Title: Brit Bitch Blues
Author: anilize
Rating: R (some violence, one death)
Classification: SH
Spoilers: Fire
Keywords: Mulder/Scully friendship
Summary: Phoebe Green is back in town... 

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

She stood in the shadows, half concealed by a 
concrete pillar. The fumes had made her dizzy 
earlier, but it had been almost an hour since the 
last time a car had left, and the air scrubbers had 
been hard at work since. Now all that was left were 
a few sleek cars - most of them European - over at 
the far end from where she stood, and a dark blue 
Acura about ten feet away.
  Every now and then she'd hear sounds from the 
stairwell, or the muted roar of an engine starting 
on one of the other parking levels. Every time, she 
found herself tensing with anticipation. Patience, 
she told herself. You've waited five years for this, 
you can wait another fifteen minutes. She'll be down 
any time now.
  The sound of elevator doors opening almost 
startled her, and she risked a quick peek around the 
pillar. Two persons, in deep conversation - she 
watched them intently, until the voices revealed 
them both as male. She slid behind the pillar again, 
while they walked over to one of the foreign cars 
and got in. The roar of the engine deafened her 
momentarily.
As the engine noise died away she heard the loud 
clatter of high-heeled shoes against concrete. 
Finally! She heard the footsteps come closer, and 
then stop next to the Acura. Looking out, she 
glimpsed a figure in a long dark coat; the dim light 
in the basement reflected off coppery hair, lending 
the figure the impression of a halo.
Not a halo, she thought. More like the opposite.
  A few feet away she saw the figure lean forward, 
reaching for the slip of paper she'd stuck under a 
windshield wiper. Good. In two quick strides, she 
stepped forward, grabbed the person from behind with 
one hand, and brought a lump of rock - crude, but 
perfectly serviceable, and completely untraceable - 
down on the head, the sight of that bright copper-
colored hair lending her strength. With a grunt, the 
figure slumped in her arms.
  Quickly, now. She hefted the unconscious body into 
her arms, and staggered behind the pillar. There, a 
few spaces away, waited her own car, trunk unlocked 
and ready. She manhandled the body over there and 
into the trunk. She dug into her pocket and 
extracted a plastic bag containing a wet rag. 
Quickly she pulled the rag out of the bag, and 
pressed it against her victim's lower face for a few 
seconds, trusting the ether to do its work. That 
ought to do it - she didn't want to kill her 
prisoner. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later.

Fox Mulder pulled his attention away from the rather 
explicit photos one of his numerous contacts 
throughout the country had sent him, and glanced at 
the wall clock. 9.30, and she still wasn't in. How 
extraordinary.
  He picked up the phone and called the switchboard, 
just in case she had tried to call but had been 
unable to get through (this frequently proved to be 
the case when his phone was off the hook). They 
would have logged any call to his extension. He drew 
a blank, though. No calls. Just in case, he asked 
about interoffice calls. One, the faceless voice at 
the other end informed him. AD Skinner had tried to 
reach him about half an hour ago.
  Damn. He'd been hoping to avoid Skinner today. If 
he could just make it through till four in the 
afternoon without getting stuck with some lame 
assignment in Shithouse Falls, Nebraska, he was home 
free. An endless weekend winked at him seductively, 
slated to begin in just over six hours. Provided he 
was man enough to make it.
  He decided not to call Skinner. After all, if it 
had been important, the man would have been down 
here long ago, probably kicking down the door on his 
way in. It could wait. Meanwhile, he had a small 
missing persons case on his hands.
  He tried her cellphone first, thinking she might 
simply be stuck in traffic. Five signals, six - and 
then a recorded voice, telling him that the number 
he had dialed was currently out of range. Odd. He'd 
never known her to fall out on the way here. 
Thinking she might be home sick - although why she 
hadn't called in he couldn't fathom - he tried her 
home number. Four signals, and the machine cut in.
  "Hi, it's me," he said, while thinking how much 
he hated these things. "Where're you at? Give me a 
call, okay?" Replacing the handset, his gaze fell 
on the glossy photos on the desk. He picked them up, 
and started studying them again. Definitely worth 
looking into, he thought, already deeply engrossed 
in the pictures.

Dark.
  A musty smell penetrated her nostrils, almost 
making her gag. Her head was covered with something 
- a sack, or something similar. The smell might 
originate in the sack, or it might come from 
whatever she was lying on. Her mouth felt as if it 
had been stuffed with dirty cotton, which, she 
decided, was because that was precisely what it had 
been stuffed with.
  Isn't it nice to know that sometimes the old 
clichs are actually right, she thought confusedly. 
She tried to sit up, but for some reason was unable 
to bring her arms around to support her.
  That would be what that rope is for. To keep me 
from sitting up.
Her head ached, she was thirsty, and whatever she 
was lying on felt both cold and damp. All in all, 
she thought, it seemed a pretty safe bet that she 
wasn't right at home in her own bed. The last time 
she checked, the mattress hadn't consisted of dirt.
  After much wriggling around, she found a wall and, 
using it as support, managed to get into a sitting 
position. There was a light source of some kind in 
the room; the light penetrated the coarse cloth in 
front of her face, but the cloth was too closely 
woven for her to make out any details. All she could 
see were pinpricks of yellowish light.
  And suddenly she was certain that there was 
somebody in here with her.

