From: "xfilesopus" <xfiles_opus@msn.com>
Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 18:59:44 -0600
Subject: Crisis of Conscience by Cybill and Xfilesopus
Source: direct

TITLE: Crisis of Conscience
EMAIL: cybill@pacbell.net; xfiles_opus@msn.com
AUTHOR: Cybill & Xfilesopus
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, XFILE, SMUT (Serious Smut *grin*)
SPOILERS: Early Season 6
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, Xfile
FEEDBACK: This is our first novel and first collaborative piece. We'll
beg for feedback if we have to! Come on, please, with Mulder and
Scully  on top depending on your preference. 
DISCLAIMER: If we owned them, they'd never make it out of bed to 
investigate. It was hard enough to do that in this one!
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully investigate a series of murders in a rural
California town. Their relationship takes the next logical step.
Angst,  grotesque depiction of people being murdered, and of course,
the ever  present smut lies within. If those things are not your cup
of tea, exit now!  LOL 

Beta Thanks: Cratkinson we can't express our gratitude for all that
you  have done for this story. Your prowess as a beta goddess amazes
us.  More love notes will be found at the end, in the author's notes.
For now,  everyone go check out her many accomplishments. You'll find
an array  of fantastic things in the following websites: 

(Fanfic by the fantastic Cratkinson and Flynn)
www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn 

(The Xfiles Lost & Found Board)
www.geocities.com/xflostandfoundfaq 

(The Stuck Fic Archive)
www.2close4comfort.20m.com 

***
September 17, 1998
Jones' Farm
Oakdale, California

The co-ed wept. Tears steadily streaked down her pale sunken cheeks as
she thought of the hopelessness of the situation. The man regarded her
with unfeeling eyes. Death was imminent. Her mind screamed over and 
over, "Why is he doing this?"

"You deserve this. You're a bitch. You deserve to be treated like an 
animal; the same way you treated me." The man said in an odd high 
pitched voice. She jumped at the sound of the voice. It was so high
and  grating, like a man imitating a woman. "You have to learn that
you cannot  talk to him. You should never have talked to him. What's
so special about  him that you want to talk to him? You would never
have talked to me.  Not in a million years. Why would you talk to
him?" The girl became  increasingly confused. What was this boy
talking about? She had talked  to him, just last week. He had asked 
her about her horse and she had talked to him for a couple minutes. He
worked at the feed store. She usually went to the feed store after
class  on Fridays. She liked to get Cookie a treat to end the week.
The thought  of Cookie caused her to sob. What would happen to Cookie
after she  was dead? Something about his voice told her that she
wouldn't live  through whatever torture he was planning on inflicting
on her. 

As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop crying. "Shut up! I'm going to
fix it  so you can never talk to him again." The man shouted. What was
wrong  with his voice, she frantically wondered. And why is he talking
about  himself in the third person?

The man picked up a spool of some sort. He began unwinding what 
appeared to her to be 
metal wire. She recognized it now. It was baling wire. "You should 
never have talked to him. You should have treated him like a piece of
trash.  That's how you would have treated me!" The man picked up a 
large pair of pliers and cut a three foot piece. He snapped the wire
in  each of his hands and approached her. She started whimpering as he
slowly made his way closer, menacingly twining the wire in his heavily
calloused hands. 

"It's time. Don't worry. You won't bother me once you're dead." The 
young woman shook with fear as the man swirled his arms above and 
around her head. The thin wire-like object bit into the delicate skin
of her  throat. It wasn't piercing, but effectively cutting off any
air to her lungs.  She felt her eyes bulge as he pulled the cord taut
around her slender  neck. She couldn't breathe, but there was no pain
in her neck. She  wondered why she wasn't feeling any pain as she
slipped into  unconsciousness.

***
	
Jimmy felt himself slide back into his body. "Oh no, not again." he 
murmured as he 
looked at the girl's dull, hollow eyes. He remembered how pretty they
had  been when she 
talked to him last week.

"Don't worry, I'll fix you up. I'll make you better, I swear." Jimmy
said  gently as he 
picked up the girl's lifeless body, hefting her in his arms
carefully.

