Feedback: Terma99@aol.com
From: Terma99@aol.com
Date: Mon, 29 May 2000 21:13:05 EDT
Subject: Cadenza by Terma99 (27/44)
Source: xff


Cadenza
by Terma99

Chapter Fourteen (27/44)

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********************************

Chapter Fourteen: Vintage

********************************

3:35 AM

It was nearing four AM, a time of morning Joshua had come 
to dread. He had been unable to get back to sleep after his 
improv a few hours ago. He was lying on his side next to 
Mulder, who was now dressed and leaning back against the 
headboard on pillows, typing in his laptop. The glow of the 
monitor cast a bluish tone over his unusually handsome face, 
giving his eyes a curious doll-like transparency.

Joshua hadn't realized it at first, but Mulder had started his 
shift a few hours early last evening, giving them more time 
than usual together. Even so, Joshua felt himself wishing for 
more, wishing for a time when Mulder wouldn't have to leave 
him before dawn--a time when he could sleep next to him all 
night and into a late morning with newspapers, coffee and 
tousled hair. He wondered if that day would ever come, or if 
this was all going to end when the guillotine over his head 
disintegrated. It surprised Joshua how much the course of 
this affair mattered to him. He usually accepted relationships 
as they came, and was at peace with them when they went. 
Yet here he was with someone whose duty was to show up 
every night and he was already hoping and yearning for 
more.

Over the years, Joshua had supposed the trust and security 
he was seeking in a companion could only be found in the 
female of the species, and he had spent over half a decade 
looking for a commitment there. But deep down, he knew the 
only times he had completely lost himself had been during 
those few, brief heated grapplings with members of his own 
sex. It was the only way to get at the core of him, to set free 
that soul-deep release. More often than not, he'd awake cold 
and alone wishing for a male lover who could extend those 
needs into the waking hours, to become more than a hard 
body, but a friend, a confidant. He knew it meant his job to 
stay alert, but Joshua longed to unshackle Mulder from his 
professional obligations, and in freeing themselves, see what 
roles they would assume. An idea quickly formed in his head 
and he sat up.

"Mulder, call your partner, tell her not to come."

Mulder looked up from his laptop. "You know I can't do that, 
Joshua. We're on shifts."

"Then let's take you off shift. I have tomorrow... or today, 
rather... off. Let's get the hell out of here for the day; no one 
will be the wiser."

"You mean leave San Francisco?"

"Yes, if the threat is here in town, then let's leave town. I'll 
take you up to Sonoma, show you a thing or two about 
grapes. It's beautiful this time of year; the vines will be 
changing colors."

Mulder tapped his space bar--he was thinking it over. 

"I'm not under house arrest. If I want to leave town I can, 
right? You can offer to take the watch for the day."

Mulder rubbed his forehead. "What do I tell Scully?"

"Tell her she has the day off."

The agent gave him a sarcastic look. "That's going to be just 
to the left side of normal for me. She's certain to be 
suspicious."

Joshua flopped over on his back, grinning like an errant 
child. "What does she think we're going to do in Sonoma, 
sleep together?"

Mulder pursed his lips. "You do have a point."

"Come on, you deserve it," he said, running his hand over 
Mulder's thigh. "We'll go back to your hotel so you can 
change and shower. I'll call for the car to meet us there by 
six. We'll get an early breakfast and head on up. It's about a 
two-hour drive; you can sleep on the way."

###

Marriott Hotel
5:10 AM

Mulder emerged from the hotel bathroom to find Joshua 
flipping through the suits in his closet. "Where's the suit you 
wore the night we went to Berkeley?" Joshua asked over the 
whir of the hairdryer. Somehow, Mulder had gone to bed 
with a man and woken up with a wife. Oddly, he just didn't 
mind all that much--at least Joshua noticed what he wore. 
"The dark blue one, far right."

"That's it." Joshua removed the hanger and laid it out on the 
bed while Mulder finished drying his hair, a towel tucked 
around his waist. Joshua looked at the suit and then at 
Mulder in the towel with poorly disguised lust. "I love you in 
blue. You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you that 
night."

"As early as that?" Mulder asked, shutting off the blow-dryer 
and letting the towel drop carelessly. He walked over to sit 
on the edge of the bed, slipping into a pair of boxers. Joshua 
didn't miss a beat of it, either. He certainly had a thing for 
his cock, and he wasn't about to be shy about it. 

"I pretty much wanted to fuck you from the start. Kissing 
you, however, took longer to decide. Ten to fifteen minutes 
later I think," he grinned, still eyeing the bulge as it slid into 
dark navy wool. "You drove me crazy that first night we were 
together in my bed, wanting your mouth."

"Why didn't you just...I don't know...ask me?"

Joshua cupped his own chin, thinking. "I don't know. I was 
afraid you'd be offended. Not all men like to be kissed like 
that. It's easy to get a man to give you his cock; his mouth on 
the other hand, is a whole other matter. The act of kissing is 
much more intimate."

Mulder nodded in agreement as he put on a crisp white shirt 
and then his socks and shoes. Kissing Joshua had certainly 
rushed him a great deal farther along this path he was now 
charging right up without much caution. He wasn't going 
away with Joshua today solely because he had been asked. He 
wanted to see if he felt any different being away from his job 
and other obligations, namely Scully. He wanted to see if he 
could gain some distance from the guilt and the fear he'd 
never be able to explain this situation with Joshua to her. It 
didn't help matters that he was dressing in front of his lover 
just a few doors up the hall from her room where she was 
hopefully still sleeping in.

He'd called Scully on his cell earlier while they were taking a 
cab back to the Marriott. He'd told her Joshua was heading 
out of town and he might as well tag along, dutiful agent that 
he was. He hated deceiving her about it and felt even more 
foolish when he resorted to Joshua's dialogue suggestion 
about telling her to just take the day off.

"You're kidding, Mulder. You're asking me to spend an entire 
Monday off the clock. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno, Scully. There's plenty of things to do in the city. 
You could catch a movie, a show, a ...."  In the backseat next 
to him, Joshua mouthed the word 'zoo.' "Go to the zoo, lots 
of stuff to see there." God, he was a miserable liar.

Mulder slipped on his coat and clipped on his holster. "Tie or 
no tie?" he asked his fashion consultant.

"Hmm, no tie...I like seeing a little flesh. It's like getting an 
early peek at a birthday present."

Mulder had to laugh at that comment as he picked up his 
wallet, badge and keys. God, this was getting fucking weird, 
he thought with humor--*Wake up Mulder, you have a 
boyfriend.* And a rather talented and attractive one at that. 
Joshua was looking especially striking in a dark thick 
charcoal wool coat and slacks. He wore a finely tailored pale 
yellow linen shirt, sans tie. Joshua was quite a gift to behold 
himself, and Mulder was finally beginning to really appreciate 
it. He was looking forward to being with him someplace 
beyond the SFPD and FBI beat. "Why don't you head down to 
the lobby while I slip some paperwork under Scully's door."

Joshua nodded and with an amused smile, reached for the 
doorhandle. As he passed him, Mulder added, "I just hope for 
your sake, that San Francisco really does have a zoo."

"It does," Joshua insisted, pulling the door shut behind them.

### 

Joshua and Mulder enjoyed a quick breakfast in the hotel 
lounge before heading out to wait for the car that pulled up 
at exactly 6:00 AM. It was a short black limousine not 
dissimilar from the one they took to the Cliff House the eve 
of Joshua's surprise party. 

"This certainly falls a few yards short of inconspicuous," 
Mulder commented, sliding onto the dark leather after 
Joshua.

"You'd be surprised, Mulder. Lots of visitors take hired cars 
to the Napa and Sonoma valleys. You get choice parking and 
don't have to worry about sampling yourself silly."

"Well, I don't know about all that sampling myself. I'm still 
armed," Mulder yawned, crossing his arms, waiting for the 
car's heater to unthaw him from the ten minutes they'd 
stood out front. He closed his eyes. It was a cold clear 
autumn day with a blustering wind that seemed to come up 
out of nowhere. He'd avoided the warming effects of coffee 
at breakfast so he could catch a nap. 

"Mulder, I told you. I want you off-duty today. Expect to be 
liberally plied with wine, cheese and chocolate. Besides, I 
asked my driver to bring his weapon today."

Mulder opened his eye, concerned. "What?"

"It's okay," Joshua assured him, lowering the privacy shield. 
"He's a licensed security guard. He's worked for me many 
times. Andy, show Mulder your gun."

Mulder leaned forward to see the driver was indeed packing. 
He gave Joshua a dissatisfied look and raised the screen back 
into its closed position. "Joshua, I don't like this at all," he 
whispered, although it was unnecessary; the driver couldn't 
hear them unless the comm was on. "I don't know this man."

Joshua leaned over and squeezed his hand. "It's all right. 
Trust me. I've known Andy for years--he's fine. He's safe. I 
want you to relax today, have a good time."

Mulder settled himself back into the seat, closing his eyes. "I 
would prefer it if you had asked me about this ahead of time. 
I could have run a background check."

"I'm sorry," Joshua said, rubbing his hand soothingly. "I want 
just this one day. Then we're back under your orders, okay?"

Mulder nodded reluctantly, and reclaiming his hand, soon 
began to drift off to sleep.

### 

8:45 AM

Aside from waking during a quick stop at the bank for 
Joshua to pick up a "shameless amount of spending cash," 
Mulder slept the entire ride up, the smooth rolling of the car 
lulling him into a surprisingly refreshing two-hour nap.

Joshua woke him with a gentle nudge once the car came to a 
full stop. 

Mulder straightened up, blinking. "Where are we?"

"On top of the world," Joshua smiled, throwing open his 
door. "Come have a look."

Mulder slid out of the car and got to his feet, taking a 
stretch. He could hardly believe what his eyes saw when they 
came into focus. They were parked at the top of a tall hill 
surrounded by white marble channels of running water, 
cascading down the hillside over descending steps into 
rectangular pools with spraying fountains. The crest of the 
hill was pyramid-shaped, covered in fresh manicured grass 
set with windows and terraces and rose gardens--a geometric 
palace built into the peak of a hill. He'd never seen 
architecture quite like it before. 

Turning around, he realized they were surrounded on all four 
sides by low rolling hills corduroyed in a patchwork of 
grapevines. The vines were freshly harvested, but still 
bedecked in their wide pointed leaves, all painted in various 
shades of burnt orange, red, burgundy, forest green, and 
earthy browns--each patch taking on its own combined and 
distinctive color--block for block over the landscape. The 
short, thick, twisted espaliered vines stood proud, in row 
after row like old children joining hands, stretching across 
the verdant slopes. It looked like Eden.

"Welcome to Bundschu Vineyard, Mulder," Joshua said, 
enjoying his awed reaction to waking in such a place. "They 
make damn good sparkling wine here."

"God..." was the only thing he could think to say about it.

"Yes, I do believe we have a higher power to thank for the 
rest."

Joshua had picked up a thermos of coffee at some point on 
the way up and offered a cup to Mulder, who took it, still 
trying to convince himself he wasn't dreaming. He sipped it 
slowly, watching a flock of starlings swirling like schooling 
fish through the cold blue air, coming to light on the rows 
upon rows of vines running along the vineyard hillside.

"The winery doesn't open for another twenty minutes. We 
can have a seat at the fountains and enjoy the air."

Mulder followed him down the white stone steps to the 
closest fountain pool and had a seat on the low wall. The 
water was flickering circles of yellow morning sunlight across 
the shallow tiled bottom.

Mulder took in the view and the coffee, feeling himself finally 
coming alert as the hot beverage warmed his belly. Joshua 
sat near him on his left, wrapped in his heavy wool coat 
watching the birds, while the fountain rushed to his right, 
hitting them with an occasional light mist. "I love Sonoma," 
Joshua said. "I'm glad I was able to bring you here. Do you 
feel rested? I plan on running you all over the valley."

"Pour me another cup and I'll be ready to go."

************************************

Chapter Fourteen
END (27/44)

Chapter Fourteen (28/44)

********************************

The inside of the hill was as beautiful and unusual as the 
exterior. Mulder stood under a long skylight looking down at 
the thin clouds reflected in a slate-bottomed pool lapping at 
his feet. He'd just finished touring a display of centuries-old 
casks and antiquated grape presses and barrels. Everywhere 
he went, he smelled the musty rich scent of fermenting 
grapes.

Joshua was at the tasting counter trying to decide between 
the extra dry or medium dry bubbling wine. He tried to 
persuade him to come have a taste, but Mulder opted for the 
water glass and biscotti instead--the coffee was still too fresh 
in his stomach. Joshua collected him after he made his 
purchase and they headed out from the palace in the hill, on 
to the next engineering wonder.

Each of the wineries they stopped at had a selection of four 
or five bottles open for tasting. They stood together at the 
long bars crowded with visitors, sipping and listening as the 
viticulturists poured and explained the importance of 
temperature, soil and air-- or why each wine was fruity, dry, 
sweet, oakey, or reminiscent of watermelon, peaches, or 
chocolate. 

Joshua was standing close at his side at a long bar, swirling a 
cabernet under his nose a few times before taking a small 
sip. "This is an especially complex red. The vineyards here at 
St. Supre are over 75 years old. Their roots go very deep, 
picking up flavor essences in the soil. This cab has an oakey 
taste with both raspberry and chocolate overtones." He 
handed his glass to Mulder. "Try it." Mulder took a sip. It 
tasted incredible, but he couldn't say it was anything like 
chocolate.

"It's good," he said, handing the glass back. "But I'm just not 
tasting the Hershey's."

Joshua finished off the swallow. "It takes some practice. 
You'll get the hang of it. I think I'll get a few bottles for Andy. 
He enjoys a good cab."

After a while, the visits all began to blur together. Joshua 
knew his wineries and grapes from Clos du Bois's 
Johannisberg Riesling to Lytton Spring's Gewurztraminer. The 
landscaping and structure of the wineries were both eclectic 
and traditional--from a hall built of piled wire-wrapped 
stone, to the dark and wet musty caverns of Ravenswood. 
Mulder remembered one with a large frog pond that he and 
Joshua walked around to sit at a bench near some willow 
trees. There were old stone manors covered in vines and 
homesteads surrounded by manicured Elizabethan knot 
gardens and white fences. Mulder followed him about in a 
pleasant wine-induced buzz the majority of the afternoon, 
just enjoying the exceptional scenery. He had told himself to 
take it easy on the alcohol, but Joshua was always there at 
his side at the tasting table swirling "just a sip of Gamay" or 
"you must try this Merlot." The deal was you were welcome 
to dump the remainder of your glass into a tureen, and they 
often did, but all those little sips add up over time. By 
midday, Mulder surrendered his gun to the driver, officially 
retiring from duty until his head cleared or Joshua had his 
fill of buying up bottles of wine.

