell phone.  Mulder raised his hands in a gesture that said, I don't
know so go ahead.  "I'll just - um -"  Mickey nodded toward the
door and made his escape from the bathroom.
        The space still felt claustrophobically small.  As though
there wasn't enough air for the three agents to all breathe.  "What
happens now?" Chloe asked Mulder.  "Do we have any more
information than we did earlier?"
        "Where did you disappear to, by the way?" Mulder
questioned.  "Your partner was worried."
        Chloe almost chuckled at the idea of Mickey worried about
her.  "I had a situation come up I had to take care of at home."
        "A situation?" Dana said, sounding concerned.
        Chloe smiled.  "My parents decided to drop in to town to
check up on me."
        "They picked a hell of a time to do it," Mulder said darkly.
        "Didn't they," Chloe agreed.
        "We determined that the killer is using extreme cold as part
of the process," Dana explained.  "And Mickey had something that
might or might not be a clue."
        "How's that?"  Chloe wasn't sure she followed.
        "He ran into that woman from New York. Purity."
        Chloe's heart sank.  She didn't trust that woman.  She had
thought they would never see her again, and was glad.  She didn't
know how to take the news that she had surfaced again.  "Just what
we needed," she murmured.
        Mickey stepped back into the room then, finding the other
agents still staring grim-faced at the mutilated corpse.  "The wife
substantiated  the husband's story," he said.  "And the trace
evidence guys are here, along with the coroner."
        "That's our cue to go," said Mulder.  Mickey held the door
as Chloe walked through it.  Mulder put his hand against Dana's
elbow, but she didn't react to his touch.  Her eyes lingered on the
body.  "What is it?" he asked his wife.
        She shook her head, as though pulling her thoughts back to
herself.  "Nothing," she said swiftly.  "I must be tired."
        Mulder nodded, understanding, and accompanied her out of
the room as the other professionals moved in to do their jobs. 
"You don't have to do the autopsy tonight, if you're tired," he told
his wife, looking into her eyes and moving the hair off her
forehead with two fingers.
        "No, we need to stay on top of this," Dana informed him,
even though she didn't sound happy about it.  "I can catch a ride
along with the coroner if you want to get back to the office."
        "I'll drive you," Mulder said, getting the feeling she was
trying to  push him away and he didn't understand why.  "It will
take some time to get the body transferred to the Bureau's
facilities, anyway. If you want, we could go home first.  Get a little
rest."
        "It's all right, Mulder.  You have things you need to
investigate," Dana said, and walked away from him.  Mulder
simply watched her, shocked.
        "What happened there?" Mickey asked, walking up to his
superior.
        "I have no idea," Mulder admitted, still feeling stunned.

-----

        The three of them went back to the office to go over the
evidence, again.  Having seen the body in person only lent more
importance to Purity's words of warning: Time is of the essence. 
They were all feeling the pressure of this serial killer.
        "The murders are every six days," Chloe said, more
thinking than asking.
        "Yeah," said Mickey staring at the file open before him and
feeling very tired.
        "And Dana thinks the victim is killed by freezing, and then
brutalized afterward," Chloe continued.
        "Yeah," said Mickey.
        "She should know more after she looks at this victim,"
Mulder added, but he sounded distracted.  Both Chloe and Mickey
looked at him for a moment, wanting to ask what was going on
between Mulder and Dana, but they couldn't.  Mulder didn't seem
to know himself.
        "The killer takes the victim and it takes time to freeze
them. That's why the six days.  So the question is, how much time
passes between the murder and the taking of the next victim,"
Chloe concluded.
        "Right," Mulder nodded, though he hadn't thought of it that
way before.
        "Maybe Dana can figure that out from the autopsy as well,"
Mickey suggested.  "Should we call her?"  He reached for his cell
phone eagerly.
        "No," said Mulder.  "She'll be looking for the time of death. 
The freezing interferes with that determination, though."  Mickey
looked crestfallen.  "But Chloe's got something there.  How long
does the effect of the mutilation of the body take to wear off, and
the killer needs to feel it again?"
        "Or does he plan ahead," said Mickey.  Chloe and Mulder
just looked at him.  "The pictures...the killer's working on an art
project.  He probably knows how many bodies it will take to
complete it."
        "Complete premeditation," said Chloe, sounding shocked. 
"That's terrible."
        "It's also very likely," Mulder said, sitting up straighter in
his chair.  "Good thinking, Mickey.  The only question then is, how
does the killer select the victims?  Randomly or not randomly?"
        "You're still saying 'the killer' rather than using a pronoun,"
said Chloe directly.  "Do you think we have a woman serial killer
here?"
        "Serial killers are almost always white males, with middle
class backgrounds and some education," said Mulder.
        "That doesn't answer my question," Chloe responded.
        "Yes," Mulder sighed.  "I think the killer is a woman."
        "But you don't have anything to back it up, so you didn't
want to say it," Mickey said.  Mulder nodded.
        "That helps us, though.  It cuts our suspect list almost in
half," said Chloe.
        "I don't have any proof," Mulder cautioned her.
        "When have you ever needed proof?" Chloe asked him with
a charming grin.  "You're a brilliant profiler, Mulder.  If you think
it's a woman, you're probably right."
        "Why do you think it's a woman?" Mickey asked Mulder.
        Mulder's eyes looked haunted.  "It's a feeling," he said. 
"Just a feeling."  There was silence in the room for a few moments. 
"There's nothing more we can accomplish tonight. Go home, both
of you, and get some rest."
        "You look like you could use some rest yourself, Mulder,"
Chloe said gently as she got up.
        "What are you trying to say?"  Mulder raised an eyebrow at
her. Mickey just stood back and watched them both.
        "Don't stay here all night, okay?  You look like you need
the sleep more than we do," Chloe said simply, and turned to go.
Mickey and Mulder shared a look, then Mulder nodded and
Mickey left.  Mulder sighed and reached for the file to go over it
one last time.  Then he was going to go home.  To sleep peacefully
in bed next to his wife, he hoped.