CHAPTER 1

September 19, 1999
J.Edgar Hoover cafeteria

Lunch. Lunch. What should I have for lunch?  Let's see, the choices
are  Turkey Tetrazzini, chicken salad sandwiches or the salad bar. I
hate the  FBI Cafeteria. 

I used to eat lunch at my desk because I was too wrapped up in 
whatever case we were working on. But then they gave the X-Files to 
Jeffrey Spender and now there's nothing to get wrapped up in. Well, 
they do let us work on mind-numbing background checks of people but 
I hate doing that. Scully went out to lunch with some friends and I
was  bored so I decided to break for lunch myself. So here I am.
Turkey  Tetrazzini, chicken salad sandwiches, salad bar. Yuck. Would
it kill  them to offer liverwurst sandwiches? I like liverwurst
sandwiches. Scully  brought me a liverwurst sandwich once when I was
on a stakeout. She's  always thoughtful like that.

I decide to go with the Turkey Tetrazzini. It sounds edible, kind of.
I  look around the cafeteria at all the other FBI agents. It sounds so
glamorous to be a G-man, but really it's not. It's just a job like any
other and here we all are, eating cafeteria food. At least the
cafeteria  breaks up the monotony of the day. 

Since my boredom can't even be assuaged eating lunch, I eavesdrop on 
the conversation at the next table. It's Rob Davis and some other guy.
All these guys look alike. I work with them and can rarely tell them 
apart from each other half the time. 

Oh, but wait, this could be interesting; Davis is telling his buddy
about a  restaurant he took his new girlfriend to, The Mayan Grill.
Hey, I noticed  a sign for that place. It's right in my neighborhood.
It's new. And from  what Davis is saying, it's a good place to take a
date if you want  "results." What a cretin. How this guy even scores a
"date" is beyond  me. 

As I'm listening to Davis go on and on about his date, boasting to the
other guy about what happened after they left the restaurant, I start
to  think. I would like to go to a restaurant like the Mayan Grill,
just not  alone. Which is why I don't get out much besides when its
work  related. I'd rather go to places with Scully if she'd agree to
it. 

Too bad she doesn't want to go out with me. I've asked her to do 
things with me from time to time but she doesn't understand what I'm 
really asking. One time, I went so far as to ask her if she had ever
been  to the Liberty Bell. She said she had and it was just a big bell
with a big  crack in it, and you have to stand in a big line. She
didn't understand  that I was asking her to go with me. To spend time
with me and maybe  have a fun outside work. 

Come to think of it, I haven't asked her to go anywhere with me
lately,  off the clock anyway. Maybe this time she'll hear what I'm
saying.  Maybe if I ask differently. I'm always saying things wrong.
This time I  could try, "Scully, would you like to go out to a nice
restaurant so we  can get to know each other better?"

No, I can't say that. What would that mean...get to know each other 
better? She would say, "We know each other already. What more 
could you possibly want to know? We spend sixty or seventy hours a 
week together, isn't that enough?"

No, as a matter a fact, it's not enough. Not for me, anyway. I think
it  just might be enough for her though. After all, she has friends.
Friends  who aren't weird. Friends she's known forever and friends
she's  known for not so long. She has a group of people that she can
call up  and say, "Hey, want to get together and try out this new
restaurant?"  They would say yes and a pleasant time would be had by
all.  Sometimes, she even goes out on dates and I really, really hate
that. It  turns my stomach just thinking about it. Of course, she
hasn't dated  lately, at least not that I know of.

Me, I have three friends who all live together and publish a lame,
albeit  interesting, underground newsletter. Upon occasion, they
invite me over  and even I am stunned by the levels of nerdiness
emitting from their  pores. But they are good guys and they're always
there for me when  the loneliness gets to be too overwhelming. Not
long ago, I went over  to their place and had tacos with them. It was
even kind of fun. But they  are not the kind of friend I'd like to
take to a place like the Mayan Grill.

Only a couple of times in my life have I had someone to do things
with.  One time, I even managed to get someone to marry me. Alas, she
left  me for a normal life, so now I'm stuck not having enough courage
to  ask the woman of my dreams to go out to a measly dinner with me. I
am one sorry son of a bitch.