"My collection's been getting low," he explained, handing 
Andy his gift of selected Cabernet along with another 
handbox of late harvest dessert wines to load into the leaden 
trunk.

###

The chill in the air made the contrasting interior of the warm 
car cozy and inviting. There was hot cider and slices of 
cheese to be enjoyed between stops along with warming hand 
rubs, cold noses and deep, flavorful kisses.

"I knew you would be good to kiss," Joshua said, shifting 
back on the seat, catching his breath from a particularly 
intense round of oral contact that had left them both blurry-
eyed and aroused. They were traveling up Highway 12, 
cruising to the next port or sherry.

"How's that?" Mulder asked, cooling off by popping a 
jalapeno-stuffed olive in his mouth.

"Because you have an honest face. There's a sincerity about 
you, an openness I rarely see. You're not afraid to show 
yourself. I enjoy that about you."

Mulder thought the compliment over as he discarded the 
toothpick in a small bag, selecting a bite of sharp Gruyere, 
chewing it thoughtfully. He swallowed. "You'd be surprised 
how often that honesty gets my ass into trouble."

"How so?"

"I have difficulty keeping my opinions to myself."

"Such as...?"

"Well, my insistence on the existence of extra-terrestrial life 
for one."

Joshua looked a bit stunned, yet somehow intrigued. "How 
do you figure that for a fact?"

Mulder paused a second, then decided to take the leap. "I've 
witnessed it."

Joshua gave a nervous laugh. "You're shitting me."

"No, I'm not shitting you. I've seen aliens. Lots of them." He 
stole a glance at Joshua. The violinist was hovering over his 
cider, about to take a sip. He cleared his throat instead and 
set the cup back down in its holder.

"Where?" he asked, sounding both a little scared and awed.

"All over. They live here. With us."

Mulder gave Joshua a break while he tore himself off a 
handful of baguette, chewing quietly.

"In California?"

Mulder grinned. "No, not in California. Much colder regions."

"What do they look like?"

"Four-and-a-half-feet tall, dark-gray skin, big lidless eyes, 
large bald heads--you know, the usual," Mulder said, 
casually, like he was describing a race of New Guinea 
tribesmen.

Joshua blinked, trying to gain some logic over this turn in the 
conversation. "What do they want?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Mulder said, regarding 
him with reassurance like a father looking into the eyes of 
his child when he tells him there's no such thing as monsters. 
The problem was, there were.

"I don't... Shit, I can't believe it. But I do believe it, coming 
from you. I'm thoroughly disturbed now, thank you."

"You still think kissing me is a good idea now that you know 
my real reason for joining the FBI?"

Joshua quirked a half-formed smile. "God help me, I do."

###

In the heart of town Sonoma Square offered four blocks of 
shops, cafes, galleries, and restaurants, plus an adobe 
mission and even a cheese factory. Aside from clothing, 
Mulder wasn't much of a shopper, so he tried not to get in 
too much trouble with the bell pepper-shaped egg timers and 
expandable sponges while Joshua set about buying up half of 
what must have been the eleventh store they'd stepped into. 
The driver had already taken three armfuls of bags back to 
the car in the last hour and a half.

Assorted mustard-based condiments, a six-piece glassware 
set, a blue and black melty-looking vase and a rubber duck 
were being rung up while Joshua asked the sales clerk if the 
dish towel set came in lime green. Feeling a tad out of the 
loop, Mulder wandered outside to spy a used bookstore one 
shop over. He sent a hand signal to Joshua who was fingering 
a wreath of garlic (now that's something that might actually 
come in handy) while he slipped away next door, leaving the 
armed driver to keep an eye on him.

The bookshop had that comforting musty smell of old paper 
and leather bindings Mulder loved. He inhaled fondly as he 
made his narrow way back to the parapsychology shelving. 

He had read most of the first and second chapters of Carl 
Sagan's "The Demon-Haunted World" when he felt Joshua 
sneak up from behind, pressing up against him in the quiet 
corner, his chin on his shoulder. "Good book?" he asked.

"Interesting. I used to have a paperback copy. I don't know 
what happened to it. Someone cleaned my bedroom a few 
months ago and I haven't been able to find a damn thing 
since."

"Then let me buy it for you."

Mulder shook his head, closing the book, easing back into 
Joshua as he returned it to the shelf. 

"I'm determined to buy you something today, you know."

Mulder chuckled. "I think you've bought most of the state of 
California something today."

Joshua kissed the back of his neck. "I know you're bored. We 
can get going. We have lunch reservations in Harrisburg in 30 
minutes, anyway."

"I'm sorry about that. I know you said you didn't get the time 
to shop very often. I shouldn't keep you from it. Go buy all 
the dish towels you want."

"I did. They're for Nana. I don't cook, remember?" Joshua 
said happily, giving him a warm hug. Mulder brought his chin 
to his for a brief kiss before a large woman started to wander 
into eye-shot and they moved apart. There was something so 
indulgently sinful about nuzzling one's male lover in public, 
Mulder thought. He couldn't deny the heady feeling Joshua's 
close presence was stirring in his belly. Maybe they could get 
a hotel room for a few hours after lunch? Or there was 
always the back of the car. It had served them before. 

He tugged Joshua's coat sleeve. "Let's get going."

###

They were being seated at Fantina's Ristorante in Harrisburg 
when Mulder noticed Joshua had a bag stuffed in the inside 
pocket of his coat. "What's that?" he asked as they took two 
chairs opposite one another at a table near the windows 
overlooking the Italian vegetable and herb garden.

"You didn't really think I was going to leave Sonoma without 
buying you something, did you?"

Mulder set his napkin in his lap as the waiter brought their 
bread and poured the ice water. "It's not the rubber duck, is 
it?"

Joshua grinned and pulled out the bag, handing it across the 
table to him. It looked like a book. 

Mulder opened the bag and recognized the scent of the old 
bookstore. "When the heck...?" He pulled it out. It wasn't the 
Sagan after all, but an old thick book on classical music--
*The Lives of the Great Composers* by Schumann. He opened 
the worn bound leather cover and looked inside. It was a first 
edition, signed by the author. "Joshua, it's..."

"It's the first book I ever owned on the composers. My 
grandfather bought me a copy when I was seven and used to 
read it to me at night. I loved hearing about the madness of 
Wagner and the licentious liaisons of Mozart. It's a wonderful 
book, written by a man who actually knew many of the great 
late nineteenth century composers when he was a court 
pianist in Germany. I thought you'd like it."

Mulder was so deeply moved by the gift; he wasn't sure what 
to say.

"Look at the cover engraving..."

Mulder closed the heavy leather cover. On the front was an 
embossed image of a man with a long beard.

"That's a reproduction of a famous lithograph of Johannes 
Brahms--the same one I saw hanging in the farm house over 
the piano when I was a kid. See why I loved the book so 
much?"

Mulder was beside himself with how to thank Joshua for 
something so profoundly meaningful, to both of them. He 
could hardly believe it was only five days ago that Joshua and 
he had first begun to know one another, sitting in his flat 
listening to him play the violin and talk about Beethoven. He 
was so moved in fact, all he could think to do was make a 
light joke. "I've heard you know it's time to question your 
sexuality when another man starts buying you gifts."

Joshua grinned, pleased to no end. "It's taken a *book* to 
bring this to your attention? I must be doing something 
wrong."

"No, you've been doing everything right," Mulder said, 
thoughtfully, passing his hand over the age-worn cover of the 
book, feeling the ripple of the leather under his fingertips. 
"Thank you, Joshua."


###

Their last stop of the day was Viansa, an Italian villa-style 
winery that specialized in both fine foods and vino. The 
upstairs room of the villa was packed with round tables and 
tasting dishes and crackers for sampling sauces, dips, 
condiments, and dressings. Joshua was in heaven, quickly 
filling a hand basket with items such as garlic olive dipping 
oil, peach-pineapple salsa and butter pecan ice cream 
topping. Mulder almost lost him in the shuffle of nibblers a 
few times, trying to catch his dark head behind the tall 
harvest pumpkin and cornstalk centerpieces.

Mulder caught up with his companion, dropping a couple of 
chilled bottles of spring water into the basket. "Here, Mulder, 
try this." Joshua was holding a small fudge-dipped cracker to 
his lips. He sucked it in quickly, trying to be discreet, but 
wound up with a few centimeters of Joshua's middle finger in 
his mouth. Joshua pulled it out slowly. "We'll definitely be 
needing a jar of this."

"Joshua..." Mulder warned in a hushed voice. He saw an old 
woman was giving them a pinched and disgusted look from 
across the table. Joshua followed Mulder's gaze and laughed 
silently, ecstatic they'd made someone squirm. 

"Don't worry about it. I doubt that old woman's had a decent 
roll in the hay in three decades," he whispered, moving away. 
Mulder watched him, realizing he had a long way to go 
before reaching Joshua's level of comfort with the nature of 
their relationship. He doubted if he ever would be completely 
comfortable--he was raised with too many biases and was 
quite frankly, still amazed he found intimacy with a man this 
surprisingly pleasurable. Was it just the lack of 
companionship in his life for so many years that was making 
him bond to Joshua, or was it simply the person? Would he 
feel differently if Joshua were a woman? He told himself he 
needed time before he could fully define the nature of his 
emerging feelings. He doubted they would ever have it.

###

Mulder stood on the Viansa verandah waiting for Joshua to 
ring his leaden basket through the checkout. The view from 
here was similar to the one they'd started the day with, but 
now the color of the sky was changing and the hills were 
dusted with an aging golden light. They'd need to be heading 
back soon. Joshua soon joined him at his point of 
contemplation. He handed Mulder his water and set the bag 
down while Mulder unscrewed the top and had a long drink. 
Wine tended to leave one parched.

Joshua was quiet, looking out over the valley. "I don't want 
to go back," he said.

"I can't blame you," Mulder said, watching the sun beginning 
to swell into a deep orange-red as it touched the peaks of the 
distant mountains.

"I want you to stay with me out here tonight, in the valley."

Mulder turned to meet Joshua's resolved expression. "You 
know I don't think that's a good idea, Joshua."

"Why? What makes it any different from my flat?"

"I haven't slept," Mulder said, seriously.

"There's something I wanted today more than anything else, 
but I've been waiting until now to ask you, because I wanted 
to be sure...I wanted to know if you would be the same 
outside of your duty to me as an agent. I wanted to know you 
as a companion, a lover."

Mulder could feel an instinctive call for caution rising up his 
spine, but the honesty in Joshua's eyes as he spoke softly to 
him was quickly dissolving his reserve. "What is it you want?"

"I want to sleep with you. I want us to make love without a 
time limit. I want to wake up with you in my arms and order 
in breakfast. I want to feel what it's like to be with you as if 
we had just met in a cafe and not under these bizarre 
circumstances."

Mulder didn't know what to say. His gut was urging him to 
refuse, while his heart was saying yes to the seductive image 
Joshua was presenting. It would be nice to fall asleep with 
someone. That was something normal people did. He wanted 
that more than he could admit. "You've already made 
arrangements," he realized.

Joshua gave him the faintest nod. He looked like he was 
wagering his soul on this. It was damn difficult to refuse this 
man anything, Mulder was discovering.

Mulder took another drink and screwed the cap back on the 
water bottle. "So where are we staying? Better not be the 
Napa Motel Six--I expect the best from you."

Joshua held the deepest gratitude in his tentative answering 
smile. "I won't disappoint you."

************************************

Chapter Fourteen
END (28/44)

Chapter Fourteen (29/44)

********************************

Despite the fact Mulder had only three or four hours of sleep 
in the past 24 hours, it was Joshua who gave up the struggle 
to remain awake as they rode up to the far end of the 
neighboring Napa Valley toward the mountainside resort of 
Auberge du Soleil, their exclusive lodging for the evening. 
Mulder watched the aisles of vines flicker past the window 
like a shuffled desk of playing cards, while Joshua breathed 
quietly in his ear from where he had nestled against his side 
to sleep. Mulder found it hard not to watch him, unguarded 
and relaxed. That ten-year-old boy became visible when the 
violinist slept. 

*He loves you,* Mulder told himself. It made him feel 
remarkably good. In Mulder's life, being loved openly by 
someone was a rare and beautiful thing. Tonight, he intended 
to cherish it.

###

Their room was covered wall to curved ceiling in terra-cotta 
stucco framed by rough solid beams of oak. Blocks cut from 
aged wine barrels burned steadily in the stone fireplace next 
to the bed, setting off a rich earthy scent. Four square white 
paned windows looked out over the patchwork of Napa 
Valley vineyards at twilight. Mulder removed his long coat 
and hung it over a chair. Joshua came over from where he 
had been sitting, watching the fire blaze up, and touched his 
wrist. His cheek to his, he whispered, "Do you want dinner or 
me now? I'm hungry for both."

Mulder lowered his head until his nose touched Joshua's 
hair. "Dinner first. We have all night for the rest."

###

A white tablecloth, two chairs, candlelight and three courses 
later, they were back in the room, an opened bottle of 
Orange Muscat forgotten on the hearth. The softness of the 
bed sheets welcomed them as their skin glowed with firelight 
and reflected the glistening trails where mouths had met 
flesh. Slowly, they took turns tasting each other like so many 
sips of wine. They had arrived at this haven unprepared, so 
lips and tongues and fingers worked unhurriedly, each taking 
possession of the other in turn. Like a canon duet, they 
brought one another to the edge of release and then with a 
caress or soothing rub, calmed, to change hands and begin 
again with a slow, deep kiss. 

Mulder came to understand why Joshua took such care with 
himself. He was amazingly sensitive to the places where 
Mulder was licking him now with lazy intent. Joshua's balls, 
wet with saliva and melting loose under the warmth of his 
tongue, ached with each passing of his mouth. Mulder rolled 
him then, when the feeling became unbearable, and spread 
his legs, continuing the tastings along his perineum to the 
sensitive rim of his anus, almost like a clit, begging to be 
soothed and teased.

It was something Mulder was good at, something he knew 
would please, and with the removal of the 4 AM hourglass 
and thoughts of Scully out of his head, he became fully lost 
in it, tuned only to the soft cries of pleasure coming from the 
man held captive under his slow ministrations. He had no 
intention of letting him go for a long, long while.

###

Mulder should have known that the rubber duck would make 
an appearance before the night was over. It was rocking on 
the water rippling the reflection of the dimmed bulb lighting 
overhead. Just under the duck's squeakable ass, Mulder 
could see the outline of his legs scissored between Joshua's. 
The younger man reclined with a washcloth over his eyes at 
the opposite end of the large tub. He watched as his 
companion reached out with a lazy hand to grope for the 
bottle of lemon Calistoga and bring it to his lips, taking 
several large swallows.