-----
        
        Dana was disgusted by the body, but she knew that other
lives depended on whatever information she could glean from it. 
Most of the credit went to detectives in murder cases like this, she
knew.  And most of the time, that credit was deserved.  Only
occasionally did she wonder how much more quickly the case
would have been solved if the bodies had been in the care of a
skilled pathologist.  She knew that she was very talented in her
chosen field.  That talent had benefited almost every X Files case.
        She looked down at the dead...thing...on the table before
her and felt bile rise into the back of her throat.  She swallowed it
back and tried to keep the feel of death from clinging to her and
clouding her thoughts. Maybe it was just because she was tired.
        There was nothing new she could learn from the body.  The
victim had died of acute hypothermia, by immersion in cold liquid,
just as the others had.  There was no evidence of liquid nitrogen or
drowning.  
        How did the killer get the victim to lie in a cold tub long
enough to die?  The question appeared in her mind.  She wished
there was enough to analyze for the telltale markings of an
injection.  There was enough blood to send for a toxicology report,
but that would take time.  Time the next victim didn't have.  Dana
could feel the responsibility for that person's life weighing on her.
        Mulder would need to take the photograph the killer had
taken.
        Now she felt really ill.  Her husband could see what the
killer saw, think what the killer was thinking.  She trusted him
with her life and her love and she knew that he would never hurt
her, but this frightened her.  Because he hadn't told her.  He'd tried
to deny it.  Could he not see it for himself?
        Again, she tried to determine the exact time of death.  She
didn't have much luck.  Between two and four days ago, that was
the best that she could do.  Perhaps the results of the toxicology
report would tell how long the drugging agent took to work and
how it affected tissue.  Perhaps that would give them a much-
needed clue.  How long did it take to freeze to death in water? 
That was something else she needed to consider.
        Did the killer kidnap and keep more than one person at a
time?  Was it some sort of assembly line approach to killing?  One
held hostage, one freezing, one being slashed in a sick attempt at
art...It wasn't possible, was it?
        Was it any more possible or acceptable to take them one by
one, and make the victim suffer in solitude?
        Dana was shaken by this, and by their lack of answers.  She
scribbled some notes to herself and finished up.  She was
exhausted by the time she put her clothes back one, but she knew
she had to type up her notes at that moment, rather than waiting
until later.  Wearily, she made her way back to the office and
turned on the computer.  It was going to be a very long night.