I want a girlfriend. I want someone to share my life with. I know who
that someone is. But the problem is she won't even spend one freaking
evening with me, let alone a lifetime.

Wait. Okay, let me get my thoughts together. There's a new restaurant
in my neighborhood. I hear it's good. I think Scully would like it.
People  ask other people to do things with them all the time. I'll
just ask her if  she wants to go. No biggie. She's ignored my attempts
before; it'll be  okay if she ignores this one. So, I'll just ask her
if she wants to go. 

Time to go back to my cubicle. I used to have an office, but they took
it  away from me when they took the X-Files away, just like everything
else in my life. Somehow it all gets taken away.

***
This has got to be the longest afternoon in history. I've already 
rearranged the papers on my desk, played thirty-three games of 
solitaire, and put together a list of fifty good fish names. You never
know when you might need to name a new fish. 

I've also gotten up to refill my coffee cup twelve times. I haven't
drunk  any of the coffee, but getting up to get more takes up time.
Plus, it  allows me to get up and see what Scully's doing. She is
diligently  working, making phone calls, filling out forms. She's
doing everything  we're supposed to be doing. I admire her work ethic.
   

Maybe there will be something interesting in the Washington Post. It's
good for a federal agent to be well informed on current events. I pick
up the copy Scully brought in this morning. Sometimes, if you read 
between the lines, there's an X-File in a seemingly normal crime 
reporting. But only if I'm lucky, which usually isn't the case.

I gotta do something here. Pretty soon, Scully's going to notice that
I'm  not actually doing any work. She's going to say something. Then I
run  the risk of her remembering how lame I am and she'll never want
to  spend time with me.

"Mulder that is not a good use of the taxpayers' dollars. What if
Kersh  walked in here and saw you just reading the paper?" Damn, she 
noticed. 

"Then, he would have another excuse to be pissed off at me."

"I don't think we need to give him any more reasons to be mad at us. 
You have a whole stack of ammonium nitrate purchase orders to go 
through. I've almost gotten through my whole stack and so far mine are
legit purchases," she says triumphantly.

She's almost done with her stack? That means she's almost done with 
work for the day. Time to lay it out there. I can do this. 

"Hey, Scully, have you heard of the Mayan Grill? It just opened in my
neighborhood and I hear it's good." OK, there. I asked her. 

"No, Mulder I haven't heard of it. Mayan, though, that sounds 
interesting."

OK, well, I guess she doesn't want to go with me. No, wait, that's not
what she said. She said sounds interesting. She's interested. 

"Um, yeah, it's like Latin American food. It got three and a half
forks  from a food critic." OK, so maybe I spent a while this
afternoon trolling  the internet for reviews of this place, too.

"Really? That sounds better than what I had planned." She smiles at me
and looks genuinely happy about the thought of spending the evening 
with me.

Pardon? I think she might have just said yes. She's turning off her 
computer and getting her briefcase together. Oh, no, what do I do 
now?  

"You ready Mulder?" she says as she adorns her coat. I leap from my 
chair pulling my jacket from the back of my chair and trail after her.

CHAPTER 2
Mayan Grill, Arlington VA, Thursday 6:00 p.m.

Mulder is so strange. I mean, yes, he's normally what the average 
person would consider odd, but it's an endearing quality I have come
to  appreciate over time. However, today he was acting a little jumpy
and  what I would consider to be hyper. The interesting thing is that
it was  directed at me, of all people. I wonder what sent his behavior
into a  tailspin. And why is it that he seemed so excited about the
concept of  having dinner with me? We used to eat dinner together all
of the time  when we were in the field on a case.   

Maybe that's it! We haven't been on a case in quite awhile. Ever since
the X-Files were taken from us, the bureau hasn't been overly generous
about sending us out on real cases. No, they deem it appropriate to 
punish us awhile longer. They'll come for us soon enough. Either
they'll  need me to autopsy some bodies or they'll need Mulder to
profile;  something that he doesn't enjoy doing anymore. Actually, I'm
not  enthusiastic about the idea of his delving into the minds of
monsters  myself. 