"I think," Joshua started to say, after he'd downed half of it. 
"I think I might have had too much to drink today."

"Headache?"

"Not just yet, but I feel something coming on--an involuntary 
clenching at the temples. I think I'll be in for it tomorrow. I 
really don't hold wine very well...the sulfides..."

Mulder freed his legs causing the water to kick up into 
waves. Joshua grumbled from under his towel. "Stop 
moaning and turn around."

Joshua sat up, leaning his head over so the washcloth 
plopped into the slightly steaming water. He turned around 
and leaned back against his lover, nestling himself between 
his legs. "What are you going to do?"

"Shh...just lie still." 

Joshua complied, lying limp against Mulder while he poured 
a little herbed bath oil into his palm, smoothing it between 
his hands and then applying it with his fingers across 
Joshua's forehead, rubbing in tight circles at his temples. 
Joshua made a sound of utter contentment and relaxed even 
further until his chin touched the surface of the water. "Does 
that help?" Mulder asked, repeating the motions and then 
journeying down the back of the violinist's head to rub the 
tendons at the base of his neck.

"Shit...you have incredible hands," he answered between 
grunts of pleasure.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should--your hands were the first thing I noticed about 
you. You have a pianist's hands, long and perfect, excellent 
for hitting octaves. And other important notes of interest..."

"Don't start," Mulder chided, slipping his hands forward to 
rub Joshua's jaw and chin.

"Mwy?" he tried to ask.

"Because, you're spent."

"Wrong again, agent." Joshua took Mulder's right hand and 
dipped it down deep into the warm water.

"Shit..." Mulder commented, feeling both impressed and old 
while he was examining the evidence. "What I wouldn't give 
to be thirty again. And you've had too much wine."

"Hmm...never been a problem for me. I feel I should tell you I 
only drink when I'm especially happy. Or in Sonoma. Today, I 
was both."

"Well, I wasn't exactly reserved myself. Oh, crap."

"What?"

"Andy still has my weapon."

"We'll go next door and get it in a minute. I'm enjoying this 
too much right now."

"So am I."

"I have a confession to make."

"What?"

"There's something I still want from you."

"And that's..." Mulder stopped when he realized what that 
was. He dipped his head to talk against the top of Joshua's 
head. "I thought you preferred...um--I hate trying to find the 
right words--the bottom?"

"Usually, but not all the time. One of most incredible aspects 
of sex between men is the ability to switch roles. You can 
keep stroking me by the way; I was enjoying that."

Mulder resumed manipulating Joshua under the water. Just 
discussing fucking him was getting the young man solid in a 
big hurry, not to mention the palpable stirring within 
himself. Perhaps there was still some youth left in him. "Well, 
I'll try anything once, but don't we need supplies?"

Joshua moaned and began to thrust into Mulder's hand. 
"Your call. I've tested clean for six years since my last male 
lover and there's plenty of bath oil."

"Am I going to smell like rosemary tomorrow?" he joked. 

"God, I hope so."

Joshua sat up and pulled the drain. Mulder made to stand. 
"Sit," Joshua told him. "I'm just going to warm us up and 
lower the water table. I want you here, where I can see you."

Mulder gave him a strange, but acquiescing look and sat back 
in the water on his knees.

Joshua turned on the hot tap and reset the plug. "Listen. Not 
everyone goes for this. If it bothers you, let me know, okay?"

Mulder gave him a nervous grin. "Okay."

When the water had filled, Joshua took a folded towel down 
off the rack and dropped it into the water. "For your knees," 
he explained, and turning Mulder around, he began to touch 
and kiss his shoulders much like he did that first night on the 
piano bench.

"God, I love your back. Beautiful..." Mulder could feel 
Joshua's erection nudging against him as he gently bent him 
forward and over, giving him access to his ass. "Put a towel 
under your head," he suggested. "Get comfortable." Mulder 
took his advice and lay against the wide edge of the bath, 
settling his head in his arms upon a thick towel, closing his 
eyes.

Joshua began by pouring a few droplets of bath oil over his 
exposed back and ass, massaging it into his skin, kneading 
the muscles and tendons, releasing his tension, relaxing him. 
His chest was lying comfortably against the gentle sloping 
back of the tub. The fact he was half-submerged gave him an 
embryonic feel, like he was floating, secure. It was so quiet in 
the room, he nearly went to sleep while Joshua massaged him 
between his shoulder blades and down his spine, taking his 
time. He could hear the tap dripping and the gentle whoosh 
of water as Joshua moved behind him. He felt the violinist's 
fingers slide between the cheeks of his ass, rubbing oil from 
his anus to balls, giving the area a warm, slick, sensual coat. 
The slippery sensation of hands and fingers rolling over his 
balls, ass and cock, fingering, tugging gently, brought him 
back from twilight and into the first stages of arousal. All the 
while Joshua was murmuring softly to him against his skin, 
kissing him, telling him how beautiful his body was, how 
strong and masculine--exactly what he loved to fuck.

The musician leaned in, resting his aroused cock between the 
cheeks of his ass, beginning to thrust slowly, running the 
shaft past his anus, getting him used to the sensation of 
having some pressure and weight directed toward such a 
vulnerable and untested part of his body. It felt good and 
Mulder turned his head to the side to reward his lover with a 
low moan.

"I thought you might like this," Joshua whispered, his hands 
reaching under the water to flick over his flat nipples. "Are 
you ready for more?"

###

Seeing the man exposed and submissive before him was 
almost like a dream. Joshua felt he could spend hours 
running his hands over the long plane of Mulder's back, or 
the narrow firmness of the well-formed muscles of his ass 
and thighs. Joshua found himself in the grips of the strongest 
physical attraction he'd ever felt for another person. Mulder 
was beautiful in every way possible to him. He was so 
desperately amorous for him right now, after their long day 
together, he almost regretted not waiting longer until Mulder 
had a chance to sleep. He figured after this Mulder would 
most certainly be signing off for the night and Joshua could 
only imagine himself waking a few hours from now, naked 
against him in the bed, wanting more. There was something 
he hadn't told Mulder--that although he'd had lovers enter 
him, he himself hadn't had the pleasure of fucking a man 
since the night he lost his virginity when he was seventeen. 
He'd been waiting for this a long time.

Mulder seemed relaxed and ready for more, so he sat back 
and replaced the gentle friction over Mulder's tight puckered 
anus with the pad of his thumb, circling it over the muscle, 
easing it, then gently pressing in. Mulder responded well to 
that feeling, having experienced Joshua's fingers in previous 
nights. He loved touching Mulder this way, feeling him inside, 
pink and warm and beautiful--something that was impossible 
to describe to most men who tended to associate their 
assholes with foul and unclean imagery. Joshua had known 
men who would think nothing of fucking him deep and hard, 
but wouldn't allow that same vulnerable invitation to be 
offered from themselves. This was a rare treat indeed. 

In a minute he exchanged his thumb for his index finger and 
slid in deep, letting his other hand take hold of Mulder's 
cock, stroking him slowly, from base to tip, careful not to 
oversensitize the head. He smiled when he felt the man under 
him begin to rock back into his probing, so he added another 
finger, sliding them in all the way and spreading them out on 
the retreat, stretching the tiny ring of muscle, teasing some 
give out of it. Bending his fingers, he found Mulder's prostate 
gland, massaging it gently, moaning a little along with Mulder 
as he felt his cock harden solid in his hand.


###

Mulder felt two fingers become three, and although it was 
more than what he was used to feeling over the past few 
nights, Joshua's slow but steady pace kept him relaxed 
enough to not mind the extra pressure in his rectum, which 
had seemed impossibly tight at first but was now noticeably 
softer and more open. It wasn't half bad, this sliding, deep 
feeling, and the occasional motions against his prostate sent 
a shock of astounding arousal from deep in his groin through 
to the head of his penis. Mulder wondered why he had never 
pursued anal penetration with women or explored himself on 
his own for that matter. He supposed it was another of those 
cultural biases--to touch one's own ass in pleasure was 
somehow dirty, evil and wrong. What utter nonsense. Joshua 
was right about him, he needed to expand his thinking. He'd 
wasted nearly forty years not knowing this side of his 
sexuality. It felt almost like a rebirth.

"I'm going to try you now," Joshua said, slowly sliding his 
fingers out.  "Tell me if it feels wrong." Mulder nodded, 
murmuring his assent and opened his heavy eyes. If he 
turned his head just right he could see Joshua kneeling back 
and lubricating his cock with oil. It was a gorgeous sight to 
see those hands at work. He seemed to be taking his time 
with it, taking some pleasure for himself. God, now watching 
a man masturbate himself was turning him on, what next? 
Well, he knew what next--if those Oxford boys could see him 
now.

"Are you watching me, Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"Good, because one of the hardest things to get used to as a 
man is not being able to see what's happening to you. We're 
visual creatures. Feeling without watching is foreign to us." 
He came back up and Mulder lost his glistening, erect organ 
from his line of sight. "I'll tell you what I'm doing." Mulder 
felt something against his anus and immediately tensed. "It's 
okay, that's my thumb again, relax."

Mulder closed his eyes and gave into the feel of being rubbed 
again around the anus; more oil was being spread. "You'll feel 
the head now." Something soft and big was pressing in next 
to Joshua's thumb as it slowly slid out. There was a moment 
of pure terror as he felt his anus resist and then suddenly 
give under the pressure and pop open and slip over like an 
elastic band. It didn't hurt, but the oddness of it made him 
clench. Joshua's hand was on his lower back, rubbing him. 
"It's okay, Mulder. I'm in, or the head is, anyway. The rest is 
easy. Tell me if I go too deep for you."

###

Watching the end of his cock slowly disappearing into this 
man was an undeniably erotic experience. As much as he 
wanted to thrust deeply into that incredibly tight clenching 
heat, he knew he had to go slow--in a little, then back a bit 
before pressing in again. He could feel the muscle ring 
squeezing him, holding onto him as he descended into bliss. 
He couldn't help but groan aloud at the sensation. Joshua 
had found it somewhat mentally frustrating to be so aroused 
these past several days without the psychological release of 
thrusting into someone. He needed this badly. "Does that feel 
okay?" he whispered, trying to hide how incredible this was 
feeling in case Mulder wanted to stop.

"I'm okay. How far are you?"

"Almost there. Let me try the whole thing," he said and slid 
steadily in until his balls rested against his lover's ass. God, 
that was nice. "Done." He rested his cock there, in him, 
waiting with all the patience he could muster for Mulder to 
tell him it was okay to move.

###

Joshua was waiting for him, asking him if he felt okay. 
Mulder wasn't sure...wasn't sure what he was feeling. It just 
felt odd. He felt fullness and pressure and something kind of 
good at the root of his balls. But the fact was, his brain 
wasn't used to registering these types of sensations in this 
part of his body. An erect cock was quite different from the 
touch of fingers. Being fully penetrated was setting off some 
natural alarm system in his brain, threatening to cancel this 
experiment that had thus far brought him a great deal of 
pleasurable anticipation. He supposed he thought it was 
going to feel immediately different, like what he imagined a 
woman feels. Except, he wasn't a woman. Joshua certainly 
felt something pretty intense when he fucked *him.* Why 
wasn't he feeling that? Was he missing something?

"Mulder?" Joshua was beginning to retreat.

"No. It's all right. My brain just got confused."

Joshua chuckled warmly, caressing his back and thighs some 
more, soothingly. "It will do that until you learn to associate 
these feelings with pleasure. We can try again some other 
time."

"Wait."

"Wait?"

"Go ahead and move; I want to feel you." They'd made it this 
far, after all.

"Okay, I'll start slowly." 

Joshua sank back in until they met balls to ass again--then he 
took a tiny pull back, thrusting gently in a shallow increment. 
He felt Joshua lean back over him and take his confused 
penis in hand, stroking it in a familiar and stimulating way. 
Mulder soon discovered that as the pleasure rose in his cock, 
the sensations in his ass grew more favorable and 
comfortable--that nice little feeling near his balls was 
growing into a rising disassociated sensation, a warming tug 
that was definitely becoming a good thing, a really good 
thing.

"More," he whispered and Joshua was more than willing to 
oblige him.

###

Mulder was asking for more. That pleading tone in his deep 
throaty voice sent a rush of heat straight to Joshua's groin. 
Mulder was enjoying this; he wanted this, wanted him inside 
him, letting Joshua take his pleasure from him in such a 
vulnerable and giving way. The notion he was finally fucking 
Mulder was stimulating in the extreme--as stimulating as the 
unbearably tight sheath of his ass, hot and slick around him.

Joshua let go of Mulder's cock and came back up on his 
knees, holding the man's hips firmly so he could thrust more 
deeply, more satisfactorily. When Mulder responded with a 
rough and urgent groan, Joshua couldn't resist the instinct to 
move a little more vigorously, knowing he couldn't last like 
this for very long. It was too close, too good, too passionate. 
Water was kicking up and splashing over the edge of the tub 
from his efforts. He needed this too much to hold back from 
the deep pleasure gathering in his balls, drawing them up so 
tight he was beginning to ache from holding back.

###

"I'm sorry.... I've wanted this so much."

And that's when it occurred to Mulder, this was Joshua in 
him, about to come; this brilliant, attractive young man who 
had taken notice of him, who had shown him such kindness 
and understanding. It was Joshua who desired him, accepted 
him, who had taken him away from the dullness he'd been 
drowning in and reminded him of who he was inside, a 
tender and passionate man-- someone worthy of love, 
someone who could give love. This was about so much more 
than getting off in a strange and unusual way. This was about 
opening up and taking someone inside himself--opening up 
his soul.

These thoughts were bringing about deep waves of pleasure 
emanating from his pelvic area and sweeping over his entire 
body, not just the length of his cock. His heart rate was rising 
and he felt himself coming up off the edge of the tub, bracing 
himself, seeking more and more of that strange and beautiful 
pleasure taking possession of him. All the while Joshua was 
fucking him, steady and solid, building to his own peak, 
making soft unguarded sounds, thrusting faster and deeper, 
holding them together. 

Mulder almost didn't recognize his own orgasm when it hit. It 
came from within, a crashing intense sensation--stronger and 
longer than anything he had ever experienced. He cried out, 
gripping the head of his penis, thrusting sharply, feeling his 
come rising and spurting hard through his fingers. He felt 
overpowered by it as it slowly retreated with Joshua's final, 
disjointed, shuddering thrusts, leaving him with a peaceful, 
sinking feeling of profound satisfaction, an exquisite 
emotional release unlike anything he had ever felt before. He 
felt rewarded, fulfilled--all he wanted to do was curl up and 
sleep. He slumped back heavily against the edge of the tub, 
softly moaning. Joshua was pressed up behind him, hugging 
him, kissing him feverishly, thanking him, as the escaped 
water pooled across the bathroom floor.