A sudden loud knock on the door startled him out of 
a daydream featuring himself, three female Olympic 
pole vaulters, and a hot tub full of chocolate 
mousse. For a moment he thought that someone had hit 
him on the head, and he wondered vaguely why he was 
dressed in a suit instead of his red Speedos. Then 
reality, the bitch, announced her arrival 
simultaneously with Skinner, who was currently 
shouting, "Open this door right away, unless you 
want a hole in it!"
  Mulder sighed - he didn't particularly want holes 
in his doors - and got up. Too bad there's no escape 
route from here, he thought as he quickly swept the 
photos into a drawer and slammed it shut, then went 
to unlock the door. When Skinner burst in he looked 
angrier than usual, a sure indicator that somebody 
had screwed up above and beyond the call of duty. 
Mulder hoped like hell it wasn't him. Fond hope, too 
quickly banished.
  "Agent Mulder, would you please explain why my In 
tray contained a report from you this morning? One 
that was not only four days overdue, but which also 
claims that UFOs are responsible for the remake of 
the Godzilla movies, and that our friend the 
cigarette man is behind recent attempts to 
infiltrate at least three animal rights groups?" 
Skinner let the offensive manila folder drop onto 
the floor. Mulder decided not to bend down to 
retrieve it as long as his boss was in the room. If 
he did, he might very well end up with Skinner's 
size 9 shoeprints all over his ass.
  "I have a meeting with the review board this 
afternoon," Skinner continued more calmly. "If I 
show them this, they'll close you down on the spot. 
For the seventh time this year alone, I might add."
  Mulder looked at his boss. "So what do you 
suggest?"
  "Rewrite it. Get rid of the UFOs and let Smokey 
be responsible for Godzilla. God knows they're a 
match made in Heaven."
  "More like Hell," Mulder replied. "Sir, you know 
how I hate it when people try and get me to cover up 
the truth..."
  "Agent Mulder, you know as well as I do what's at 
stake here. If you get shut down again, they'll most 
likely withdraw your right to use the communal 
coffee urn, and you know how hard it is to get back 
on their good side about important issues like 
that."
  Mulder shuddered. The X-files he could live 
without for a few weeks - lately all the cases 
seemed to be taking place somewhere in the Bible 
belt, anyway - but to go without his beloved office 
coffee, to maybe have to drink instant mixed with 
warm tapwater... 
  "I'll get right on it, sir," he said, quickly 
switching on the computer terminal and calling up 
the file in question. "Just tell me how soon you 
want it ready."
  "Actually, I'd prefer yesterday, but unless you 
found a time machine somewhere... By the way, 
where's Agent Scully? I don't remember seeing her 
today."
  "That's probably because you didn't," Mulder 
replied, preoccupied. "She hasn't come in yet."
  "And you don't think that's strange? Usually you 
can set your watch by her."
  "Sir, are you implying that my punctuality leaves 
something to be desired?"
  Skinner hesitated. "Let's just say, with you a 
guy is lucky if he can set his calendar."
  Mulder nodded. So his reputation as the Bureau's 
biggest eccentric since J. Edgar Hoover hung up his 
dress was secure. He'd hate to think that anyone 
thought of him as sane. Be crazy, he mused, and you 
can do anything you want, and no one will think it 
strange. Freedom, of sorts. He turned his attention 
back to the screen, momentarily forgetting about 
Scully's mysterious absence.

A rough gravelly voice said, "Scream if you like. 
No-one is going to hear you."
  A hand loosened the sacking around Scully's head, 
and fumbled across her face. "Go on, spit it out, 
you little bitch... There." The hand found her 
mouth, and roughly pried it open, fumbling for the 
cloth in her mouth. Disgusted, Scully bit down on a 
finger.
  "Bitch!" The voice high this time, squeaky. A 
woman. "You do that again, and I'll kill you!"
  Scully struggled to spit out the rag in her mouth. 
It was hard going, especially since her abductor 
hadn't shown her the consideration of untying her 
hands as well.
  The hand returned, snagged a corner of the rag, 
and gave a rough pull. It came out, leaving Scully 
dry-mouthed and frustrated.
  "For your information," she said, running her 
tongue over her dry lips, "I'm a federal agent. 
Holding me here against my will is a crime, for 
which you will be severely punished when you are 
caught. If you were to release me now, however -"
  "Shut up!" The gravel in the voice was back. "I 
know exactly who you are, Agent Scully. I know 
exactly what you are. Did you really think I'd go to 
such trouble for some lowly secretary or civil 
servant?" Something was stuck up under the hood, 
poking Scully's lips. A tube of some kind. 
"Drink."
  She didn't move.
  "Drink now, or thirst later. It's your choice."
  Hesitantly, she closed her lips around the tube 
and sucked. Water - spring water, by the taste of 
it. It had that flat, plasticky flavor. She was 
thirsty though, so she drank it eagerly, drawing one 
large sip after another into her mouth, relishing 
the moisture, until the supply ran out.
  Spitting the tube out, she asked, "Who are you, 
and what do you want?"
  "No need to worry your pretty little head with 
such petty details," the voice replied.
  "Look, if this is about money, I don't think..."
  "Shut up! I didn't ask you to think, now, did I? 
Let's just say, it's something only you can really 
give me."
  She fell silent for a few seconds. Scully was 
trying desperately to recall if there was anybody in 
her past that she might have pissed off royally 
enough to warrant this treatment, when the woman 
said, "Revenge."