I have had weekends to myself lately, though, which is something I 
cherish. It's been nice catching up with old friends and spending time
with Mom, but there's something about the thrill of being out in the
field.  You really can't compare it to anything else. Some agents
complain  about being sent out into the field. Mulder welcomes it, and
me . . ,  well, I have the advantage of having good company. Mulder
always  keeps things interesting

I look over at him sitting across the table from me reading his
options  for dinner. He really is an attractive man. Not in the hunky,
big, beefy  way, but in the sexy, GQ, I-could-pleasure-you-all-night
way. Whew,  where is your mind going, Dana ol' girl? Thinking about
your partner in  that manner will only get you a case of sexual
frustration and a  monumental feeling of being alone. 

I sigh loudly which causes, Mulder to look up from his menu at me. His
hazel orbs, blinking in my direction are so honest. I really could
spend  an afternoon staring at the swirling colors.

"Um, Scully, helllloooo. Anyone home?" He chuckles at me. "I said, 
what are you going to have to eat?" He's looking at me with that sly 
grin.

"Oh? Sorry, Mulder. I hadn't really decided yet." Nice recovery. I
might  as well have said, "Sorry, Mulder. I was staring at you while
thinking  how gorgeous you are."

A pretty young waitress comes over to our table. "Can I get you two 
something to drink?" she asks, looking only in Mulder's direction. I 
swear, everywhere we go he gets hit on. I wonder if he notices it as 
much as I do.

"I'll take a beer," he says, smiling at the waitress, who looks at him
all  googly-eyed.

I clear my throat so both of them look in my direction. "I'll have
white  wine, please."

"Um, mister, what kind of beer would you like? We have Sierra 
Nevada, Coors, Budweiser, Dos Equis, and Pacifico."

"I don't really care which one. Why don't you pick one for me?"  He 
looks at her with one of his charming smiles.

"Um, okay, well how about a Pacifico? Men like you really like that 
beer." The girl has completely forgotten that I'm sitting right across
from  said man. God, this happens everywhere we go. I'm getting tired
of it.

"Mulder, why don't you just order a Dos Equis?" I spit out, bringing 
their attention back to me. I'm sure Mulder could sense my irritation.
I  was using the no-nonsense tone I know he's familiar with. 

"I'll have the Dos Equis, please," he finally mutters. At least he
took my  suggestion instead of that pimply-faced teenager's.

The waitress scurries off, hips swaying suggestively. I'm sure that
little  move is for Mulder's benefit. "Mulder, why do you lead them
on? She  was nothing more than a mere child," I ask, actually
interested in his  answer.

"What are you talking about? I wasn't leading anyone on. I just
ordered  a beer. Well, actually, you ordered a beer for me. Isn't the
guy  supposed to order for the girl, Scully?"

"Oh please, if you could just make a simple decision I wouldn't have 
had to. Besides that young girl could almost be your daughter. I doubt
she's 18." I tease him. Changing the subject at Mulder's obvious 
embarrassment, I asked, "So have you decided on what you're having?" 

"I don't know. I guess I'll have fajitas. I've never heard of most of
these  things. This is much fancier fare than the Campbell's condensed
soup I  normally have for supper" he chuckles.

I laugh out loud. His smile gets even bigger, if that is possible.
What's  different about him tonight? "I'm going to have the
compuesta," I  announce, pointing at the item on the menu.

"Now, I know Campbell's doesn't make anything called that. What is 
that, Scully?"

"Well, it's a big Mexican salad, if you will. It has everything --
beef,  beans, lettuce, tomato and so forth." He's looking at me as
though I  have grown horns. I fold up my menu and set it on the side
of our table  sticking the end off the edge just a bit. I learned
early on this move will  signal to the waitress that we are ready to
order. Mulder looks at me  quizzically and follows my lead, putting
his menu on top of mine.

"That sounds like something you would like. Now, where is that 
waitress so we can order?"

The waitress magically appears, as if on cue. I knew my little menu 
move would work. Never fails. "Let's see. I'll take the fajitas and
she'll  take the compuesta. Scully, did you want anything else?"