-----

        Chloe let herself into her apartment as quietly as possible,
fully aware of the late hour and the fact that her parents would be
sleeping.  She didn't want to wake them.  They would just worry
about her.  They loved her and supported her, and part of that
included worrying.  She could accept that.  She just didn't think she
was up to facing them tonight.  She was tired, and she knew this
was going to be a very difficult case.  They had barely even begun
to work on it and clues were not easily coming to them.
        She heard a noise coming from the kitchen and reached for
her gun, walking toward the room with silent steps, not turning on
a light.  Her heart was pounding.  It could be anyone.  Chloe hoped
it was a simple burglar.  Much easier to deal with.  But she didn't
want to deal with it at all...
        "Stay where you are," she said coldly, and flipped on the
kitchen light.
        She found herself holding her gun on her father, who
looked even more surprised than she felt.
        "Chloe," he said, watching her, not moving from his place
in front of the refrigerator.  "Can I offer you a sandwich?"  There
were two on the plate he held.
        "God, Dad, I'm sorry," she said, flicking on the safety and
reholstering her gun.  "I thought you were a housebreaker."
        "It's all right, Chloe. It's good to see you can protect
yourself."  Her father looked and sounded more shaken than his
words conveyed.  He put the plate down on the small table and
sank into one of the chairs.  "Sandwich?"  he offered.
        She took it from him and lounged against the wall near the
table.  She couldn't believe she was starving in the middle of the
night after coming from a crime scene, but she was.  "Excellent,"
she said, still chewing her first bite.
        "How is the case?" her father asked.
        "Frustrating," she admitted.  "We have hints and pieces but
nothing so big as an entire clue to back up or disprove any of our
theories.  It's slow going."
        "But you'll find them eventually," her father said positively.
        "I hate to think what will happen if we don't."
        "Bad?"
        "Very bad." She took another bite.  "There are so many
twisted, psychotic people in the world, Dad. I had no idea before
now."
        "There's no more evil in the world than there ever was," her
father told her.  "It just seems that way to you because you deal
with these people every day.  It's your job to find them and keep
them from hurting the rest of us.  It's an admirable duty, Chloe. 
But it's bound to affect your thinking.  Try not to let it."
        "I have to be realistic,  Dad."  He gave her the look he'd
always given her when she was a child, and he let her do things her
way even though he knew she was wrong.  She sighed.  "And
realistic is, you're right.  There are good people in the world.  I just
wish I met more of them."  For a moment she thought of Nick and
she quickly pushed the thought away.
        "The people you work with are good people, aren't they? 
That young man who came by earlier?"
        "Mickey?  Yeah, he's great.  A little old-fashioned, but I'll
break him of that eventually," she said with a smile.
        "Old fashioned how?"
        "He thinks a woman's place is in the home.  And other
related nonsense."
        "You know your mother still believes that in her heart."
        "I know.  But she also knows that wouldn't make me
happy."
        "All we want is to see you happy, baby."
        "I know, Dad."  She smiled at her father and took his hand,
squeezing it for a moment.  "This is what I have to do."
        "Does it make you happy?"
        "There's nothing like the moment when the bad guy is
behind bars and you know you put him there and he won't hurt
anyone ever again," Chloe answered.  "Well, that's a little
simplistic, but -"
        "I know what you mean.  I started my company to develop
and make things that help people."
        "You don't still want me to take over the family business,
do you, Dad?"  Chloe asked, half joking.
        Her father chucked.  "I don't think Richard would let you at
this point."  Richard was her father's protege and vice president of
the company.
        "You don't still want me to marry Richard, do you, Dad?" 
Chloe was joking this time.
        But her father didn't deny it.  "I know you've suffered a
great loss with this New York business, Chloe, but it's time for you
to move on with your life."  She didn't say anything.  "What about
this partner of yours, this Mickey?"
        "He's my partner, Dad!  You sound like Grandma."
        "What about the other people you work with?"
        "What about them?"
        Sensing his daughter's irritation at this turn in their
conversation, he backed off.  "Good people?" he asked gently.
        "Good people," she agreed.  "Mulder is amazing.  He's got
so much to teach.  I don't know how he does it.  This work is his
passion."  Her father nodded.  "And Dana, too."
        "Dana?" her father asked.
        "She was Mulder's partner.  She still is.  But she's his wife,
as well."
        "How do you feel about that?"
        "What are you trying to say, Daddy?  How should I feel
about that?  I love them both dearly, and I respect their work and
their accomplishments as a team.  And Mulder's...daughter..." She
almost slipped and told him something she couldn't, not even her
own father could know the truth behind that.  "Is the most
wonderful little girl in the world."
        "He has a daughter?"
        "Sammi's ten."
        "Sammi is Mulder's daughter?"  He sounded surprised. 
Chloe had written to him about Sammi before.
        "I didn't tell you that?"
        "So he and Dana have been married for a while."
        "No, she's from...umm...before.  Mulder and Dana have
been married about a six months."
        "Newlyweds."
        "I guess," Chloe shrugged.  "I'm sorry, Dad, but I need to
get to  bed.   It's been a long day and I have to get up early
tomorrow."
        "I'm sorry I kept you up," he said.
        "Your insomnia is no better?" she asked, placing her hand
on his arm.
        "It doesn't bother me any more, Chloe. I just hate to disturb
your mother."
        She leaned in and kissed his cheek.  "Love you, Dad."
        "Sweet dreams, baby."