The water had contained a mild tranquilizer, almost 
impossible to taste in spring water. Within a few 
minutes the agent was out cold. Her captor stood 
over her, hands clenching and unclenching at her 
sides.
  Oh, to put a bullet in the little bitch's head! To 
finish her, eliminate her from the competition, once 
and for all! But it was too soon for that, and the 
woman knew it. First, there was that other business 
to attend to. Oh, there was so much that still 
needed doing!
  First things first, though. She had to clean and 
bandage her finger; the little vixen had actually 
managed to break the skin. She left the room, 
satisfied that her prisoner would remain asleep for 
several hours yet.

Mulder had barely finished the expurgated version of 
his report when the phone rang. Thinking that it 
might be his partner he made a lunge for the 
handset. "Mulder."
  A woman's voice said, "Hallo, Agent Mulder. How 
pleasant to hear your voice." Though unexpected, he 
recognized the voice, as well as the accent right 
off.
  "Phoebe?!"
  "Oh, and you still remember who I am. A pleasant 
surprise, I must say." The voice droned on while 
Mulder's mind started a slideshow, image upon image 
of himself and his former - very former - 
girlfriend. He hadn't seen her since that business 
with the firebug up in Massachusetts - was that five 
years ago already? Time sure flew...
  He was abruptly yanked back into the present by a 
familiar word. "Dinner?"
  "Tonight, if you have the time. I'd be very happy 
to see you again."
  "Do you mean you're in town?" This was going way 
too fast for his liking. And yet... The weekend, 
with no prior engagements. He had half thought to 
suggest to Scully that they take in a movie 
somewhere (although he had a feeling that she would 
be less than thrilled at the prospect of Star Trek), 
but he hadn't actually got around to saying 
anything. Anyway, she wasn't around, was she? Hadn't 
even bothered to call. Fuck her.
  "How very cleverly deducted, my dear Watson. Yes, 
I'm in town. Will be until at least Monday, 
actually. So... Someone told me about a place called 
Benelli's, in Georgetown. Meet me there at seven 
tonight. And don't worry, I've made reservations. 
All right?"
  "Sure..." That was the thing with Phoebe, he 
remembered. Once she'd set her sights on something 
she went all out to get it. He'd been at the sharp 
end of her ambitions a couple of times, and had no 
particular wish to relive the experience. But a 
night out, some good food, and pleasant company - 
you had to hand it to her, she knew how to show a 
guy a good time... "Seven. Benelli's in Georgetown. 
Sure. I, uh... I'll see you, then."
  "I'm looking forward to it," she said softly 
before hanging up.

He'd barely replaced the handset before the phone 
started ringing again. Short signal bursts this time 
- interoffice. Not Phoebe, then. He answered it 
anyway. "Mulder."
  "Agent Mulder, this is Jeff Jerzyck from 
security. You have an Agent Scully there?"
  Mulder frowned. "No, why?"
  "Well, her car's parked downstairs, and it looks 
like somebody winged it pretty bad. Left rear 
end's..."
  "Wait a minute," Mulder interrupted. "Downstairs 
where?"
  "Well, here. Headquarters."
  "Well, she isn't here," Mulder said, frowning. 
This was getting stranger by the minute. First 
Scully didn't show up or call in sick, then her car 
turned up damaged... Next they'll tell me that they 
found evidence indicating that Scully never left the 
building last night.
  "Actually, Agent Mulder, it's starting to look 
like she never left here last night. You're sure she 
didn't sleep over in her office or something?"
  "I... Look, I'll get back to you." Mulder hung up 
and sat thinking for a few seconds. Then he grabbed 
the report for Skinner and left the office.