"No, that will do it for me, thanks." Wow, since when does Mulder 
ever, and I mean ever, order our meals when dining out? Normally,
he'll  order take-out for us but he has never taken the lead at an
actual  restaurant. Hmm. The waitress scribbles down our order and
hurries  off, since Mulder has returned his focus to me.

"I can't remember the last time I went out for dinner. Sometimes the 
guys invite me over for taco night, but this is much better. It's
nice. Did  you have a nice lunch this afternoon?" He positions his
arms on the table  and leans toward me. "Who did you go with again?" 

"This is nice, Mulder. I'm glad you invited me." I take a sip of
water. I  wonder why he's so interested in my lunch. It was just a
lunch. "Um,  well, I went out with two old friends from med school.
Greg Edwards  and Ray Smith." He cringes. What was that for? "We had a
nice time.  You know, catching up on old times and such." I take
another sip of  water. "How about you? Did you have a nice lunch?" He
adjusts his  position in his chair. He seems uncomfortable. What did I
say that  would cause that?

"It was fine. Two old flames from med school, Scully?" He's trying to
sound casual, but he's not doing a very good job of it. "I would
imagine  they have beautiful homes and rich, rewarding practices." He
sinks a  little in his chair.

"Actually Mulder, you were half right." How did he know? "One was a 
man I dated for a brief time and the other was his best friend.
They're  both still very good friends." I notice my fingers are
tapping the table  nervously. I'm trying to decide how much I should
tell Mulder about my  lunch.  "Actually, Greg -- the one I dated -- is
divorced now and asked  me out. I don't know, though. I gave him my
number but he's not really  my type anymore." Mulder looked visibly
relieved. "Sorry, I got off the  subject." Why am I telling him I gave
my number to this guy. He already  knows that, how else would I have
arranged lunch with him? "Yes, they  both have very healthy practices.
They actually asked me if I would  ever consider practicing medicine
and I explained to them, not right  now, and how much I love my job.
Of course I didn't discuss the issue  of the bureau having taken away
the X-files." Mulder shifts  uncomfortably at the mention of the loss
of the X-Files. "Doesn't matter  though, I'm confident we'll get them
back." I try to reassure him but he  doesn't look so confident. "So,
that was it. Overall a pleasant encounter  with some old friends." 

Mulder pales noticeably. What's wrong with him? Did I miss 
something? I'm just about to ask when the perky waitress takes that 
moment to come over and drop off our drinks. "White wine for the 
lady, and beer for you, " She smacks her chops and winks at him.

"Not really your type, Scully?" Mulder exclaims. I wasn't expecting
his  interest in this subject. "What is your type? What kind of man
turns your  head?" He starts twiddling with his beer bottle, taking a
long swig and  looking nervously around the room, like it was suddenly
the most  interesting place he's ever been to. Well, that's
interesting. Mulder didn't  even seem to notice the waitress dropping
off the drinks, just that the  drink appeared.

"I'd have to say that I prefer someone who isn't so into themselves
that  they forget to ask my opinion. Greg is... well, he's very
egocentric and  that is an automatic turnoff." Mulder looks like he
wishes we weren't  having this conversation. He asked the question for
Pete's sake, he's  going to have to listen to my answer. "Looks-wise
he could get many  women, as long as they were dummies who cared only
for money and  to fall over every word that the good doctor speaks. As
you well know,  I'm not that kind of lady." Mulder nods slightly in
agreement. "I don't  know. I guess a man would turn my head if he
understood my  workaholic nature, and accepted me and what I stand
for. You know,  the obvious things." I wave my hand in the air
dismissively turning the  conversation back to him. "What about you?
Besides tall, brunette,  chesty women, what turns your head?" 