End of part five.

-- 

Bed Springs III
part six

-----

        It was almost dawn when Dana got home.  She was
exhausted, and she had to wonder if no sleep would be better than
sleeping two hours and then having to get up. But she couldn't not
go to bed.  She had to take care of herself.  Mulder was sprawled
in the middle of their bed and she didn't turn on the light, not
wanting to disturb him.  She looked at him for a moment and saw
the deep lines of a frown on his face, even as he slept.  Then she
moved away from the side of the bed to slip out of her clothes.
        Mulder began to mutter in his sleep.  The bottom dropped
out of Dana's stomach with unbidden fear.  Not again, she thought. 
She couldn't take this, not tonight.  The mutters grew into soft
moans by the time she finished hanging up her suit.  Reluctant to
get into bed next to him, she stood and watched him.  His eyes
were moving behind closed eyelids, indicating REM sleep. He was
dreaming. Another nightmare.
        She touched him, hoping to wake him.  He threw her hand
off, moving about restlessly in the dream.  His muscles twitched
with restrained movement.  Dana took a deep breath and waited
for the screams to begin.
        They didn't.  After a moment, Mulder seemed to relax and
no longer be fighting whatever had tormented his sleep the past
few nights since he had been given this horrifying case.  He
murmured and the creases eased out of his skin.  She touched his
forehead and he didn't react.  He was drenched in sweat with the
intensity of the nightmare.  But it seemed to be over now.
        Too exhausted to wonder or worry any longer, Dana got
into bed next to him, not touching him.  She curled up on her side
and closed her eyes, feeling the pull of deep sleep the moment she
put her head on the pillow.  It felt so good to release everything
into slumber. It would still be there, waiting for her in a few hours
when it was morning, but for now, nothing felt more wonderful
than her soft bed and the darkness and her body relaxed.
        The motion of the mattress as Mulder sat straight up in bed
jostled her out of her newfound sleep and she'd just opened her
eyes when he screamed for the first time.  Her heart began to race
and she sat up instantly.  "It's all right, it's all right," she said,
reaching for him.  Mulder was sitting rigid in the bed, breathing
hard, staring at the wall.  He didn't react to her touch and for a
moment she thought he was still in the dream.  But his eyes were
open.  He was struggling not to scream again, even in wakefulness. 
"It was just a dream, you're safe now."
        Usually he went willingly into her arms.  Even the past few
nights, when he'd refused to tell her anything he'd seen or felt, he
let her hold him for a brief few moments before he threw back the
covers and got into his running shorts, scorning sleep and her
desire to comfort him.  But tonight he didn't acknowledge her at
all.  Because of their fight? she wondered.  She'd be damned if she
let herself cling to a man who didn't want her, she thought, moving
away from her husband.  She was angry.  She knew she shouldn't
be, because he couldn't help this.
        "It was different this time," he said, his voice flat in the
darkness.
        "I thought you'd dreamed yourself out of it and would be
able to sleep," she told him.  "I saw you relax...but then you
screamed."
        He flung the covers back and got out of bed, reaching for
some clothes to put on.  "Mulder, don't do this," she said. He
ignored her, pulling the shorts up and turning his T shirt right side
out before tugging it on over his head.  "Why can't you talk to me? 
Why won't you even let me hold you, Mulder?"  Still no answer. 
He finished tying his running shoes and practically ran for the door
of the bedroom.
        "Get some sleep," he told her.
        "Mulder, talk to me," she said softly, feeling desperate.
        He paused at the door.  "I love you."  The words didn't
come easily, and then he was gone.
        She burst into tears, unable to hold them back any longer. 
She fought them, but the sobs won.  She pressed her face into the
pillow so Samantha wouldn't hear through the wall and cried.  She
didn't even know why she was crying about it.  Exhaustion.  And
like Mulder said, tonight had been different.
        He hadn't said, "I love you," any of the other nights.
        He hadn't run terrified from their bedroom any of the other
nights.
        He hadn't woken with an erection any of the other nights. 
She didn't know what any of it meant or how to interpret his
behavior.  She wished that he would trust her with this and talk to
her. It had something to do with the case - the nightmares and the
running had begun when he took on this damned case - but until he
told her, she wouldn't know what.
        Meanwhile, Mulder ran.  He didn't know what else to do,
how else to deal with the alien feelings and emotions that lingered
over him when he woke from the nightmares.  All he knew was he
had to make those feelings go away.  Tonight had been the worst.
        Tonight he'd seen the killing...he'd been the killer...and he'd
liked it.
        God help him, he'd liked it.