************************************

Chapter Fourteen
END (29/44)

Chapter Fourteen (30/44)

********************************

Joshua lay awake watching the fire whipping down. He had 
re-laid it after he and Mulder made it up out of the tub, both 
a little shaken and amazed, yet still somewhat shy about 
showing it to one another. Joshua sat him on the edge of the 
bed, drying his nodding head with a towel, before laying him 
down naked under the warm covers of the bed to a well-
earned rest. It was well into the night now; it felt late. His 
lover was sound asleep spooned against him, his arm over his 
hip under the sheets. But Joshua couldn't sleep, not yet. Not 
while his chest was aching and his eyes burning from more 
than an errant wisp of smoldering firewood. 

He knew this feeling that held him bitterly. The emotion was 
deep and profound. The whole day--the companionship, the 
wine, the kisses, the lovemaking--it was unmistakable, it rang 
through his very bones. And now that the night was passing 
so easily into dawn, he knew deep in his soul he was marked. 
It's a terrifying and wonderful moment when a man realizes 
he no longer belongs exclusively to himself. Now, in this 
room, in this bed, being held so closely, he wondered if any 
of himself remained at all. As much as he had wanted this 
day, he had been wholly unprepared for what it would bring 
him. 

As close as they were, as close as they had become, the truth 
burned into his mind--there was no composition written in 
any key, in any century, by any composer for gun and violin. 
And neither was ever likely to set their instrument aside.

***************************

5:30 AM


Joshua was woken from a heavy sleep by someone calling his 
name. He opened his eyes. It was nearly dawn. The sky 
outside the window was beginning to turn gray. Mulder was 
still pressed up behind him, breathing deeply and steadily. It 
wasn't him. Maybe he had been dreaming. He closed his eyes.

"Joshua..."

Joshua's bones went cold. He knew that voice. He opened his 
eyes and turned his head slowly. The room was dark, empty, 
but to his horror he realized the door was open, the dim light 
of the hall peering in. He struggled to sit up and in doing so 
looked back toward the fireplace. The Thin Man was standing 
at the hearth, smiling. He opened his tattered and filthy coat 
of felt to expose his distended and sickened stomach.

"I am swollen," he said.

His gray eyes were fixed on him as Joshua reached next to 
him to shake Mulder awake. Mulder didn't respond, just kept 
sleeping despite Joshua calling out his name. "Mulder, wake 
up! Wake up!"

Mulder stirred, and mumbled something. 

Joshua tore his eyes away from the specter to look down at 
him. "Mulder, he's here!"

Mulder opened his eyes, struggling out of the depths of sleep. 
"Who's here?"

"The Thin Man! He's..." To his shock the Thin Man had 
vanished from the hearth. Joshua scanned the room with his 
eyes. There was a silhouette floating in the doorway. "He's at 
the door; can you see him?"

Mulder was sitting up now, blinking into the darkness. 
"Joshua? Why is the door open?"

"He's there in the doorway. He's turning now," Joshua 
whispered. "God, can't you see him?"

"No...Fuck! My weapon!" Mulder jumped out of bed to his 
feet, grabbing his pants and pulling them on. "Shit, where's 
Andy? I thought he was watching the door."

"He's gone now. Didn't you see him? I think he moved up the 
hall."

"Who, Joshua?"

"The Thin Man, Mulder--he was in our room!"

"Look, stay right there; don't leave the room. I'm going next 
door to get my weapon and have a look around, okay?"

Joshua pulled the sheet over his legs. He was shaking. 
"Okay."

###

Mulder quickly checked the closets and the bathroom before 
locking Joshua in the room and heading next door to knock 
on Andy's door. The door pushed open with the pressure of 
his knuckles. Inside, the room was lit, but empty. "Andy?" 
There was no answer.

Mulder found his gun resting on a table next to an opened 
bottle of Cabernay. He unholstered it, checking to make sure 
it was still ready to fire. It was. If his guess was right, the Thin 
Man was announcing the next attack, which could come from 
anywhere at any minute--possibly from Andy, who was 
missing from his post. Mulder inspected the room quickly, 
anxious to get back to Joshua. His worst fears were realized 
when he found a scrap of hotel stationery crumpled on the 
floor. There was writing on it: "The soldiers are coming."

"Mulder...!" He heard Joshua yell from the room next door 
and he ran out of Andy's room and back to theirs. The door 
was thrown open. Andy was standing at the foot of the bed. 
Fuck! He hadn't been gone more than fifteen seconds. Andy's 
revolver was drawn, pointed at Joshua's chest where he sat 
naked on the bed.

"Drop your weapon!" Mulder shouted. But the security guard 
didn't acknowledge him; he had a glassy look to his eyes, a 
stillness. His attention was focused only on Joshua.

"Joshua, listen to me," Mulder said, stepping stealthily 
toward the armed man. "When I say 'Go,' I want you to dive 
for the floor and under the bed as fast as you can."

Joshua gave a solemn nod. Mulder took another step and 
said, "Go."

Joshua moved and Mulder fired his weapon. In the same 
second he heard Andy's revolver turn, load and connect, 
blasting past where Joshua had been sitting, breaking a 
chunk of plaster from the wall. Andy was on the ground 
holding his shoulder and squirming from where Mulder had 
shot him in the upper arm, throwing off his aim and making 
him drop the weapon. Joshua crawled forward from beneath 
the fallen bedclothes to grab the pistol and hold it nervously 
on Andy.

"Joshua, don't point that thing unless you know how to use 
it," Mulder snapped, holding Andy down with his knee while 
he looked for something to tie his hands with. His handcuffs 
were conveniently back in the trunk of the car--perfect. He 
ordered Andy to put his arms behind his back, which the now 
visibly shaken and confused man did, as Mulder bound his 
wrists with a telephone cord.

"Joshua, I want you to get on this phone, if it's still working, 
and call hotel security. Now!"


****************************************

St. Helena Hospital
9:58 AM

Andy was safely admitted to the St. Helena Hospital where 
the bullet wound was explored, bound and dressed. He was 
going to be fine, but still had no reasonable explanation for 
why he was found standing over Joshua with his weapon in 
his hand, or why he failed to respond to Mulder's shout to 
drop it.

It was pissing rain when the rental company pulled up with a 
sedan to take Mulder and Joshua, and Joshua's spending 
spree packed in the trunk, back to San Francisco. Mulder had 
been delayed for almost two hours at the hospital answering 
questions and filling out paperwork. Joshua had little to do 
but pace around the visitor's seating area watching the rain 
beat against the windows. It was a good thing they were in a 
hospital, considering the level of anxiety he was 
experiencing. One look at his lover's face, post-shooting, and 
he knew things had made a turn for the worse. That self-
sacrificing stubbornness and determination he so admired in 
Mulder was about to come crashing down on him. Mulder 
hadn't so much as asked him if he was okay since they left 
the scene. Joshua was shaking in his woolen coat and 
stomped his legs to try and gain an edge over it. He was being 
avoided. Fuck, he hated this feeling.

Eventually Mulder made an appearance, holding a set of keys. 
"Come on. We're outta here."

###

In the car, Mulder kept a steely watch on the narrow valley 
freeway, navigating through the traffic and downpour. The 
windshield wipers were swishing aside a cascading sheet of 
water with an audible whoosh-whoosh. Joshua sat huddled in 
his coat, miserable at Mulder's silence.

"Can we talk about this?" he finally asked when the stress of 
waiting had reached an unbearable level.

"What's to discuss? I think it's obvious...some changes are 
going to be made."

Joshua shifted his legs, crossing one over the other, trying to 
brace himself. "What changes?"

"I can't even begin to tell you how furious I am with myself," 
Mulder announced suddenly. "This stupidity on my part ends 
now."

Joshua folded his arms across his chest, hugging himself, 
trying to stay calm. "Mulder, I understand. But that doesn't 
mean we can't..."

"Dammit, Joshua. That's exactly what this means," the agent 
said, slapping the steering wheel with his palm. "I can't 
protect you if I'm fucking you. I think we proved that today. 
I'm sorry," he said, bringing some calm back into his voice, 
"but continuing to risk your life is not an option."

Joshua swallowed an angry retort and looked away out his 
window at the valley. Its once-brilliant colors were dulled and 
smeared by sheets of rain. This place had been a paradise to 
him not 12 hours earlier. He couldn't believe this was 
happening. Why was he being punished like this?  "I don't 
think you realize how much I care about what happens with 
us," he said thickly.

Mulder's fingers tapped the steering wheel and he heard the 
agent sigh heavily. "Joshua..." 

"Don't," he said, stopping him. He could hear the beginnings 
of the 'this is the end' tone in the agent's voice. He ground 
his foot into the floor of the car to keep himself from coming 
apart. Two hours was a long time to wait to scream.


***************************************

He didn't scream. Instead, he dumped his packages 
unceremoniously onto the floor near the kitchen bar and 
made straight over to the violin, shouldering it and playing 
vigorously every late-twentieth century discordant ugliness 
he could recall. They were abstract and sharp tones that 
reflected the broken and tousled contents of his chest. He 
was much too angry for tears.

Mulder was standing near his front door on the phone, trying 
to reach Dillmont, but instead arranged for another agent 
from the SF office to head over. Then he called his partner, 
telling her he'd be right over. Joshua knew it was only 
business, but that call hurt him almost more than Mulder's 
conversation or lack thereof in the car.

Joshua played loudly and harshly, whipping the bow, as 
Mulder sat near the door in the chair Dillmont usually 
occupied until the bell rang. A strange agent arrived, armed, 
female, young. Joshua ignored her attempt to call out an 
introduction to him.

"He's a little upset," he heard Mulder mutter.

"Goddamn right, the violinist's upset!" Joshua snapped, 
sliding his violin back in the case with a 'tonk.' "I'll be in the 
only place a person can find any privacy in this room," he 
said with mocking calmness and headed toward the 
bathroom, shedding his shirt as he went. 

Ten minutes later, pelted with hot spray and half covered in 
soap, he sank along the tile wall of his shower, brought to his 
knees by hard, choking sobs.

************************************

Chapter Fourteen
END (30/44)

Chapter Fifteen (31/44)

*********************************

Chapter Fifteen: Brahms and Betrayal

*********************************

Marriott Hotel
1:02 PM

Mulder stripped down and stepped into the shower, letting 
the hot water spray over him, running down the curve of his 
back to his tailbone. His ass was still aching slightly from last 
night's experiences, as if he was still being penetrated--a 
sensual twinge that pulled at his mind. He was hard again, 
wanting more again, and he took himself fast and quickly, 
coming against the tile, trying to clear himself of the crushing 
feeling so he could focus again. He didn't have the luxury of 
long sultry afternoons to sort through his conflicting emotions. 
He had a job to do, and right now he was acutely aware of 
how much he had jeopardized that position. He rinsed himself 
and hurried out of the shower to dress.

The bed was still made, and on top of it were the carefully 
arranged scraps of the message. It was still trying to speak to 
him, Mulder felt--its random voice perhaps not all that 
random. He stopped buttoning his shirt to take up a fresh 
sheet of Marriott stationery. "You must hear us..." he wrote 
and tore the words loose, adding them to the arrangement. 
These people, or this person, wanted Joshua to stop fleeing 
the messenger and try to understand what was struggling to 
be communicated to him. It shouldn't take much to make the 
message clear, but the final words were just not coming 
forward. Hopefully, the new papers and letters they had 
gathered would bring the whole conundrum into focus.

Mulder finished dressing and made to leave. On the chair near 
him was the book Joshua had bought him--the embossed 
image of Johannes Brahms gazed kindly back at him like a 
loving patriarch. He wondered what Joshua was doing right 
now, sleeping? eating? seething? He hated that their affair 
had to end so abruptly. It was going to be difficult not 
spending the evenings with him. Mulder put on his coat and 
tugged at the latch on his door. He paused, turning to look at 
the book. Impulsively, he picked it up, tucking its solid weight 
under his arm as he exited the room.

###

Scully was waiting for him in the hotel's restaurant for lunch. 
Lunch was her idea. He wondered if it meant anything. 

"Is Joshua all right?" she asked as he joined her at her table, 
setting his coat with the book hidden in it on the ledge next to 
him.

All right? 

"Yeah, he's fine," Mulder answered bluntly, setting his napkin 
on his lap and picking up the menu. It was an accurate 
assessment. The man wasn't bleeding, at least not on the 
outside. The menu's words blurred; he was feeling anything 
but hungry right now.

"Are *you* all right?" she asked next, gently pressing. His 
chest caught. Did she know? Was it obvious? The police report 
put him in Joshua's room last night--she'd read that for 
certain. But then, that was his assigned post. Who's to say he 
didn't pass the night sitting up in an armchair?

"Yeah, I'll be okay. I'm just not pleased with myself. I made a 
very stupid error last night."

Scully eyed him carefully; she looked worried. She was 
waiting for him to close the menu and elaborate. He let the 
meaningless entrees skim by his view before he just set the 
menu down. "I've been completely wrong about how the Thin 
Man chooses his handpuppets. I made the wrong connections. 
I thought we were looking for weak-minded people. Your 
autopsy must have been more accurate than we both thought. 
There was nothing wrong with the valet--just as there was 
nothing unusual about the state of mind of Andy Parsons."

"Until he inexplicably felt the urge to point his weapon at 
Joshua," Scully added.

Mulder fingered the edge of his origami napkin. "Yeah. It 
doesn't figure to me at all." He looked her in the eye, his voice 
like steel. "I swear to God, Scully, he was aiming to kill. And I 
all but placed the gun in his hand."

Scully reached out and touched his wrist in reassurance. "You 
couldn't have known Andy would be dangerous. It was Joshua 
who asked him to bring the weapon, Mulder."

The waiter made his way to their table and Scully ordered the 
club sandwich. Mulder did the same, too disinterested in the 
meal to choose for himself.

"There's something else, Scully."

Her expression changed abruptly--it almost appeared as if 
she flinched. "What?" she asked.

Mulder was, for the moment, startled. She did seem to be 
avoiding something. Their working conversations always ran 
like this, dancing around the more important unspoken issues 
at hand. She had seen them together in Joshua's room, and 
now that Sonoma was a complete bust.....It didn't take a 
finely-honed investigator to make the numbers add up. 
Mulder continued with the case facts.

"When I interviewed Andy Parsons in the hospital, he told me 
he'd never seen or heard of anyone matching the description 
of the Thin Man."

Her posture eased. "Did he have an answer as to why he 
wrote, 'The soldiers are coming,' on hotel stationery?"

"He had no memory of writing the words; although he did 
identify the writing as his. After some time he told me he'd 
been dreaming about soldiers marching up a snow-covered 
road splattered with blood."