Assistant Director Skinner's secretary was clearly 
not inclined to let Mulder talk to the big man. She 
kept saying, "I'm sorry, but Mr. Skinner is busy at 
the moment."
  "But I know that he's very interested in this," 
Mulder tried, holding up the fresh report. "He's 
been down to my basement especially to ask for it."
  She wouldn't budge. "Well, if you'll just give it 
to me, I'll make sure he gets it as soon as 
possible."
  Mulder hesitated, then held the report out to her. 
Just as she was about to take hold of it he snatched 
it back and lunged for the door to the inner 
sanctum. Ignoring the secretary's frantic pleas he 
threw himself at the door full force, grabbing and 
twisting the doorknob in the process. He almost fell 
into the office, but stopped short when he saw 
Skinner sitting at the conference table, apparently 
drinking coffee with an alien. The gray skin, the 
oversized black eyes - it sure didn't look like a 
Boy Scout. Skinner yelled something at him, but he 
didn't hear. He just stared at the gray sitting 
there, calmly drinking a soda.
  "Th-th-th-thass 'nalien." He pointed at it, 
shaking.
  Skinner looked at him coolly. "That, of course, 
is a matter people seem to have trouble agreeing 
about. However, for your information, your 'alien' 
here is in fact just my sister's boy Jeremy." The 
gray figure stood next to his chair, grinning. "Hi. 
Are you that spooky guy Uncle Walt always talk 
about?"
  Mulder stared at the kid. "Sure I am," he said 
dully. "Good voice distorter, by the way." He 
turned to his boss. "Scully is missing!"
  Skinner stared at him. "What do you mean, 
missing?" he asked.
  Mulder took a deep breath. "Well, she hasn't come 
in to work this morning, she hasn't called in sick, 
I tried to call her and got no answer, and just 
now," he paused, almost out of air, "now some guy 
from security says her car's in the car park, 
damaged, and it looks like she never left here... We 
gotta do something!"
  "Now just calm down for a minute, Agent Mulder," 
Skinner said, taking hold of Mulder's arm and 
leading him slowly but inexorably towards the door. 
He bent down to pick up the report that Mulder had 
dropped on his way in. "Is this the new report you 
promised me?"
  Mulder nodded dully. "We have to do something, 
sir," he repeated. 
  "Of course we do," Skinner assured him, tossing 
the report on his desk and grasping Mulder's upper 
arms. "Listen to me now, Mulder. I'm kinda busy all 
day, so I'm gonna give you carte blanche to do 
whatever you deem necessary to find Agent Scully, 
and if she has been willfully harmed, to capture and 
punish those responsible. Okay?"
  "You mean... I'm in charge?"
  "Completely. If anyone questions your authority, 
just refer them to me. Now you'd better hurry along 
and find her right?"
  "Yes... yes, of course!" Mulder was already 
halfway out the door; now he turned and practically 
ran across the anteroom, slamming the door shut 
behind him.
  Skinner looked at his secretary. "If he shows up 
again today, shoot him first and ask questions 
later."
  "My pleasure, sir."
  Skinner retired to his office, closing - and this 
time locking - the door behind him. He strode to the 
table, where the little gray figure had almost 
finished his soda. "Now where were we?"
  "We'd decided to get together and play poker 
tomorrow night at Jeffrey's house. I'll bring a 
couple of the boys along," the little figure 
replied in its electronically-sounding falsetto.
  "Good. But no oily ones, okay? Can't stand the 
oily ones. You always get the feeling that they're 
about to start gestating on you."

Mulder, high on the sudden feeling of power and 
authority,  almost cartwheeled down the corridor in 
search of Jerzyck from security. The man, when he 
finally found him, turned out to be almost seven 
feet tall, and built like a brick house. The guy 
practically sweated pure hormones.
  Careful to stand where the man could see him - it 
would be less than interesting to get trodden on by 
this veritable Hulk - Mulder introduced himself, and 
asked if they could go take a look at the car. 
Jerzyck acquiesced, and they went to the elevator.
  In the car park Mulder took a close look at the 
damage to Scully's car. The taillight was 
splintered, the metal badly dented and scratched. 
Mulder bent down and carefully pried something out 
of the peeling paintwork.
  "There," he said with satisfaction. "Whoever did 
this was driving a red car. Now, you said something 
about her not having left at all?"
  "Yeah, well, according to the log she checked out 
at 11:21 last night.  She never checked in this 
morning. The car, however, doesn't show up on any of 
the surveillance tapes shot last night at the car 
park exit. We know she came down here, because the 
cameras in the elevator car registered her getting 
out here.  Beyond that, we're kinda lost here."
  "What about surveillance cameras over here? 
Nothing?"
  "Well, yes, but all they got was a picture of 
someone coldcocking someone else and then stuffing 
them into the trunk of a car and driving off. Could 
have been anybody, you know?"
  "Yeah." Mulder leaned forward suddenly, across 
the hood of the car. Somebody had apparently taken 
it upon themselves to start issuing parking tickets 
down here; a white slip of paper was stuck under one 
windshield wiper. He managed to snag it on his 
second try, getting only a thin film of road dust 
from the car on his suit.
  "Maybe the reckless driver left their name and 
address." He unfolded the paper. A list of items, 
written beneath each other, it read like a shopping 
list. He read aloud, "Diethylether, duct tape, 
Thorazine, rope thin enough to really hurt when you 
tie it tightly around someone's wrist, old oily rags 
for a gag, spring water... Someone has pretty advanced 
tastes." For a moment he pictured Scully lying on a 
bed, tied with thin rope to the bedposts... He 
shivered, and pulled himself together. He had work 
to do, after all. He thanked Jerzyck for his help, 
and fled the monstrous figure. 