-----

        Mickey arrived to the empty office a few minutes early and
was surprised that none of his colleagues were there.  He shrugged
and opened the file, trying to come up with something that would
help them solve this case quickly.
        The phone rang and he picked it up, thinking it would be
Chloe pleading car trouble or something like that.  Instead, he
heard Assistant Director Skinner say, "Michael?"
        "Yes, sir?"  Why did he feel like the principal had just
called to ask him to step into his office?  Mickey was already
combing through everything he'd said and done in the last few
days, trying to find the stupid thing he'd done now.  Nothing came
to mind.
        "I'd like to see you in my office, immediately.  Can you
comply with that request?"
        Skinner was really, really angry, Mickey thought.  "I'll be
right there, sir."  What the hell had he done?  He honestly had no
clue.  Every other time Skinner called him down to ream him, he'd
had the notion in his mind that he might be in trouble.  But he had
no clue.  And Skinner sounded furious.
        Skinner's assistant didn't look at Mickey when he walked
into the outer office. That was a very bad sign.  Sometimes she
didn't say anything to him, when the hot water he was in was very
deep, but she always looked at him. If it was a minor thing,
sometimes she even gave him a commiserating look.  It couldn't be
easy being Skinner's assistant, after all.
        Mickey walked into Skinner's office.  The Assistant
Director didn't look at him.  He didn't tell him to have a seat.  That
meant he wouldn't be there long, Mickey thought.  How long did it
take to say, "You're fired"?  Mickey was really scared, because he
didn't know what this was about.
        Oh my God, what if Chloe's dead?  Or hurt or injured or
taken hostage?  Suddenly Mickey couldn't breathe.  What if
Skinner couldn't find the words to tell him?  "What is it, sir?" he
asked.
        Skinner tossed a newspaper down on the desk between
them, facing so Mickey could read the headline.  "SERIAL
MURDERER DRAWING PICTURES IN BLOOD," proclaimed
the headline.  Below was one of the less-grisly photographs
involved in their current case.  Mickey could only stare at it.  "This
is bad, sir," he said.
        "It's very bad, Callavelo," sniped Skinner.  "Maybe you
should have a seat and read the story - although none of it will
come as a surprise to you."
        Mickey shot him a look and wondered what exactly that
meant, but sat down and began to read the article.

        "WASHINGTON, D.C. - Six people are dead.  The only
way
        the FBI could identify them was by their DNA.  Today, a
        seventh murder has taken place.  A body was discovered
        early this morning in a model home of the Wheeler Lakes 
        subdivision.  The cause of death and identity of the victim
        have yet to be released by the FBI.
                "This is the work of a very angry person, a serial
        killer," says Special Agent Michael Callavelo, who is part
of
        the team assigned to catch the killer.  "We've been working
on
        this case more than two weeks without substantial leads. 
We
        only hope the killer won't strike again."       
                As of yesterday, the FBI's investigation led them to
        question the owners of many local camera shops, hoping
for a
        lead on the identity of a killer Callavelo describes as "an
        artist drawing pictures in blood."