"What do you think it means?"

"I'm not sure, but I have an afternoon visit planned to the 
offices of the Ukraine Liberator."

"More translations?"

 Mulder toyed with his flatware, lining them up more evenly. 
"Yes, but more importantly, I want a translation of the events 
that might be making themselves known through the 
peculiarities of this case."

"You're still looking for connections to the famine?" she 
assessed.

"I think history might be trying to repeat itself," he said, and 
took a long swallow of ice water.


****************************

Marina Flat
2:30 PM


Joshua woke in the late afternoon. He laid on his stomach in 
his bed with his eyes closed, trying to keep his gathering 
mind from the temptation of replaying yesterday's memories. 
He didn't want to remember what it had felt like to be 
completely happy. Instead, he tried to focus on the emptiness 
he felt, the emotional exhaustion hollowing out his chest. 
There was nothing inside him, no more anger or frustration. 
He was sick of crying himself to sleep. Perhaps his lover had 
been right; there was something to be said for feeling numb.

There were heeled footsteps on his hardwood floor. He 
opened his eyes and rolled his head to look. The young female 
agent with the polished black sidearm was strolling near his 
windows. It was always a surprise to wake and see who was 
occupying his space, taking possession of it as if they were an 
invited guest. They weren't. In fact, he'd had quite enough of 
being "entertained" by the FBI.

Joshua sat up in his bed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. 
The agent glanced his way and smiled politely. 

"Look," Joshua said through his hands. "No offense, but would 
you mind honoring a private citizen's request to be allowed 
privacy in his own home?"

She looked confusedly at him. "I can step outside if you'd 
like."

"I'd like it if you just left."

"I'll have to put a call in to Agent Mulder..."

Joshua groaned. "No. Look. Please just leave. I need to be 
alone. Completely alone. You can understand that, right?"

"I'll need to check in first."

Joshua threw his sheets back and stood up, wearing only a 
pair of undershorts. He made his way over to his kitchen bar 
to lift the wall phone off the hook. "What's the number?"

Joshua dialed 411 when he didn't get an answer from her. 
"Yes. Hello, I'd like the number for the FBI San Francisco Field 
Office. Thank you. Please put me through.....Hello? Good 
afternoon. This is Joshua Segulyev speaking......Yes, the concert 
violinist. I'm, as of 2:30 this afternoon, calling off my assigned 
FBI protection.....I know you don't know what I'm talking 
about, but leave a note for Agent Mulder. Tell him...tell him 
I've had enough." 

Joshua hung up the phone in time to see the agent on her cell, 
trying to get through to someone in charge of this ridiculous 
situation. Joshua stepped past her and opened his front door 
wide, inviting her to leave. She was still on hold when he 
closed and dead bolted the door after her. 

Alone again at last.


**************************

The Offices of the Ukraine Liberator
424 Harrison St.
3:22 PM

Johannes Brahms sat patiently in Mulder's lap as he waited in 
a musty threadbare chair at the foot of a narrow staircase 
which lead up to the Liberator's main office. Mulder's 
forefinger idly traced the contours of the composer's long 
beard on the cover. Brahms' proud romantic themes had 
become the symbolic representation of Joshua's bond to his 
grandfather. Mulder wondered what it was like to be so 
connected to another person that you felt inspired to honor 
them through art. Joshua's landmark recording of the Brahms 
Concerto would remain preserved in digital audio on the back 
of a CD, or whatever media lay in the future, forever. This was 
perhaps why artists were determined to struggle so much. 
Brahms, Beethoven, Bach--all these men had neighbors, 
servants, cousins, maybe even wives and children that time 
had all forgotten. The rewards of sacrificing one's life to art 
was the diamond-solid trophy of immortality. Joshua, in the 
interests of preserving those awards, had made himself their 
proxy, one that would never be forgotten for his services.

"Agent Mulder?"

The gruff low voice of Leo Petrovsky shook him from his 
musings. Mulder slipped the book into the packed evidence 
satchel he'd hauled in with him and stood to ascend and greet 
the stocky man again.

"You have more translations?" the Liberator's editor asked, 
returning his handshake. 

"Yes, but more than just words and letters. I need someone 
who understands the heart and soul of Ukraine."

Mulder followed Leo through the dim crowded office that 
overlooked the busy 101 freeway overpass and its occupation 
of homeless and addicts within the dark concrete columns. 
Mulder passed a set of plain brown cubicles stuffed with 
three or four journalists and copyeditors speaking in foreign 
tongues, before he and Leo entered a private office at the 
back of the rented space. 

Petrovsky's office was cluttered with clippings, newspapers, 
posters, binders, broken pencils and wrinkled printouts. Leo 
lifted a stack of unopened mail from a chair and offered the 
seat to Mulder, while he took a seat behind the long desk, 
vanishing under a load of paperwork. Petrovsky laid his thick 
arms on the center of the desk and cleared a space like a child 
starting a snow angel. Excess clutter slipped off onto the floor 
and a nearby light table in a manila avalanche.

"There, now you are welcome to my office," he said. Behind 
him was an outdated ceiling-to-floor poster that read "Free 
Ukraine" in large spray-stenciled block letters.

"I'm here again because I'm still working this case, that quite 
frankly, has me stumped," Mulder said, laying out the new 
evidence from Joshua's grandfather's home. "I'm working 
with a Russian/Jewish violinist of Ukrainian origin who we 
believe is cursed, or being threatened by someone who would 
like him to believe he's cursed."

Leo fingered the old letter and document Mulder had set 
before him. He paused at the certificate. 

"You have another birth announcement," he said, reading it 
aloud. "This document sanctifies and consecrates the Christian 
birth and baptism of Ivan Segulyev, son of Dimitri and Irina 
Segulyev, 1912, in St. Sophia's Holy Catholic Church, Chutove, 
Poltava Province. May the blood of Christ protect this child." 
Petrovsky pushed the document back toward Mulder. "This is 
one of the men in the photo with the thresher you showed me 
the other day."

"Yes, it is," Mulder admitted. "It's also my witness' 
grandfather, who, to the best of my knowledge, defected to 
the US during the 1933 famine. I'm hoping this new letter 
will shed some light on that history," Mulder said, touching 
the letter from Alexander Kosynakov. "The author of this 
letter has been sending written threats to my witness for the 
past eight months. His name appears on both the synagogue 
birth document and the register we brought you earlier. By 
his handwriting, he also appears to be the farmer who kept 
the log at the start of the famine."

Leo took the letter from him and opened a drawer, producing 
a pair of petite reading glasses. He perched them at the end of 
his nose, making his large head seem even larger. "That is not 
likely," he said simply, beginning to read the letter.

Mulder was lost. "Why do you say so? We've had the 
handwriting analyzed. It's a fact."

Leo grunted. "Perhaps it is a fact to your analyst, but not to 
someone who knows 1930s Ukraine. Jews were forbidden to 
own land. Kosynakov could not have been a landlord, or 
'Kulak' as the Soviets liked to falsely label them. The word 
literally means "fist"--someone who lends money to others, 
holds them in their debt. They used the scapegoat term to 
accuse and send millions of successful capitalist-minded 
farmers and their families off to struggle for life in Siberia. 
When I read the farming log, I could tell this landowner was a 
good man, responsible for a small hamlet of families. From his 
first recorded harvest it seemed to me that he had been 
prosperous. Individual prosperity was like a sickness to the 
communist revolution..." he paused as he read the letter.

"The man who writes this... He is making a statement to his 
workers, or tenant farmers of his hamlet. He is stating that he 
is leaving the 'savings' in the care of his 'brother.' It is not the 
real blood-term for brother that he uses, but one that means 
'alike in spirit.' He says that the GPU--the secret police--will 
be coming for him. They do not care anymore that his father 
was a war hero. He says that the land they awarded his father 
for his valor in the civil war between the Reds and the Whites 
is condemning him, that he is to be made an example of. He 
hopes to...this is confusing to me...he is asking that the tenants 
pretend to believe in him as a false man...wait! Oh, I see. He is 
disguising himself and hoping that when he reaches Kiev for 
labor assignment he will be returned once he has proven he is 
only a common peasant." 

Leo paused and rubbed the side of his nose, thoughtfully. "He 
signs it by his false name, Alexander Kosynakov."

"So this landowner..." Mulder started to say, thinking it 
through, "...falsified his identity in order to fool the officials in 
charge of relocating him to Siberia into letting him go?"

"It would seem so. Soviet authorities at that time had a 
random criteria for crushing the peasants. One week, being 
the son of a soldier could help you; the next, make you a 
target. People kept birth certificates on them at all times, 
trading them when being higher or lower born was to their 
advantage...let me show you something," Leo said, reaching 
behind him for a large book on the floor next to his computer 
desk. He lifted it and set it down over the evidence with a 
thud. He opened it facing Mulder, and flipped past page after 
page of preserved newspaper clippings, yellowed with age. 
The images that flipped by were horrible to see: men, women, 
children and animals, bone-thin and dying. Piles of bodies and 
mass graves flipped by as Petrovsky found the page he was 
seeking. "Here," he said. "These were reports from Poltava 
Province taken by Red Cross volunteers in 1934 when the 
Soviet government finally allowed for relief efforts. The 
statistics are sobering," he said, pointing to a box at the 
bottom of the page. "Nearly two-thirds of the people living in 
this province were missing, forcibly relocated, dead, or dying. 
Chutove, the village your witness' grandfather came from, 
was left abandoned."

"Wait..." Mulder said, leaning forward and touching the page 
in front of him. At the top was a photo of Red Cross workers 
feeding a line of emaciated orphaned children. One girl had a 
bow in her hair that looked familiar to him. Mulder dug 
through his satchel for the lock box photos and set them next 
to the bound clippings on the desk. The sepia image of the 
young girl found in Nanette's office, once so pretty with pearls 
around her neck, was the same girl in the newspaper photo, 
only older and sunken as she swallowed what the Red Cross 
could deliver in the form of salvation.

"Nanette," he breathed.

"Who?"

Before he could explain, Mulder's cell rang. He answered it 
quickly. It was the new agent filling in for Dillmont's shift, 
calling to inform him that Joshua had kicked her out, electing 
to refuse protection. Dammit, Joshua *was* more than 
determined to get himself killed.

"Can you just keep an eye on him?" he asked. "Trail him; see 
where he goes, if he goes anywhere. I'm in the middle of 
something right now, but I'll try to talk some sense into him 
later." She agreed and beeped off. Mulder sighed and slid his 
phone back into his pocket.

"This girl," Mulder said, pointing to both photos. "She was the 
last survivor from Chutove."

"You know her?" Leo asked, unbelieving.

"Yes. I'm certain it's her. She's a part of this case. Some of 
these documents and photos were found in her home."

"If it is her, I would ask you to invite her to meet me for an 
interview. I could help her and her remaining family, if she 
has one...there are charities..."

Mulder remembered something. "Are you familiar with the 
Recovery Foundation of Poltava Province?"

"Yes, I have heard of them. They do good work for terror-
famine survivors still living in Ukraine," Petrovsky said, 
closing his book and removing it from the desk so he could 
see the evidence again. 

Mulder nodded his head, thoughtfully. "There's one more 
translation I need from you," he said, reaching down and 
lifting out a plastic evidence bag containing the charred bone 
fragment. "A message from the dead."

Petrovsky took the bag in his hands gently, turning the bone 
over inside the plastic so he could read it. He set his glasses 
up higher on his nose. "It says, 'May he who bears my name 
and all those who follow in blood be bereft of gifts or of 
giving.'"

"Is it a curse?" Mulder asked.

"It could be. Many Ukraine peasants at that time still 
practiced forms of pagan ritual. Did you find this wrapped 
with a dead bird?"

Mulder felt elated. "Yes, we did."

Leo mulled the thought over in his mind. "I have heard of an 
old pagan ceremony that passes a final wish along from the 
dead to the living. As the deceased's body lies on a pyre, 
certain incantations are recited. When the fire dies, a living 
relative must inscribe the message on a remnant of his or her 
body."

"This case I'm investigating, the witness has been attacked by 
assailants who appear to be possessed by a spirit from 
beyond the grave."

Leo shrugged, setting the bag and bone down. "I cannot 
account for the acts of the living. It is only a tradition. It 
means nothing to me. Perhaps it means something to your 
witness?"

"'...he who bears my name and all those who follow in 
blood...'" Mulder repeated. "It sounds like he was cursing his 
own family. Why would he want to do that...unless..." The 
image of Brahms flashed into his mind and Mulder reached 
into the satchel for the book of composers, tapping the cover. 
The pieces all began to slide into place, rapidly. The message 
they had been reading, written across cell walls and 
cardboard and paper, 'your name is not your own...we were 
sacrificed for you...see where you came from...'

'...your name is not your own...'

Mulder glanced up at Petrovsky, whose eyes were wide with 
expectation. "I need a sheet of paper and a pencil," he told the 
editor. Leo rifled around his mess, producing both. Mulder 
laid the paper over the book's cover art, and with the flat 
edge of the pencil, took a rubbing of Brahms' long beard. "I 
need your copy machine and light table," he said next, getting 
to his feet. 

Petrovsky set the rubbing on the copier just outside his office 
door and Mulder instructed him to reduce it to 25%. Then he 
made a 125% enlargement of the farm photo of the two men. 
Copies in hand, Mulder assisted Petrovsky in clearing the 
clutter from the light table near his desk. On the illuminated 
surface, Mulder set the farm photocopy and then slid the 
beard over the face of one man and then the next. 

From the nose-up both men were virtually identical.

"It's what I suspected," Mulder said. "You can lose your name, 
but you can't lose your faith, and Alexander Kosynakov knew 
this was true."

************************************

Chapter Fifteen
END (31/44)

Chapter Fifteen (32/44)

***********************************

San Francisco Museum of Modern Art
5:15 PM

The museum was getting ready to close for the evening and 
Mulder had to argue with the security guard for several 
minutes before he was allowed to enter and start up the 
white and black tiled staircase to the exhibit halls.

The agent tailing Joshua told Mulder he was here, somewhere 
among the scribbles and blotched colors of modern two-
dimensional art expression. Mulder stopped at the second 
floor and stepped into the gallery, easing his way around 
onlookers as they tried to catch a last glimpse of Warhol or 
Dali before the 5:30 closing time.

He found his abandoned lover standing at the end of a long 
viewing room, surrounded by onlookers strolling by slowly or 
seated at benches. All of them were staring at a questionable 
piece of artistic merit mounted on the far wall.

As if he had sensed Mulder's arrival, Joshua's gaze broke from 
the painting and fell on him. The violinist's dark eyes tracked 
over him once, from head to foot, and flicked away with 
indifference, his attention once more focused on the painting. 
Mulder found the slight to be just on the edge of insolent. He 
should have known Joshua was not the type of man to be 
refused--he commanded an audience by nature and wasn't 
accustomed to being ignored. 