When Scully awoke, dizzy and hung over, she decided  
that the spring water she'd drunk must have come 
from somewhere near a pharmaceutical plant. They 
sure didn't make it the way they used to. Either 
that, or the crazy woman must have spiked it with 
Rohypnol or something similar. She just hoped that 
this wasn't all about some silly date-rape.
   She managed to sit up again - at least the crazy 
bitch hadn't removed her wall - and tried if she 
could wiggle her hands enough to loosen whatever 
they had been tied with. "Whatever" was most 
likely some sort of rope, thin enough to really hurt 
when you tied it tightly around someone's wrist. She 
decided that, on the whole, she would be better off 
to just try and keep her hands still, and not cut 
off the circulation.
  She then tried to move her legs. Just as 
impossible - apparently they had been strapped 
together with duct tape or something similar. All in 
all, it seemed that her abductor had learned her 
craft from a wide range of action B-movies and TV-
dramas.
  Her abductor... Scully tried to clear her mind 
sufficiently to put together the few bits'n'pieces 
she had so far. It was a woman, she knew that. At 
least, she amended, it had sounded like one when 
Scully sunk her teeth into the creep's hand. But 
there had been something else, hadn't there... 
something about the accent, the way the voice had 
pronounced some of the words... like an American actor 
who was trying to sound British, but couldn't quite 
pull it off.
  Or more like someone British trying to sound 
American...
  And she could only think of one British woman who 
might wish harm on her... or on Mulder...
  "Jesus," Scully whispered into the unfeeling 
darkness. "It's her. Scotland Yard's very own Mata 
Hari."

She had only just reached this conclusion when the 
door to the room was suddenly thrown open, from the 
sound of it smashing against the wall and bouncing 
back. Heavy trampling footsteps came towards her, 
and she instinctively cringed against the wall.
  The thick voice said, "Had any luck yet in 
working out why you're here?" From the sound of it, 
she was standing bent down, her mouth inches away 
from Scully's head.
  Scully didn't answer. It made sense to keep 
silent; if this madwoman didn't know she'd been 
ID'd, there was still a slight chance of getting out 
of here alive. Instead she croaked, "I'm hungry."
  "Are you now? Too bad I can't be of any 
assistance, but I have a dinner date in a few hours, 
and you know how hard it always is to find a pair of 
nylons without runs in them." The woman was moving 
around, but Scully had no idea what she was doing. 
"Of course, if you're a good girl I might bring 
something back for you... A pizza, how's that sound? 
Of course, we'd have to cut it in smaller bits, but 
that could be arranged..." Suddenly the hood around 
Scully's head was loosened, and something hard and 
cold was pressed against her skin.
  "Or perhaps I could cut you into smaller bits!" 
she hissed, moving the object ever so slightly. 
Scully felt the sharp edge of the blade against her 
cheek. Move a millimeter, or increase the pressure 
just a little bit... She forced herself to hold 
absolutely still. The thought of that knife laying 
her cheek open, scarring her for life, was a 
terrific inspiration.
  "You'd hate that, wouldn't you?" the hoarse 
voice hissed in her ear. "To have your pretty face 
messed up like that... Maybe I should carve my 
initials in your pretty forehead, would you like 
that? Then maybe that wonderful scientific little 
brain of yours would finally be able to put two and 
two together! Or would that be too much of a bloody 
giveaway? You tell me, bitch. Would it? WOULD 
IT???"
  Just as Scully thought that this was it, this 
nutcase would actually cut her, probably kill her, 
and that would be a shame since she'd been planning 
to surprise Mulder with tickets to see the new Star 
Trek movie, and now he'd have to go alone... just 
then, Phoebe - for it surely had to be her - seemed 
to regain her composure. The knife or whatever was 
pulled away from Scully's cheek as she straightened 
up.
  "Well,"  she said, accompanied by a slight 
thump, "got to go. I'd love to stay and chat, but 
you know how it is, places to go, things to do... FBI 
agents to see. Tell him you said hello, shall I?"
  And the door slamming shut behind her.