        "Is any of this true, Callavelo?" Skinner demanded when
Mickey looked up from the article, stunned.
        "I didn't say any of these things," Mickey told him.  "I
would never reveal information about a case -"
        "This information jeopardizes the investigation of these
murders by this office," Skinner informed him.  "It also has begun
to create a public panic, which we are already struggling to put to
rest.  It also makes the FBI look incredibly foolish.  Would you
care to address any of this?"
        "I didn't say any of this," Mickey said again.
        "Why the hell would you go to the papers with this,
Callavelo?  What were you thinking?"
        "Nothing, sir -"
        "You admit that you weren't thinking?"  Skinner's face was
turning red with fury.
        "No, you aren't listening to me, sir.  I didn't speak to the
papers.  I never gave them any information."
        Skinner stared at him as though he had begun to speak in
Ancient Sanskrit.  "Lying to me isn't going to help your situation,
Callavelo.  I think this is the time for honesty."
        "I am being honest, sir, I didn't do this.  Did you call the
paper -?"
        "The reporter who wrote the story confirms that her source
was an FBI agent matching your description, with your badge, who
insisted on being named and quoted.  She had your badge number
and your identification number.  She called to confirm you were
really an FBI agent before going to press with such an absurd
story," Skinner told him.
        "I don't know what to say, sir.  I didn't do this." Mickey felt
chilled.  This was bizarre.  Mulder and Dana had hinted at cases
they had investigated in the past where they had been undermined
in similar ways.  Mickey had thought it was the work of that
cigarette smoking man who wanted to close the X Files.  But that
man was dead.  Who would want to set him up this way?
        "It isn't as though you don't have a history of press
incidents, Callavelo," Skinner said rather snottily.
        "I've learned my lesson, sir.  I never intend to ever speak to
a reporter or open my mouth in a public arena ever again," Mickey
vowed.  "I told you that when we resolved the matter with that
school principal, and I meant it."
        "Well, you won't be getting another chance," Skinner told
him.
        "Excuse me, sir?"  Please don't let this happen, Mickey
thought. But the look on Skinner's face told him it was too late,
even for prayer.
        "You're suspended without pay, Agent Callavelo, until such
time as this matter can be resolved.  Please leave your badge and
your weapon with Kimberly on your way out."  Mickey was too
stunned to move, and Skinner looked at him.  "Unless you have
something rational to say on your own behalf?"
        "I'll find the person who set me up," Mickey said quietly.
        "Good luck," said Skinner, quite sarcastically.
        With slumped shoulders and leaden feet, Mickey left the
Assistant Director's office and stopped at Kimberly's desk.  He put
his badge down and then emptied the clip in his weapon before
handing it to her.  She didn't say anything, just held up one finger
while she called for a guard to escort him out of the building. 
Mickey was too crushed and confused to say or do anything.  He
found himself standing outside of the FBI building in a light rain,
not knowing where to go.  After a moment, he turned from staring
forlornly at the doors, now closed to him, and went to get some
coffee.  Then maybe he would be able to think about this.