Mulder squared himself and cleared the distance to stand 
beside him.

"I'm surprised, Mulder. I didn't know you had an appreciation 
for Klee," Joshua said with a hint of mockery in his once 
welcoming voice.

It was irritating to be suddenly so ill-regarded. "I don't," 
Mulder said. "To me it's just a smudge of paint."

"It's not an image that you're supposed to see--it's more of a 
feeling--an impression spoken in simple color--orange, blue, 
surrounded by black. You look at it and although it might not 
be clear, you get a feeling for what it's trying to say."

"That must be the artist in you, Joshua, because I can't see 
anything but a waste of wallspace."

"Keep watching. It takes time to see."

"I'm afraid I don't have that kind of time right now. I need to 
speak to you."

"I'm sorry, Mulder," he said, almost bored. "I'm looking at art 
right now."

"The museum's closing. I'll wait for you outside."

###

5:38 PM

Joshua was the second-to-the-last person to leave the 
museum before they closed and bolted the doors. The 
floodlights came on, lighting the museum's lipstick-tip-shaped 
skylight from within like a giant black and white seeing eye.

He nodded once to Mulder and crossed 3rd Street to head into 
Yerba Buena Gardens city park. Mulder followed patiently as 
Joshua kept a few paces ahead of him, stalling the inevitable. 
This time, Mulder's reach for the musician's elbow made 
contact and Joshua whipped around to face him, drawing his 
arm away.

"Joshua," Mulder said with frustrated sympathy, "I wish you 
could realize that I never intended to hurt you. I'm only 
trying to do what's right to protect you."

Joshua's eyes reflected his hurt and doubt. He folded his arms 
and rocked on his heels like a marathon runner anticipating 
the gun. "No, Mulder, I was rather under the impression I'd 
been *dumped*."

Mulder was at a loss at how to proceed. He took a deep 
breath, trying to find a way to be firm, but honest. "It's not 
for lack of wanting, Joshua. This is about keeping you safe. 
This is about my responsibility to you. It surprises me now 
little you seem to fear for your own life."

Joshua's reply was strangely defensive. "What makes you 
think I'm not afraid?"

"Because you're refusing protection and wandering about the 
city without a shred of defense. You refuse to wear a vest 
despite all our recommendations..."

"I don't see where the FBI's recommendations have done a 
hell of a lot to protect me lately. I'm strongly considering 
acquiring a gun. I may be a lousy shot, but it beats living like 
a walking target."

Mulder held his tongue. Joshua had a point and he knew it. If 
Mulder could blame himself for incompetence, so could 
Joshua--even if it was out of spite. "I'm not here to pick a 
fight with you. I've made a major break in your case, if you 
care to hear about it."

Joshua pouted indignantly as he thought it over, staring at the 
cascading fountain wall behind them. Presently, curiosity won 
over anger and he nodded for Mulder to proceed.

"I found out that in 1986 Nanette sent a package containing a 
Ukrainian pagan curse to your grandfather. Scully and I found 
it in his trunk, inscribed on a human jawbone along with a 
letter. He had kept it there in your old home, hidden."

Joshua seemed quite disturbed by this. "What did the curse 
say?"

"That any family bearing the Segulyev name would be 
cursed--that you would be bereft of 'gifts or of giving.'"

The vestiges of anger fled Joshua's demeanor and he relaxed 
his enforced arrogance. It seemed he did still feel the need to 
be protected. "Then why was my father cursed?" 

"I don't think the bad luck so much fell on him as it did your 
mother."

Joshua looked like he was trying to make it all add up. "She 
said she wasn't in control of her life. Papa was. I suppose it 
made sense that his farm was never successful. It ruined him 
and in turn, ruined her." He eyes narrowed and he looked to 
Mulder. "Why Nanette? How do you know it was her who sent 
the curse?"

"Because according to pagan tradition, a living relative of the 
deceased must pass their message on to the living, completing 
the workings of the ritual. It has to be her, Joshua; she lived 
with this man, the Thin Man, on his farm with her mother and 
aunt. He was her uncle by marriage. After the famine, when 
help arrived, he must have been returned from forced labor 
in Siberia. When he saw everyone was dead and gone, he felt 
the need to curse the only member of his extended family 
who'd escaped."

"Nanette?" Joshua asked, confounded. 

"No, she survived by sheer will. I saw a photo of her, a child 
clinging to life. She survived. It was your grandfather who 
escaped, along with your infant mother."

"But...who was my grandfather to this man? A brother?"

"No, I think he was a close friend who helped work the land 
with him, a serf."

Joshua blinked a few times, thinking. "I hate myself for 
admitting this, but I've felt for a long time that Nanette hasn't 
been completely honest with me. In the field office she told 
me she had arrived in America 'filled with bitterness' toward 
my grandfather. I suppose she was jealous he had made it 
away from that godawful place."

"I think Nanette has held the key to this mystery for a very 
long time. We should both go talk to her."

Joshua looked uneasy. "I wish we could. She's left town."

"What?"

Joshua looked saddened. "I went over to her home this 
afternoon. She's gone--cleared out. I guess she's been more 
guilty for what's happened to me than she's let on. If she's the 
one responsible for activating this curse, then I can 
understand why the letters upset her so much. She didn't 
bargain that they'd come after me...my God...all this did begin 
just after my father's death, didn't it?"

Mulder nodded his solemn agreement. "That would seem to 
be the pattern--the sins of one generation passing to the 
next."

Joshua shrugged. "I don't follow. Whose sins? My father's?"

Mulder shook his head slowly, wondering if now was the best 
time. He needed Joshua's trust if he was going to be able to 
help him understand. "There's something else, Joshua. And I 
don't know how you're going to take it."

"What?" he asked quietly.

"I believe Nanette was trying to stop the curse herself. She 
was paying back an old debt with your mortgage money, 
trying to appease the spirits of the dead, only it didn't work."

"She said something to me about paying 'them' back. I didn't 
understand what she meant. What debt?"

"There was a letter with the curse from a man who traded 
identities with your grandfather in order to try and fool the 
Soviet officers who came to take him off to Siberia. Only his 
ruse failed on both accounts."

"What do you mean?"

"Where the Thin Man gained a new identity, so did your 
grandfather--one that he used to escape and has kept himself 
hidden behind even in death, until now."

"I don't follow..."

"Your grandfather's birth name was Alexander Kosynakov, a 
poor Jewish serf who worked for Nanette's uncle, who in turn 
was born to land-owning Catholic parents under the name 
Ivan Segulyev. Some point after your grandfather became 
Ivan, he stole the $60,000 village treasury and bribed his 
way to freedom, leaving his countrymen to die of starvation 
in their homeland. The money was intended to bargain for 
food and he took it under his false identity in order to save 
himself and your mother."

Joshua stood with his mouth slightly open, trying to gather in 
what Mulder had just told him. He didn't speak for several 
long moments, and Mulder wondered if it bore repeating.

"How, in God's name, did you manage to draw that 
conclusion?" Joshua finally said with some effort.

"It's all in the evidence. I can show you piece for piece how it 
all fits together. The switched identity had me thrown for a 
while, but the handwriting has remained constant. The Thin 
Man, Ivan Segulyev, is cursing the man who stole his name, 
his daughter who was named Segulyev from birth, and 
finally, you, the grandson who chose to keep his grandfather's 
name. 'Your name is not your own...' the writings have said, 
'see what you will not see.' You are not the grandson of a 
Russian immigrant. By Alexander's birth record you are, on 
your Mother's side, Ukrainian."
 
Joshua held up his hand as if to halt him. "I want you to stop 
and think for a minute about what it is you're trying to say to 
me."

Mulder squinted into the late afternoon sun. "I believe, 
Joshua, that your grandfather betrayed his countrymen. It's 
these spirits--this man Ivan, who died in 1933 of starvation, 
who wants you to understand what I'm saying, to accept it. 
'See what you will not see.' I'm sorry, but they want you to 
understand your grandfather wasn't all what he seemed."

When Joshua spoke his voice was controlled and cold. "That 
man, Ivan or Alexander, or whatever his name was, I don't 
care...my grandfather did everything for me--*everything*. 
He took care of me; he loved me; he gave me music; he taught 
me what is sacred in this world; and he saved my hands, 
Mulder, so I could be a violinist. I owe him my life and I 
wasn't here for him when he lost his. I will *never* forgive 
myself for that. Not ever. Don't stand there as my friend and 
tell me I need to see him for who he was because I *did.* He 
was a man of God, and you and the rest of the world living or 
dead can go to hell for saying otherwise."

"I'm only trying to help you."

"Are you?" he asked bitterly, his voice continuing to rise in 
anger. "So far all you've done for me is to try to lay the blame 
on everyone I've ever loved."

"That's not true, Joshua."

"Yes you have! Elise, Nana, my grandfather--where does it 
end? You've run down the short list of people who have ever 
cared for me. I won't flatter myself into thinking you'll blame 
yourself next." Joshua turned his back on him and began to 
walk briskly away. 

Mulder called after him to stop.

Joshua spun around once, his dark eyes reflecting betrayal. 
"Just follow your own advice, Mulder, and leave me the hell 
alone." 

Helpless to prevent him from leaving, Mulder watched Joshua 
cross the park and disappear into the public traffic of Mission 
Street.

************************

Marina Flat
7:04 PM

When Joshua reentered his apartment it was dark. He'd been 
out walking in the city evening, wandering like he had 
wandered that late afternoon from Davies Hall not over a 
week ago. He was punishing himself again, or maybe in 
reality, trolling for danger. All he knew was that he wanted 
free of the stagnation he was feeling, as if his legs were 
trapped in ice. He was threatened and yet no one could 
protect him; he had become as deeply moved by love as he 
had ever known in his life, and yet he was shut off from the 
object of his desire. He had faced him today knowing he no 
longer belonged to him, and most likely never did. Joshua felt 
older, used up--while all along his career was fading. Soon, no 
one would remember who he was or what he had wanted to 
accomplish in life. All he had ever wanted was to feel loved, 
and the only person to ever make him feel that way was now 
outrageously accused of being the origin for the threats on his 
life. 

Joshua crossed the darkness to the violin. It was waiting, 
lying in repose on the back of the piano. He lifted the slight 
instrument and it nestled close as he pulled the bow over the 
strings. At once, music filled the vacuum in his soul and 
coated over the newly cut wounds. What he chose to play was 
sad, yet moving--a Brahms' sonata in major--a happier key, 
yet written with such solitude, it moved deeper for its 
attempt at joy. Often, in a long minor passage, a composer will 
turn to major for a few bars to carry the emotions farther. An 
idea occurred to Joshua and he switched over to play the 
Mendelssohn cadenza. It was in E-minor, but adding an 
augmentation to major, here, right here, changed the meaning. 

Joshua paused, setting the violin down, thinking. He had a 
performance tomorrow night and the next, the last two shows 
at Davies, and then he'd be on to Southern California. He 
wanted to advance himself in some way, to leave this city 
with a gift its citizens would all remember. Joshua went to his 
shelving and opened a bottom drawer, fishing around for 
ledger paper. He found an old unused pad and took up a fist 
full of sharpened pencils. He clicked on the halogen light, 
casting an eerie glow over the piano's sleek black  coat. He sat 
at the bench and flipped open the key cover, playing the first 
several bars of the cadenza. The piano came more slowly to 
him, but it allowed his mind to grab any note easily, finger by 
finger. He struck an F-major chord and after a few 
exploratory notes, paused for a pencil and scribbled the 
phrase across the ledger lines on the blank music paper, 
filling it with notes, with life. 


************************************

Chapter Fifteen
END (32/44)

Chapter Sixteen (33/44)

*********************************

Chapter Sixteen: Lies

*********************************

Marriott Hotel
8:45 PM

It was forty-five minutes past his watch. Only tonight, Mulder 
wasn't watching anything, not even TV. Alone in his hotel 
room for the first decent hour in a week, Mulder lay back on 
the bedcovers, staring at the ceiling. The carefully arranged 
message phrases were stacked neatly on the bedside table 
near him next to an unopened pack of sunflower seeds. He'd 
lost his taste for this case, the search--even the seeds failed to 
interest him. The zest he once held for his job was 
languishing. The revival he had felt the last few days and 
nights was all but snuffed out. Depression and a sense of 
aimlessness covered him like a thin stale hotel blanket. He 
felt cold again, yet didn't have the interest to get up and 
shower. Instead, he let his eyes trace the hairline cracks in 
the ceiling. He'd order in dinner, but the thought of sucking 
down tepid noodles was nauseating to him.

He missed Joshua, terribly--more than he had thought 
possible. His whole body hurt with missing him. He'd close his 
eyes, but the inviting image of Joshua lying back naked 
before him would materialize in his mind's eye. He missed 
everything about him: the smell of his hair and skin, the color 
of his dark blue eyes when they were regarding him 
thoughtfully, the way he sometimes snored softly if he was 
sleeping on his back. Mulder missed his laugh, his 
conversation, his incredible back massages, and God help him, 
he even missed his cock--the way the head grew taut and 
reddish when aroused. He missed the sounds Joshua made 
when he kissed him, but most of all, he missed the sound of 
the violin. The company of music followed Joshua everywhere 
he went, welcoming those who were close to him. Mulder 
tried to remember how peaceful it had felt listening to Joshua 
sitting at the end of the bed after they'd made love, playing 
the violin into the darkness of the flat.

The silence was getting to him, but he knew he'd have to 
admit defeat, reassimilate into his previous existence, by 
turning on the TV--so he picked up the old book Joshua had 
given him and opened the cover, turning the pages lovingly 
with his fingers.

There was a knock at his hotel room door. He set the book 
down with a sigh. "Yeah?"

"Mulder, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Scully...I'm resting...Can you...?"

"It's urgent, Mulder; I need to talk to you."

Reluctantly, he opened the nightstand and slid the book in 
next to the Gideon Bible. Shutting the drawer, he rose, 
shuffled to the door, opened it, and immediately turned to 
flop down on the bed on his back. He left her to close the door 
after her. "What is it?"

Scully came and sat next to him on the bed, setting her hand 
on the bedspread near his thigh. She had an unreadable 
expression on her face as she looked down at him. "I need you 
to explain something to me," she said and produced a blurry 
black and white photograph from her pocket.

Mulder felt his stomach twist as he took it from her. It was a 
police surveillance camera still of Joshua's front entry. It was 
a photo of him pressing Joshua up against the stucco wall, 
kissing him. 

"Shit..." was all he could think to say and turned the image 
over, laying his hand over it against his stomach. He couldn't 
look at her; the image hurt more than one way. "How long 
have you had this?"