Mulder realized too late that even though Scully had 
gone missing he would have to keep his appointment 
with Phoebe. The reason was as simple as it seemed 
irrefutable. She hadn't left him any number by which 
he could get in touch with her if anything like this 
should occur. There was the restaurant, of course, 
but firstly he couldn't find the correct phone book, 
and secondly it wouldn't be nice anyway to just 
leave a message. To stand her up that way. True, she 
would certainly have done it to him if their roles 
had been reversed, but that was no reason to do it 
to her. So... a meeting, maybe a quick drink or an 
entre, and then he'd have to excuse himself. She 
would understand. Wouldn't she? Sure she would.
  And of course she did, although the disappointment 
in her face was a bit too obvious to be ignored. 
When he entered the restaurant her whole face seemed 
to light up, an impression that faded rapidly as he 
explained his predicament. But she nodded and said, 
Of course he must find his partner, under the 
circumstances she was rather flattered that he had 
turned up at all, she would have found it perfectly 
understandable if he had left a message at the 
restaurant. Disappointing, maybe, but 
understandable. In other words, she managed to make 
him feel like a total asshole.
  The Total Asshole ordered a Scotch and soda, and a 
fish entre. The Total Asshole managed to keep up a 
companionable, even cheerful facade, as he listened 
to Phoebe recounting a rather bizarre case involving 
a peeping tom who had a penchant for breaking into 
his subjects' homes and stealing their used 
underwear. In fact, he started to really enjoy 
himself, and Phoebe's company, so much that before 
long he stopped feeling like The Total Asshole. It 
wasn't until he accidentally looked at his watch 
that he realized one and a half hours had passed, 
and he'd promised himself to stay only for half an 
hour. Meanwhile Scully was God knew where, probably 
being turned into catfood at this very second. 
Immediately he felt like a total asshole again.
  "I'm sorry, Phoebe," he said, quickly wiping his 
mouth and letting the napkin fall onto his plate. 
"I have to go. Not that I haven't enjoyed 
tonight..." He didn't really know what to say.
  "Of course you do. I mean, this whole thing must 
be terrible for you. Do you really have nothing at 
all to go on except that 'shopping list' ?"
  "Not at the moment, no... Phoebe, I'd rather not 
talk about this. It's hard enough already..."
  "It's all right, I understand perfectly." He 
smiled gratefully and had just turned from the table 
when she said, "Fox."
  He turned back. Phoebe was writing something on a 
small bit of cardboard. She finished and handed it 
to him. 
  A business card, with her name and phone number in 
England on the front. He flipped it. A different 
phone number, and an address in Alexandria.
  "In case you wish to reach me," she said, all 
innocence. "The house belongs to friends. They're 
abroad at the moment, so I have it all to myself." 
A mischievous grin, quickly gone again. "And, of 
course, I'd be very interested to hear if you find 
poor Scully."
  "Yeah, well... Thanks." Mulder beat a hasty 
retreat before the sheer pleasure of Phoebe's 
company trapped him again. A regular Venus flytrap, 
she was. Anyway, he had to find Scully first.
  He kept repeating that to himself. He had to find 
Scully.

It took some time for Scully to realize what was 
different about the situation.
  At first, sitting there listening to the sounds 
above her lessen and then stop altogether, all she 
could think that all that light was a real pain in 
the ass after being in the dark for so long. Then 
she started to wonder where the light came from. 
That was when she realized that, A, the crazy Brit 
bitch hadn't tightened the hood around her neck 
before leaving, and B, she'd forgotten to switch off 
the light.
  So if she could get the damn hood-thing off...
  Scully started shaking her head vigorously while 
crouching forward. Maybe she could just shake it 
off. The movement made her dizzy; apparently the 
dope had left her with a worse hangover than she'd 
thought at first. And then suddenly the hood came 
off, and the blinding light stabbed into her 
eyeballs, and straight on into her brain. She 
whimpered.
  But the light wasn't really that sharp, it was 
just that her eyes had gotten used to the dark. 
After a few minutes she could see again, although 
she had to squint. She managed to work her way up 
the wall into a standing position, and looked around 
slowly, careful not to look up at the light source. 
A cellar of some kind - the floor looked like dirt. 
There was an ancient bookcase against the far wall, 
its shelves empty. Well, they looked like they'd 
collapse if a dust bunny hopped onto them, she 
thought.
  An old, dirty camping table stood to her right, a 
few items littering the tabletop. A roll of duct 
tape, an empty bottle that had once contained spiked 
spring water, a knife, some clothesline...
  Knife!
  Oh, she must have been totally out of her mind, 
the bitch! She'd messed up big time. Now her 
prisoner was able to see, and there was even a 
potential weapon within reach... Scully wondered if 
she could get hold of it and somehow use it to cut 
whatever was holding her hands tied together. Not 
that that kind of thing usually worked, except in 
crappy B-movies...
  Well, this whole scenario is like something out of 
a B-movie, she thought. So in theory this should 
work. She tried an experimental little hop, and then 
another. Apparently she had sufficient control of 
her legs.
  "All right then, buster," she muttered, and 
determinedly started hopping towards the table.