"My type, Scully? I most certainly do not have a type, but if I did it
wouldn't have anything to do with hair color or height or the size of
one's chest." What did I say? If history were to repeat itself, that
would  be construed as his type. "If anything, I would say my type is
the  opposite of tall, big-busted, brunette women." I raise my eyebrow
at  him. Who is he trying to kid? "It doesn't matter what a woman
looks  like, as long as she challenges me and pushes me to think in
ways I  don't normally think. My dream woman would keep me grounded. 
When I say abducted, my dream girl would say kidnapped." I look at 
him in disbelief. If that were true, then I would be his type. "I
don't even  know why you would think my type would be like what you
said." He's  about to continue when the waitress dumps our plates in
front of us and  hurries off, running from the daggers I'm shooting
her direction.

A light bulb seems to go off in his head. "Scully, are you talking
about  Phoebe Green? I know you're not talking about Diana." Uh,
actually I  kind of was. And Detective White and that bug lady ... "
Diana and I  have a purely professional relationship." Right, like I
believe that. "I like  her. She does challenge me, but I always get
the feeling that she's telling  me what I want to hear. When she was
hurt and I was worried about  her, I was worried like I'd have been
worried about Skinner if he had  been hurt. You know that, Scully."
His tone softens. "You were there.  You stayed with me when she was
hurt." I remember that. I was  concerned about him. "I appreciated
that, Scully. I always appreciate  you when you stay with me when I
need someone." His honesty during  this speech seems so sincere.

"Mulder, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. "Yes, I did create a
type of woman for you in my head and it was based on the women I 
either knew you had previous relations with or believed you had a 
relationship with." I reach over and touch his hand briefly. He
tenses.  He's not used to being touched. I'm not used to touching, for
that  matter, but I want him to be clear on my apology. "You're an
attractive  man, Mulder," He looks up at me sharply in shock.  "Just
about  anywhere you go, women are gawking. Maybe I just thought you 
enjoyed the notice from a certain type of woman. Please forgive me for
assuming. I didn't mean anything by it." We sit quietly letting the
air  permeate. After a few excruciating moments of silence I decide
that my  food is the most amazing thing ever. 

I have an overwhelming need to change the subject. "Well, this food 
looks fantastic. Your fajitas look especially appetizing," I suggest 
nervously. 

"Well, it's certainly different than the fajitas I get at Taco Bell."
He's  apparently not ready to change the subject.  "Hey, Scully? What
do you  mean, I'm attractive? You must be drunk. How much wine have
you  had?" His voice is teasing. "My nose is bigger than George 
Washington's on Mount Rushmore and my hair never, ever stays where 
I put it. Now you . . . you are an attractive woman. I can tell you
that  right now." He looks pointedly at me, trying to gauge my
reaction.

I pick up my fork and dig into the monstrosity they call a
"compuesta."  Mulder takes notice and pulls out a tortilla. The
fajitas are sizzling in the  little concoction made up of a hot plate
on a stand with a candle  underneath it. Now why would they think a
candle is going to keep the  plate hot enough? Open flames would keep
it hot but not a votive  candle. I decide it's there for looks and
wiping of my mouth get ready to  debate his self esteem. 

"Mulder your nose is not that big and it adds character." I motion in
the  direction of his nose. "I am not drunk in the least." I say
lightly. "You, on  the other hand are acting very strange." He looks
shocked, but in a  playful way. I love joking around with him. "To
tell me I'm attractive,  you must have had another beer that I didn't
see." I laugh. Does he  really think I'm attractive? Since when? He's
got to be playing with me.  There's no way he really thinks that. I'm
not going to push it. He  obviously doesn't know what he's saying. 

"Oh, come on, Scully. I've always thought you were hot." He says more
seriously than I expect. "Hey, I'm no more drunk than you are. I
always  assumed you knew what I thought and just didn't care. I'm no
Dr.  Greg-I-Graduated-with-Scully-and-Used-To-Date-Her, after all."
Oh,  my god. Is that what this is about? He does not sound like he's
joking.  "Come on, Scully, you can do better than Spooky Mulder. Why
would  I push the issue?" he asks, dejectedly stuffing his mouth full
of fajita.  Some of it spills down his hand and he scrambles for the
napkin he has  on his lap. What the hell is he talking about? 