"A few days, since Monday afternoon when the two of you 
went to Sonoma." Her voice wasn't angry, but it was cool, 
distant, as if she had been rehearsing this encounter. Two 
days...

Mulder swallowed, dryly, and looked up at her. "What do you 
want to know?"

Her lips trembled for a second and then stilled as she pressed 
them together, determined not to let him see how this had 
affected her. 

"Are you sleeping with him?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Since..." Mulder had to stop to clear his throat. "Since his 
birthday, last Friday...but I ended it. After Sonoma, I ended 
it."

She nodded, crossing her arms and shifting, taking a breath as 
if the worst was now over. "You know, Mulder, I took your 
advice the other day. On my 'day off' I went to the zoo to look 
at all the 'cool stuff' and I was standing there watching the 
chimpanzees swinging upside-down from ropes and old tires 
and I realized something. I realized I had been going about 
this case all wrong. Maybe it's the years we've spent together 
that have made me doubt myself, but I knew suddenly why 
this case was eluding us so badly. We weren't looking at it the 
right way--we were avoiding the most obvious and blatant 
solution, and it almost sickened me how easily all the facts 
and evidence just came together. But I still doubted myself 
and I probably wouldn't have followed through on my 
suspicions...until I got a call from the Hall of Justice and Lt. 
Jarvis pulled me into his office. He told me they'd set up a 
video still camera in front of Joshua's flat after the night he 
was stabbed by Harris. He said there were photos you and I 
probably wanted to keep just between the two of us and that, 
since I was your friend, I might want to tell you to watch 
yourself. I can't tell you how nice he was about it. It surprised 
me, and I took the photos and thanked him...I actually 
thanked him for being discreet. He said, well, this is San 
Francisco...and I..."

She stopped herself, holding her hand over her mouth. It 
seemed she knew she was babbling and if she wasn't careful, 
about to cry. "I knew it, Mulder. I saw it happening right 
before my eyes, but I wouldn't believe it...dammit, Mulder, 
how could you?"

Mulder felt his body gearing up to do the weeping for her. He 
shut his eyes. "I'm sorry, Scully. I made a mistake. I've hurt 
you, and I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you..."

She brushed her hair back from her cheek and stifled a dry 
sob in a hard swallow. She held her head down, trying to 
collect herself. "There's more, Mulder. If you're ready to hear 
it."

Mulder blinked and nodded faintly for her to continue.

"Once I had the evidence of your affair, I decided to pursue 
my assumptions privately, to take this investigation in a 
whole new direction, alone. I went back to the beginning, to 
Philadelphia and Alice Schmidt. Alice had many aliases 
between 1996 and 1998, but one of them was Mary Baker. 
Mary Baker spent most of this year living at Faraday Halfway 
House on Hampshire Lane in Philadelphia, the same street 
Joshua lived on during the first half of this year--they were 
practically next door neighbors. 

"I looked into Harris next. According to his arrest record, 
Harris has been a vagrant living within two to three blocks of 
Davies Symphony Hall for the past ten years. Twice, he was 
arrested for assault near the stage door and parking garage. 
Then I found that the valet, Thomas Philmaker, had been 
parking cars for the War Memorial Opera House and Davies 
Symphony Hall for nearly five years. According to subsequent 
interviews conducted by the SFPD with his co-workers, I 
learned that the night of the crash, Thomas was the valet who 
parked Elizabeth Allen's car--occupied by both Elizabeth and 
Joshua when they arrived together for the performance. And 
I think we both know how long Andy Parsons has been 
working for Joshua as his driver and occasional body guard..." 

She paused a moment, waiting for his reaction. "I understand 
where you're heading with this, Scully, but all of that is 
circumstantial. Joshua's lived in these cities off and on for 
years."

She lowered her eyes and tugged at a piece of bed cover, 
gaining stamina. "There's more..."

Mulder set both hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat 
quickening. 

"We both know Joshua voluntarily admitted himself to a 
therapeutic center in Vermont after his grandfather's death 
two years ago. Yesterday, I managed to get his former analyst 
on the phone. She was reluctant to divulge specific 
information, but the center he attended wasn't an official 
licensed program, either. She was able to tell me that during 
his stay at Appassionata, Joshua's personality profile showed 
a strong leaning toward pathological misdirection 
commensurate with his childhood neglect. He lied a great deal 
about his past and present situations to her. When he was 
admitted, he told the general staff that he was a painter from 
New Jersey who had suffered a bout of deep depression. It 
wasn't until a month after he'd left the program that she'd 
learned who he really was through newspaper clippings."

Mulder opened his palms, in a shrug. "But he could have told 
them those things for any reason. Maybe he didn't want 
people to know who he really was--to protect his reputation."

"Possibly, but if Joshua's been trying to protect his reputation, 
then why did he grant a private interview the day after the 
Philly bomb incident with Nick Stabler, staff writer for the 
Philadelphia Inquirer--the man who wrote Joshua's curse 
story?"

"What?"

"I called Stabler yesterday and he played back part of the 
taped interview for me. Joshua told us a reporter had 
overheard him mentioning the curse in general conversation. 
I heard the tape, Mulder; he told the man point blank he 
thought he was cursed."

Mulder felt doubt like a sickness beginning to take over him. 
"But what about the Thin Man and the handwriting?"

"Has anyone other than Joshua ever provided a confirmed 
sighting of this man? Harris reacted to the sketch, certainly, 
but I think a man with his level of mental degradation would 
have reacted to a photograph of Barney."

"But he said...Harris said he'd seen the Thin Man..."

"He said those words right after you spoke them, Mulder. He 
was parroting you."

"But Alice...?"

"Alice sees pink elephants on a regular basis. The valet is 
dead so we can't ask him, but Joshua's driver--you 
interviewed him--you told me he claimed he'd never seen a 
thin man."

Mulder shook his head faintly, recalling how Joshua had 
woken him in the night, pointing into the dark, asking him, 
"Can you see him? Can you see him?" All Mulder had seen 
was an open door.

"But why would Joshua run himself in front of a car, Scully?"

"Because he planned it that way. He'd seen the valet earlier 
when he'd parked the car. They could have had a plan, an 
exact time for him to exit the rear door, knowing full well that 
you would follow him. You saw him get up during the 
performance, didn't you? How convenient that the two of you 
were seated so far apart, yet within full visual contact of one 
another."

"He coerced a man to drive himself into a wall? That's suicide, 
Scully."

"Maybe the crash was an accident? A plan gone horribly 
wrong? Maybe Joshua has skills in hypnotic suggestion? I 
checked into his college records. Joshua took several courses 
in abnormal psychology and altered states of consciousness at 
the San Francisco State extension. Two of those courses dealt 
with hypnosis, in great detail."

"Which would explain the handwriting..." Mulder said weakly, 
still not wanting to believe it. "But Scully," he said in 
argument, "what's his motive? Why would he manipulate 
people to attack him, or pretend to attack him, over and over? 
What would be the point? He hates the publicity this case has 
given him. He asked me to lie for him to the SFPD, to tell them 
*I* was following the Thin Man out of the opera to keep 
himself out of the crash investigation."

Scully leaned forward slightly, trying to clarify the issue. "He 
asked you to lie so there would be an official state and 
Federal record of an officer of the law confirming the 
existence of this specter he *invented* from an illustration in 
a Russian book of fables."

That one hit hard. Very hard. Mulder struggled to a seated 
position, shaking his head numbly while she continued.

"Joshua announced his motive the first night we met him, 
Mulder. He told us his fear--his fear of being forgotten as a 
violinist now that he was turning thirty. And despite what 
Joshua has said, I think we both know that in the 
entertainment industry, there's no such thing as bad press."

"But...?" Mulder found he had no reasonable rebuttal to give. 
He just stared at her in shock as she continued.

"So far all that this so-called 'bad press' has cost Joshua is a 
few Gala cancellations that were quickly resold. Don't forget, 
he managed to land himself a new world tour contract last 
week from an orchestra association that had previously 
passed him up.

"We've been played, Mulder. Both of us. You and I. He's been 
leading us blindly down the fine edge of Occam's Razor. Look 
at the preponderance of the evidence--the simplest 
explanation is usually the correct one. There is no phantom 
killer, Mulder--as much as you want to believe it--only a sad 
and confused man, desperately trying to save his fame."

Mulder crossed his legs under him and lowered his head into 
his hands, trying to think. It was all making too much sense 
and the working of it was making him feel sick and 
lightheaded. "This can't be right, Scully. I *know* Joshua. He's 
not responsible."

"You'll ignore all the evidence against him because you say 
you know him? How long have you known him, Mulder? A 
week? Ten days? Are you saying you can know everything 
about a man just because you've fucked him?"

He looked up at her, feeling a flash of defensiveness. "Scully..."

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm sorry I have to tell you like this. 
People are not always what they seem. You and I should 
understand that by now."

"What about the money, Scully, and the famine, and Joshua's 
grandfather and Nanette...?"

"A complex and tragic history story, but ultimately just a 
fancy wrapping to fold around a simple lie. I think it's not 
hard to imagine Nanette's been a conspirator in this plot from 
the start. Joshua took me to her home, and led me to her 
office. He wanted us to find those papers--they both did. 
Nanette didn't forge the letter to his accountant releasing the 
mortgage money. Her writing exam proved she's not capable 
of forgery. Joshua must have sent the letter himself."

"Why would Joshua steal his own money?"

"To throw authorities off. Hypnosis may work on some, but 
money works on everyone and Joshua has nearly three 
million dollars of it."

Mulder looked into her eyes, pleading with her to stop before 
he was forced to believe it. "But he's been so good to me, 
Scully. You don't know; he's made me trust him. Why would 
he go to the trouble to do that if he was only planning on 
using me in a plot for his own gain?"

Scully reached out and placed her hand on his knee, trying to 
calm him. "I think that you were the one thing Joshua didn't 
expect--a bona fide paranormal investigator--the only man in 
the FBI with the skills and background necessary to see any 
holes in his plan, to find the faults in his self-executed fable. 
He seduced you, Mulder. He knew how to get to you."

Mulder shook his head, lowering his voice to a miserable 
whisper. "It wasn't like that...it was..."

"What did he tell you, Mulder? That he believed in aliens? 
That he saw ghosts? That he was cursed? haunted? I know 
you, Mulder. I know how easily you fall for that."

"What are you saying, Scully?"

Scully reached for the photo, holding it up for him to face. He 
flinched, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to remember 
how good, how alive, he had felt that night. "Joshua is a 
private citizen. SFPD must seek permission to post 
surveillance on private property. Joshua knew about the 
camera, Mulder. Did he stop you deliberately within its 
range? What did he do--lose his keys?"

Mulder heard a moan come up from the base of his gut. 
"Shit...shit, shit, shit..." he was on his feet, pacing the room as 
it swam in a furious blur before his eyes. He was feeling all 
the ugliness of the world from America to Ukraine thundering 
into his right arm as he punched his fist through the 
wallpapered drywall near the bed. 

"Fuck!"

"Mulder!" She was on her feet, pulling him away from the 
wall and back over to the bed. "Sit down. Jesus, you're 
bleeding. Let me get a towel."

She brought a dry towel from the bathroom and carefully 
wrapped his torn hand in it. He hissed and muttered 
obscenities under his breath as she bound the wound with ice 
from the nearby bucket. "This is going to swell..."

The pain radiating from his knuckles was somewhat calming. 
It was helping him to focus not on the mess with Joshua, but 
rather on the steadfastness of Scully, his friend and partner, 
the only one he could really trust. He was feeling the tears 
coming now, the tears of shame. He didn't give a shit--there 
was nothing to hide from her.

"I've been an idiot, Scully. A first-class, gold-medal-winning 
asshole," he said.

She looked up into his eyes, wiping a tear from the side of his 
nose with the type of forgiving expression a mother reserves 
for her awkward child. "I won't argue with that," she said 
with a faint smile.

"You're right about me, Scully; I'm a sap. I fall for anyone who 
will look me in the eye and tell me they believe in all kinds of 
shit I've been chasing for ten years--Joshua, Diana, they're 
both the same. They see that weakness in me and they use it 
to get me to doubt you and I fall for it every single goddamn 
time." 

Her sad smile grew as she held his bleeding fist. "Keep going, 
Mulder; you're on a roll."

"I've been angry with you, Scully. Frustrated, fed-up. And it's 
not because you haven't been a loyal partner; it's because 
after all these years, and everything we've been through 
together and seen, you still don't believe in any of it. And for 
some reason I can't seem to get my head out of my ass long 
enough to realize that doesn't matter, because like you said, 
you believe in me," he said earnestly, leaning closer to her, 
right into her familiar light-blue eyes. "You've always 
believed in me, from the start, and when all the fires and 
abductions and betrayals have torn the rest of my life apart, 
when everything has been laid to waste, I find you there, 
standing with me, ready to move on."

He must be doing well, he felt, because he could almost see 
the heavy wall that had been building between them these 
past months crumbling around them. Despite everything he 
had just been through in the last ten minutes and the 
throbbing in his hand, he felt relieved, better than he had in 
months. She was smiling at him again, her sincere gaze of 
acceptance beginning to blur with tears of her own.

"I think I'd like to accept your apology now, Mulder, and get 
your fist to a doctor before you become too decrepit to be my 
partner. We have a case to solve."

************************************

Chapter Sixteen
END (33/44)

Chapter Sixteen (34/44)

*********************************

Marina Flat
8:35 AM 
Wednesday


Joshua was seated at the piano scribbling onto a music sheet 
when Mulder entered. He didn't look up or acknowledge him. 
He played a few notes, frowned, and reached up to the flat 
top of the piano to begin erasing.

A blurry black and white photograph was slipped over the 
sheet, catching eraser debris like flypaper. It was a shot of 
them at night, kissing just inside the front entry. He sighed 
and looked up. "What's this?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Mulder's voice was like lead. He had 
a pissy look about him that made Joshua want to slap him. 

"Nice shot; can I keep it?" he said, pushing it aside to blow the 
eraser dust off his page. Mulder's hand came down to push 
the photo firmly back toward him.

"I'm not here to play games with you. I want answers." God, 
his tone could be so cold. Joshua should have known it took a 
steely heart to survive like Mulder had for so long. He'd have 
some sympathy if he wasn't in just about the worst mood of 
his life right now. The cadenza was going nowhere. He'd spent 
most of the night working on it and now the morning was 
growing old. Joshua could see the knuckles on Mulder's right 
hand were bandaged. What had he been up to, punching 
walls?

"So they got a shot of us. Big deal. It's not illegal to kiss a man 
in California, thank God."

"You knew you were being surveilled, and you didn't bother 
to tell me?"