Mulder was just driving around aimlessly, as if he 
thought he might be able to spot Scully accidentally 
on the street. This whole evening was getting to 
him. Might as well go back to the office, he 
thought. This whole thing was so absurd that he'd 
probably find a mystery email waiting for him.
  As he rolled onto the parking level he realized 
that it was the same one Scully's car was on. He 
pulled to a stop next to it, and sat thinking for a 
moment or two, engine running. The slip of paper - 
the 'shopping list', as Phoebe had called it - had 
been stuck under a windshield wiper. Someone had put 
it there, and he doubted very much that it had been 
Scully. And if it was a flier for some crazy 
Millennium cult, they'd forgot to leave their phone 
number. So presumably it had been left by Scully's 
assailant.
  He retrieved it from his pocket and looked at it 
again. Kinda scary, when you thought of it... He 
considered the implications of the words, 'duct 
tape', 'diethylether', 'surgical scalpels'... Sounded 
like someone was preparing for some surgery, and 
maybe wasn't to certain about the anaestethic...
  As Phoebe had said, the shopping list was his only 
clue.
  As Phoebe had said...
  Phoebe had mentioned the shopping list...
  But he'd never mentioned it to her.
  He was dead certain. He'd mentioned that Scully 
seemed to have gone AWOL, and that he could only 
stay for half an hour or so; and after that the 
subject hadn't even come up until he was about to 
leave. Until she brought  it up.
  And provided that she didn't know Jerzyck from 
security, there was no way she could have found out...
  Unless she'd placed it on Scully's car in the 
first place.
  Fumbling in his pockets, Mulder brought out the 
card Phoebe'd given him at the restaurant. Since she 
had no reason to think that he was on to her, the 
address must be genuine. So, it was just a matter of 
going over there, and see if he could find any clues 
as to Scully's whereabouts. Or maybe Scully herself... 
He quickly revved up the engine, and burned rubber 
in his eagerness to get to Alexandria.

The house sat on Charter Street, looking pretty much 
like its neighbors, except that, as far as he could 
see, the garden was pretty untended. Not the most 
affluent neighborhood - he found himself wondering 
what sort of people Phoebe might know that could be 
thought to live in an area like this. He would have 
thought the house uninhabited except for the red 
Lexus in the driveway.
  Mulder had left his car half a block away, and 
approached on foot. Now he soft-shuffled it up the 
driveway to take a closer look at the car, 
remembering the smashed taillight on Scully's car. 
Sure enough, the right front had a few bad 
scratches. He couldn't be certain, but he thought 
that he could make out small chips of dark paint. 
The Lexus had certainly been in a dogfight with 
another car.
  He tried to look in through the windows, but all 
was dark. It didn't seem too heavily furnished, 
though - bare floorboards was about all he could 
make out through grime-streaked panes. Deciding to 
dispense with the niceties, he went up to the front 
door and pushed the bell. Surprisingly, that was 
working.
  Rapid footsteps, a light came on, and the door was 
opened. He couldn't quite make out the face of the 
opener - it was shrouded in darkness from the light 
behind it - but the voice when it spoke was 
unmistakable.
  "Fox?" She took a step backwards. "I didn't 
expect to see you here..."
  "Sure you didn't," he replied, following her 
into the hallway. "That's why you gave me the 
address, right? Is she here?"
  "Who... What are you talking about?" Phoebe tried 
to back away from him.
  "Oh, it was all very cute, Phoebe. My partner 
disappears, and coincidentally you show up in town 
at the same time, ready to be the sympathetic friend 
in need. You just made one little mistake my dear... 
You forgot that I hadn't told you about the 
'shopping list'! Which meant that you had to have 
left it yourself!" Mulder realized that he was 
almost shouting now, and lowered his voice. "So 
what do you have to say, eh?"
  "You don't understand..."
  "Where is she?"
  Phoebe pointed. "There. Cellar."
  Mulder reached for the doorknob and twisted it. He 
had just about enough time to realize that it was 
locked before something hard hit him at the back of 
the head. He was about to protest, but then it hit 
him again, and this time the bitch with the black 
velvet cloth managed to get a good hold of him.
  "I believe the mistake is all yours, Agent 
Mulder," a voice said softly, following him down 
into oblivion.