-----

        Chloe was very aware of the tension in the office the next
morning.  She was fine-tuning her work of the day before on
community college enrollment lists and searching other databases
when Mulder arrived with a distracted, gruff, "Hello."  He went
immediately to his desk and began scratching on a piece of paper
with a pen.  Chloe waited for Dana to appear, but she didn't.
        Dana arrived almost an hour later and walked directly over
to Mulder's desk.  Chloe couldn't help looking up from her work
and watching them.  The Mulders didn't usually come to work
separately.  Something was wrong.  She bit her lip and looked
down, trying to give them privacy.
        But they didn't need privacy.  "I completed my autopsy
notes and put them into the case folder last night," Dana said, very
businesslike.  "I held the body for you because I thought you'd like
to photograph it the way you did the others."
        Had they not even spoken the night before? Chloe
wondered.  They lived together.  Something was wrong.  She
glanced up and saw that Mulder's face had turned white at Dana's
words.  
        "Thank you," he said gruffly, rising from his desk and
rooting around for where he'd left his camera.  The Polaroid was
on the highest shelf that ran around the top of the office, close to
the ceiling because it was sitting on a stack of books and papers.
        "It's right there," said Dana.
        "Where?"  Mulder said.
        "There."  She pointed to a spot high above her head. 
Mulder reached up and swooped the camera down.  Then  he
started for the door.  "Would you like some company?" Dana asked
her husband in a tone of voice Chloe didn't think she'd ever heard
before.
        "No," Mulder said.
        "Mulder," Chloe said, catching his sleeve as he brushed
past her on his way out of the room.  "Do you know where Mickey
is?"
        Mulder's eyes focused on her and some of the tension faded
from around his jaw.  "No. Why?"
        "I haven't seen him yet today, have you?"
        Mulder shook his head.  "You tried his home number?"
        "And his cell phone. No answer.  You don't think
anything's...happened to him, do you?"
        Mulder patted Chloe's shoulder.  "He'll turn up.  Maybe his
informant's come up with a lead."
        "Purity?" Chloe snorted.  "She's probably drugged him and
hit him over the head.  I'll start calling the hospitals."  She reached
for the phone, perfectly serious.
        "Let me know when you find him," Mulder said.
        "Will do, Chief," said Chloe with a smile. Mulder walked
out of the office and Chloe sat back in her chair to begin calling
around, trying to find  Mickey.  If Purity was involved, then she
did have real reason to be worrying about him.  She forgot the
number she was dialing when she saw the look on Dana's face. 
The other woman was watching her with almost a glare, her eyes
looking almost catlike with jealousy.  Chloe looked away, certain
she must be misinterpreting, but still it made her uncomfortable.
        "He's not in any of the hospitals," Chloe said aloud,
addressed to herself and to Dana, when she'd finished calling.
        "Try his home number again," Dana suggested coolly.
        "Are you all right?" Chloe asked, looking at the other
woman.
        "I'm fine," Dana said, "Why are you asking?"
        "You and Mulder both seem...tense.  And I know
something about this case disturbs you.  I was wondering if you
were having problems," Chloe said as delicately as she could
manage.
        "It's a very stressful case," Dana said noncommittally.
        "Well, you know that if you ever need someone to confide
in..."  Suddenly Chloe felt very uncomfortable even saying the
words.  Of course Dana knew already.  She nodded.  "I'm worried
about Mickey."
        "I'm sure he's fine.  He can take care of himself."
        "I hope so."  Chloe dialed Mickey's number again and
listened to it ring as Mulder reentered the room. Instantly tension
flared again.
        "Find him?" asked Mulder.  Chloe shook her head.
        "Get the shot?" Dana asked.
        Mulder nodded, tossing the instant photo down on the
desktop.  It was only half-developed.  "That didn't take long," Dana
said. Mulder shrugged, standing idly by the desk and shifting the
photo into its place in the puzzle formed by the pictures of the
other victims.  He set the camera down on the desk to do so and
Dana picked it up and looked at it.  "You only used one shot," she
said.
        Mulder looked up at her, meeting her eyes.  Then, almost
as though he realized he'd been caught, his look turned nonchalant
and his eyes slid away.
        "You knew exactly what you were looking for," Dana said,
still waiting for a response.  She received none.  "How did you
know?"
        "I just knew," Mulder informed her, moving away.  Chloe
watched him, amazed, and then got up to look at how this picture
fit into the greater whole. It was chilling, the way the lines and
details met up.  They were beginning to get the line of a nose, she
thought.
        "Any idea when we'll have the toxicology on the latest
victim?"  Mulder asked Dana.
        "It will be a few days," she said woodenly.
        "That was good thinking," he told her.
        "Thanks. It's my job."
        "Were you able to determine the time of death?  Do we
know how long it is between when he kills and take the next
victim?" Chloe asked.
        "The victim had been dead between two and four days.  I
can't pin it down any closer than that.  And I don't know how long
it takes for the victim to die.  The killer may have taken the next
one before he killed this one."
        "No," said Mulder.  Dana looked at him, surprised at his
conviction.  "It doesn't fit with the profile," he added, striving to
sound more casual.
        "Where did you get that profile from, Mulder?  It's just
hearsay at this point, isn't it, with no evidence to back it up?"  Dana
asked.  Mulder shrugged, shooting his wife a look full of darkness.
        "I think Mulder's track record with profiling is evidence in
its own way," Chloe contributed.  Instantly, she regretted speaking
up.  
        Dana gave her an odd look and got up.  "Please excuse
me," she said, and left the room.
        "What's going on here, Mulder?" Chloe asked.
        "We're working on a case."
        "Mickey's missing and you and Dana are both acting
strangely," she pointed out.
        "That..."  He began to say it had nothing to do with the
case, but he couldn't.  "Um, that's personal. It won't affect the
case."
        "Go talk to her," Chloe suggested.
        "She went to the bathroom," Mulder said.
        "I can't help feeling that she's upset."
        "She's fine," Mulder said.
        Chloe opened her mouth to continue, but then her cell
phone rang.  "Chloe Grant," she answered it.  "You what?!?" she
cried a moment later.
        Mulder sat forward and frowned.  "What is it?" he
whispered.
        "It's Mickey," Chloe answered, just as Dana walked back
into the room.

End of part six.

-- 
________________________________________________________
________________I REFUSE TO BELIEVE_____________________
________________________________________________________