Joshua set the eraser down and looked past Mulder to the far 
end of his flat, bright with morning sunlight. "I have exactly 
nine hours to finish this cadenza. Would you mind if we took 
up this spat at a later date?"

"Yes, I would mind. I need an explanation. Were you trying to 
entrap me?"

"What?" Joshua pushed back from the piano and stood up, not 
really trying very hard to hold in his rising fury. The man had 
no right to accuse him of entrapment.

"You *were* informed. You gave permission."

Joshua shook his head, exasperated. "I suppose I did. I don't 
know; I was rehearsing. I didn't think..."

Mulder had his hand set on his hip, perhaps unintentionally 
displaying his holster. He nodded his head with no little 
malice. "You didn't think...This is my *job,* Joshua. You are a 
protected witness."

"Ah, fuck!" Joshua kicked the piano bench over in one 
brusque move, slamming it onto the hardwood floor. He 
turned away a few paces, then circled to face Mulder again. 
"That's a very convenient way to look at it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Joshua began to pace back and forth, keeping the piano 
between them. He shook his head again and again. "No, no, no 
I tell myself. Don't do this to yourself, Joshua. Leave the 
straight ones alone before they come back to beat the shit out 
of you."

Mulder's stance seemed to ease a bit. His voice was not so icy. 
"Is that why you think I'm here?"

Joshua laughed coldly. "Of course it is. You got off; your dick 
settled down and now you're thinking with your bigger head 
again. Time to go slap the violinist around for corrupting you."

Mulder looked away from him, distressed. No, Joshua had to 
admit to himself, maybe that wasn't why he was here, not 
consciously anyway.

Joshua took a breath, forcing himself to calm a notch. "So 
who's seen this?"

Mulder still didn't look at him; his voice sounded defeated. 
"The police surveillance officer, Lt. Jarvis...my partner."

Joshua looked hard at him. Mulder knew very well he 
wouldn't lose his job over this. It wasn't very convenient, and 
he should have perhaps thought to tell him, but from what he 
knew of Mulder's case history, he'd done much worse. 

"This is about your partner, isn't it?"

Mulder reacted like he'd been slapped. "No."

"Why don't you do us both the courtesy of being honest for a 
change?"

Mulder just stared at him, tightly, while his mind tried to grip 
what truths or lies were being spoken between them. Finally, 
his shaking hand came up to wipe across his lower lip. It 
seemed guilt had won after all. Guilt and shame. "Joshua..."

"You were the biggest mistake I've ever made. Get the fuck 
out of my home," Joshua said in anger, pointing to his front 
door. "I don't ever want to see you or hear you say my name 
again!"

Mulder looked down, lowering his head. He looked like he 
might either fall over or run. God, this man was a mess.

A silence hung between them for several moments while the 
traffic continued to breeze by a few stories below.

"I'm sorry," the agent whispered. He took one last glance at 
Joshua and the black and white photo, before he turned and 
walked from the room.

Joshua waited until he heard the door latch before sweeping 
his arm over the back of the piano with a muffled shout, 
sending his unfinished composition fluttering across the floor 
with one glossy, blurred, 4X5 image.

*************************************

Chapter Sixteen
END (34/44)

Chapter Seventeen (35/44)

*********************************

Chapter Seventeen: Cadenza

*********************************

Davies Symphony Hall
7:58 PM


Joshua stood backstage, his violin tucked under his arm, 
watching the orchestra members slowly wandering out to 
take their seats on the stage. Normally, he spent his final 
minutes in his private room, gathering his thoughts. But today 
his thoughts had been enemies that he longed to escape. 
There was a reason he usually let others manage his life--
there wasn't enough room in his mind to accommodate the 
pursuit of both life and art. When Joshua's life turned to shit, 
he turned to music. He'd spent most of the last 15 hours 
immersed in it, sleeping little, perfecting his surprise cadenza 
tonight. His thumb flicked the end of the bow, anxious to 
begin. 

Someone touched his shoulder and he looked up. Michael 
Tilson Thomas, music director and conductor of the San 
Francisco Symphony, had paused to wish him good concert. He 
asked if Joshua was feeling well as he usually didn't see him 
in the wing. The conductor was concerned about his all-but-
forgotten stab wound. Joshua stretched his arm, showing him 
it was in fine working order. It seemed like years ago when 
Joshua had shared that ridiculous violin-playing joke with 
Mulder in SF General.

"I'm having a hard week is all," Joshua said, assuring him he 
was more than ready to go on. The conductor smiled and 
moved away to the edge of the stage to pause before his 
entrance.

'A hard week' was an understatement Joshua didn't want to 
elaborate on twenty minutes before a performance. He'd been 
refusing himself the agony of reliving any of the experiences 
he'd been through recently. Still, the angry words he'd 
exchanged with Mulder that morning would find a way to 
come back to haunt him, he was certain. He could feel the 
stress building from the effort he was exerting to ignore their 
exchange. If he could just hold off the emotional 
repercussions for 26 more hours, he'd have a seven-hour 
private bus ride to Los Angeles to sort it all out. He'd always 
had disastrous relationships with men. Why he even bothered 
to try again with Mulder was beyond him. No, that wasn't 
true. Loving Mulder had not been a choice; it had been an 
inevitable truth. The truth that no one would ever make him 
feel like that again was a crushing blow to his heart. It would 
have been better not to know it, then to spend the rest of his 
life trying to forget.

The orchestra began the overture and Joshua turned his 
consciousness over to the seduction of music, which no one, 
man or woman, could ever take from him. Music had been his 
companion from birth.

###


8:00 PM

Mulder followed his partner up the curved, carpeted hallway 
that ran behind Davies' dress circle entrances. Joshua may 
have called off his personal guard, but Davies Hall Security 
wasn't about to take any chances with a "cursed" performer. 
Once again they had requested FBI assistance in keeping 
order during Joshua's last two remaining performances. After 
tomorrow night, Joshua would be leaving town and his woes 
would pass on to a new performing arts jurisdiction. Both 
Davies and Dillmont were looking forward to that day. 

Agent Dillmont had been forced into front-row orchestra duty 
tonight. Mulder didn't feel he could stay focused sitting right 
under Joshua again, watching him play. The overture had 
begun and Mulder stopped at one of the partially-curtained 
entrances to peer over the many silhouetted heads at the 
stage. The symphony was hard to listen to now that he had 
grown so close to it in the past week. Classical music was a 
powerful art form to learn to disassociate oneself from. 
Mulder wondered if he'd start experiencing bouts of sudden 
depression in elevators now. 

He felt tired, not himself, like the walls around him were 
closing in, suffocating him. He'd slept fitfully last night, his 
head filled with bad dreams. He'd dreamt he was at the opera 
again, standing watching the performance. Only this time 
when Don Giovanni threw back his hood to laugh, he didn't 
have the rouged cherub's face of a plump tenor; he had the 
face of a Russian violinist.

Scully moved close, brushing his arm. She looked concerned. 

"I'm fine," he said before she could ask. She squeezed his arm 
and gave him a supportive smile, heading back up the hall to 
cover the rest of the entrances. Her reaction to his affair was 
a tremendous relief to him--the fact she didn't resent him, a 
revelation. She'd been a real friend to him the last 12 hours, 
taking care of him at the hospital last night while his knuckles 
were bandaged, holding ice on his hand. It helped to ease the 
pain of feeling betrayed. 

The evidence against Joshua was overwhelming, yet somehow 
Mulder was still having a very difficult time accepting it. He'd 
taken off before dawn this morning to do his own 
investigating. Everything Scully had gathered on Joshua was 
accurate and well-supported. She wasn't operating under any 
assumptions. Why then had he felt the need to confront 
Joshua at his home? What had he hoped to gain by that? All it 
had served was to hurt him even more, to have the full flame 
of Joshua's anger thrown at him. His words had been painful 
to the extreme. *I don't ever want to see you or hear you say 
my name again...*

On stage the orchestra was ending the Mozart. Joshua would 
be introduced soon. Mulder moved from the entry, taking 
refuge in the long hallway, making sure all was clear. Of 
course it was clear; the Thin Man didn't exist. It was all a lie.

###

8:15

Joshua stepped out onto the stage taking his position at front 
stage right, lifting the violin to his shoulder as the welcoming 
applause receded. He was in his element now, a performer 
upon his stage. His world was set right again as he turned 
temporarily to lock eyes with the conductor. Joshua gave a 
faint nod. MTT took up the baton and the Mendelssohn began.

###

The first dotted quarter note cut into Mulder like a finely 
honed blade. This concerto that he had heard Joshua play in 
his apartment on so many occasions brought it all back to 
him--Berkeley, the Marina flat, Sonoma--the memories of all 
these places were infused into the sound of Joshua's 
instrument. 

Several hours ago, Mulder had taken a cab to Land's End to 
get his head together before tonight's performance. He jogged 
along the cliffs in the cool sea-scented afternoon to the Sutro 
Ruins. He hadn't meant to wind up there, sweating and out of 
breath, but the fresh air blowing in off the surf gave him 
courage and he made his way down the steep windswept 
hillside to sit on the edge of the ruined walls to think. 

His legs dangling over the surf, Mulder had tried to piece it all 
together. Where had he gone wrong? How could he have been 
so blind? Why would someone like Joshua go to such lengths 
to make a fool out of him? It just didn't add up. Whenever he 
tried to set his mind to match the evidence, his heart refused 
to listen. 

He sat out there on the water for a long time, throwing loose 
chunks of concrete into the sea. This was where it had begun. 
This was where they had stood under the heavy moon and 
Joshua had reached out to kiss him, tasting of champagne. The 
offer had seemed innocent enough; how could it have turned 
so ugly? Perhaps he had spent too many years separated 
from intimacy to know when someone was being honest with 
him. 

It would all be easier to take if Joshua hadn't been so good to 
him--if Mulder could look back and see echoes of dishonesty. 
But Joshua had been a friend to him, someone who had 
welcomed him, accepted him, appreciated him, listened to 
him, touched him, and moreover, made him feel alive for the 
first time in years. The sex, regardless of its orientation, had 
been surprisingly satisfying and restorative. How could 
Mulder deny the depth of passion he had experienced in 
Sonoma? Joshua's patience and tenderness while making love 
to him; Joshua's face bathed in peacefulness, sleeping warmly 
against him in the night--these were not the actions of a vain 
and vindictive man. Being loved by Joshua had been one of 
the truest experiences Mulder had ever known. His heart was 
heavy with its absence, and his mind, simply confused. 

###

The first movement, the allegro molto appassionato, was 
working its way toward the cadenza. Joshua felt comfortable, 
in the moment. He knew as his solo approached he would fall 
effortlessly into his written composition. He was pleased with 
it--he felt it would work nicely, give the critics something to 
scribble about tomorrow. At all costs he was determined to 
make progress tonight, put the recent past behind him if by 
no other means than sheer will. If he couldn't control his life, 
he could at least control the music. It was coming up fast; the 
time was now.

A hushed consensus of approval from the orchestra members 
was his first indication that his cadenza was making a 
statement as he began to play it out. The musicians knew how 
this was supposed to go, but they weren't nearly expecting 
the switch to major. Joshua played into the emotions of the 
simple two-note line, and perhaps it was the use of key, or 
merely the untrained experience of playing off the page, but 
those memories he had been trying so hard to suppress all 
day came through in a rush, filling him with unexpected 
longing for someone who he wasn't even sure was listening 
tonight. He slowed the major passage down. The melody was 
changing in his heart and his fingers followed it willingly--
back to Sonoma, to the colors of the valley, the sunlight--even 
the tragedy of rain inhabited the soul of his violin. Joshua was 
speaking in his own improvisational language of love, desire 
and loss. He recalled sitting at the end of the bed in his home 
while Mulder slept, captured by the instinct to play what was 
in his heart--a lullaby. He closed his eyes and followed it, 
being led by the honesty of music, rather than by the practice 
of it. 

###

Mulder was still hidden in the dim hall when he heard the 
start of the cadenza. There was no way to escape the sound of 
the violin. Fifteen inches of stained driftwood never had such 
power as when it was worked by Joshua's hands. Joshua was 
changing the cadenza and Mulder came to stand next to Scully 
again, peeking through the partially opened curtain at the 
stage. Mulder remembered what the newspaper reviewer had 
said about the art of classical improvisation. Joshua had been 
writing a cadenza when Mulder visited him that morning. At 
the time he had been too filled with suspicious anger to fully 
comprehend Joshua's unkempt appearance. It was strange to 
find the musician unshaven and rumpled. Mulder hadn't 
realized he intended the new piece to be played tonight. 
There was no end to Joshua's ability to amaze him.

At a distance, Joshua looked elegant and poised, his bow 
pulling over the strings, working them in a slow cadence. His 
solo was sad and beautiful, filled with an unmistakable 
longing that made Mulder's throat tighten. In a moment the 
melody altered, turned itself around into something Mulder 
had only heard once before, and the pain of recognition forced 
him to turn away.

Scully followed him into the hallway as he sank heavily 
against the railing, throwing his head back against the 
carpeted wall with a miserable thud. His hands came up over 
his eyes as he fought to keep it together. He shouldn't have 
come tonight--he was much too close to this case. 

She took his hands, gently, lowering them from his face. He 
blinked, looking away, fighting to keep back the onset of 
tears. Her eyes registered his pain and she rubbed his hand. 
"Oh, Mulder," she said sadly. "You're really hurting, aren't 
you?"

He closed his eyes and tossed his head back, giving it another 
dull thump, trying to regain some control. He wanted to 
explain to her why this was so hard. "I asked him if he would 
play this again for me, Scully. It's a Ukrainian lullaby his 
grandfather taught him. It meant a great deal to him and to 
me. He's made it a part of his cadenza."

Her lips moved, trying to find words of comfort. "I'm so sorry, 
Mulder. He's not going to let you go that easily, is he? You 
need to be careful. You can't let him get to you like this."

"I know," he said, biting his lip painfully. "It's difficult. I 
didn't tell you; I went to see him today."

She looked worried, but not disapproving.

"I asked him to explain himself, but he floored me by 
accusing me of coming by to hurt him...to punish him for 
making me want to be with a man. It isn't true, Scully. I 
would never do that to him. Not even if he was..." Mulder 
sighed. He couldn't even say it yet. *...if he was guilty.*

She still held his hand, reassuringly. "Trust me, Mulder. It will 
be okay. We just need to be patient. We need to keep an eye 
on him."

Mulder nodded, feeling some control return. She had to be 
right. He was much too close to Joshua to see him clearly. He 
had to trust her to protect him like she had countless times 
before. He squeezed her hand and wiped the back of his arm 
over his eyes as the cadenza concluded and the original tempo 
took over again.

*************************************

Chapter Seventeen
END (35/44)

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