The steps were coming down the stairs, nearing. 
Scully pulled herself back against the far wall, in 
a pose she hoped looked like she was still tied up. 
She'd pulled the hood back on, but tried to leave it 
open at the bottom, so she'd at least breathe.
  She'd heard sounds from upstairs for the last ten 
minutes or so. First, presumably, the bitch, back 
from her 'dinner date' - and Scully had no trouble 
whatsoever guessing who the other party of that 
'date' was. Then, a few minutes ago, a second person 
- she'd heard an argument, but she hadn't been able 
to make out the words, or even the voices. Then a 
thump, and now steps approaching. 
  The door opened; she tensed. Footsteps, soft on 
the dirt floor, coming towards her. She sensed more 
than saw the figure lean over her.
  "Well, my dear, looks like you'll have company 
soon. Not the way I planned it, admittedly, but it 
could have been worse." One hand grabbed the hood - 
and at that moment Scully brought her arms around 
front, grabbing the legs of the woman, and threw 
herself sideways, unbalancing the woman. They both 
fell to the side, but Scully recovered first. 
Quickly she tore off the hood, and let herself fall 
upon the prostrate figure.
  But the woman was faster than Scully would have 
thought. She managed to turn around - and it was 
Phoebe Green all right, and madder than a scalded 
cat, by the look of things - and brought her hands 
together, forming a large fist which she shoved 
upwards. Scully caught it in the stomach, and was 
momentarily winded.
  Phoebe tried to push Scully aside and get up, but 
Scully wouldn't let herself be so easily beaten. She 
grabbed a good fistful of Phoebe's hair, and pulled. 
Phoebe's yell of pain and rage was almost worth 
every moment of Scully's incarceration, although she 
felt that the drugged water still hadn't been paid 
for in full.
  And there was also...
  Scully fumbled the knife out of her pocket, and 
held it to Phoebe's throat.
  "Remember this, you crazy bitch?" Scully panted. 
Phoebe was staring at her, wide-eyed. "Remember 
when you were going to cut me with this - 'carve 
your initials into my forehead,' wasn't that what 
you were going to do?" Phoebe tried to swipe at 
Scully's hand, to knock the knife aside, but Scully 
instinctively responded with a wild stab towards 
Phoebe, hitting her wrist. Phoebe yelped.
  "Well, now it's payback time," Scully hissed. 
"Now it's time to maybe show you how we do things 
over here in the US." Phoebe tried to throw her 
weight to the side; Scully responded by punching 
Phoebe's chin. It felt so good, she did it again. 
And again...
  "Scully!" A loud cry, and this time it wasn't 
Phoebe, the cry came from somewhere behind her, and 
it was a man's voice. She turned, to see Mulder 
standing in the doorway, swaying a little. 
"Scully..."
  "Mulder." She forgot about Phoebe, and got up. 
He was walking slowly towards her. "Mulder..."
  "Watch out!"
  She half turned, in time to see Phoebe pitching 
herself at her, arms outstretched and reaching for 
her throat. Scully instinctively brought both hands 
around to defend herself. The knife, which she still 
held, gleamed for a moment - and then Phoebe, unable 
to stop her forward motion, fell on the blade, her 
body weight wrenching the knife from Scully's grasp. 
Scully stepped back, shocked, and felt Mulder's arms 
close around her. They both stood staring, as Phoebe 
hit the floor and half-turned, looking up towards 
Mulder.
  "Fox," she whispered, blood staining her lips. 
"Fox, I've always loved you... Hold me..."
  Mulder stared down at her. "Go to hell, Phoebe," 
he replied, hugging Scully closer.
  "Bitch..." Phoebe muttered something 
unintelligible, and stopped moving.
  Mulder took Scully's arm. "Come on, let's get out 
of here."

She didn't normally go to the office on Saturday, 
but after what the previous thirty-six hours had 
held she felt the need to get some normality into 
her life. Also, she had to arrange towing and 
repairs for the car.
  She stopped in the doorway, surprised. Mulder was 
sitting there, half hidden behind the computer 
screen. He looked up as she cleared her throat.
  "Back on duty so soon, Scully?"
  "I guess..." She sat down. She hadn't expected to 
find him here, but maybe it was all right. She 
picked up the nearest case file and opened it. 
  After about five minutes she closed it again, and 
leaned forward. "What are you doing?"
  "Just checking something..." He disappeared behind 
the screen again for a few moments, then reappeared. 
"Come and see this, Scully."
  She got up and walked around so she could see. The 
screen was currently listing flight manifests. 
Mulder said, by way  of explanation, "I can't find 
any record of Phoebe entering the US. Her name 
doesn't appear on any passenger lists, no visa were 
issued to her within the past five years... I'm 
getting the idea that maybe there aren't any records 
to be found."
  "You mean..."
  Mulder nodded. "I mean, she came into this 
country unnoticed because she intended to commit a 
crime, and she wanted to be sure that there was no 
trace of her. The house in Alexandria turns out to 
have been empty for several months - apparently she 
just broke in."
  "She made one mistake, though - she went to 
dinner with you. That made you a witness to her 
presence here," Scully pointed out. "Why would she 
do that?"
  "I don't know." Mulder sighed. "Unless she was 
so crazy she thought I'd condone what she was 
doing." He sighed. "Well, anyway, I don't think we 
have to worry about a thing. I mean, Phoebe has been 
found dead in an uninhabited house that she has 
clearly broken into. The passport found on the 
premises gives her name as one Lucy Sullivan. I 
heard from some contacts at Scotland Yard that she's 
been considered less than trustworthy in the past 
few years, and that most people thought she was 
becoming totally unhinged. I doubt anyone'll miss 
her."
  "I know I won't," Scully said with a shudder. 
She hugged herself, and turned away from the screen. 
"I'd just as soon forget that she ever existed."
  "Me too," Mulder said, getting up. He hesitated, 
then added, "What are you doing for the rest of the 
weekend?"
  "Nothing in particular... Why do you ask?"
  "I just thought maybe we could take in a movie... 
If you're up to it, of course."
  "Sounds good. As long as it's something that has 
absolutely no connection with reality... How about 
Star Trek?"
  "I was just going to suggest that," Mulder said, 
hugging her.


X-X-X-X-X


So... I finally got rid of Phoebe...