"The issue, Mulder? What issue? You've never expressed any real 
interest in me outside of work." He hadn't had he? "All you ever 
expressed when it came to things outside of work was innuendo. How 
would I know whether you were kidding or not? You always kid with 
me. That's part of who you and I are. Are you honestly telling me that
you are interested in a different kind of relationship, beyond 
partnership?" Mulder is sitting with his hand covering his mouth. He 
looks freaked out, like a kid getting yelled at for something he did,
but  wished he hadn't. I don't care. I want to know what's going on
and I  want to know now. 

"Is that what you're getting at? If so, when did this life altering
change  occur and where was I when you were having it? Did you wake up
this  morning thinking, I want mess with Scully today because if
that's what  this is, Mulder, it's not acceptable behavior. You need
to be  straightforward with me." I look directly into his eyes,
meeting them  over his giant mound of steaming beef. He's still trying
to hide from me  behind his hand. I'm not going to let him hide, not
this time.

"I'm your best friend and you're mine. Just tell me what all of this
is  about. You ask me out like it's a big event - as if we've never
eaten a  meal together when I don't think anything differently than
any other time  we've eaten together. Then, you get jealous over
someone I went to  school with and happened to date 10 years ago and
now you're trying  to compare yourself to this man?" Mulder has moved
his food away  from in front of him and pushed up his sleeves. This
gesture mimics what  mentally would be considered going into battle. I
don't give him a  chance to respond, determined to get everything out
in the open that  I've been thinking about since we sat down. 

"And why the hell would you think that I could do better than Spooky 
Mulder, as you so aptly put it?" He looks at me sharply when I use
that  epithet. "I hate when you're down on yourself like that,
especially  around me. I will not tolerate it. Now, I want some
answers or we're  out of here." He looks wounded. His eyes are cloudy,
and he hasn't  touched his food since I began my rant. 

I'm pissed off. My temperature is raised. My clothes feel entirely too
confining and my heartbeat has sped up. I pick up my glass of wine, 
gulping the rest of it, desperately trying to calm myself. How did
that  happen? He just aggravates me so much. Doesn't he know that I
care  for him? Love him? I don't compare other relationships to ours.
No  other relationship can compare. He's the only man in my life.
Doesn't he  get that? 

I semi-patiently await his response, trying hard to calm my rapidly 
beating heart. He looks absolutely flabbergasted, and hurt. 

"That's not true, Scully. I most certainly have shown interest in
you." He  shakes his head, seemingly clearing his mind of his
thoughts. "I'm sorry.  Please, Scully, I didn't mean to suggest
anything that would offend you.  I just wanted an evening with the
woman I love. I just wanted to take  you out to a nice meal and enjoy
your company, okay? That's it." He  blundered through his statement
and overwhelmed the socks off me.  Did he say he loved me? No, he
couldn't have meant it that way. Could  he? 

"Mulder, when you said you lov-"

"Fox! Oh my God, it is you? Fox Mulder in the flesh. Well I never..."

Who the hell is this woman? She's tall. She's thin. She's blond. And
she  knows Mulder enough to call him Fox. I have a bad feeling about
this.

***

Oh no. Not now. Not here. I look up and there she is. The last person
I  would ever expect or want to walk through that door. I would rather
have run into the Flukeman than the alternative, Jenna Thompson. The 
former Mrs. Mulder. I have to say something. What do I say? 

"Hello, Jenna. It's nice to see you. How have you been?" Okay, 
politeness never fails. Maybe if I can play it cool, I can get through
this  without Scully figuring out who this woman used to be to me. 

"I'm good, really good. You look like you're doing well." She looks at
Scully, waiting for an introduction.

"Um, Jenna, this is Dana Scully. Dana this is Jenna." I'm going to
give  just the facts. Nobody's ever gotten in trouble for just giving
the facts.  Especially if they don't give all the facts.

"Dana, it's very nice to meet you. You're very lucky to be in the 
company of the great Foxy Mulder." Foxy. I HATE that. I've gotta get 
her to leave us alone. 

"Jenna, it sure was nice to see you. Is that Brad with you? I would
hate  to have him be kept waiting." Okay, so that was not quite so
polite, but  this has to end. 

"Oh, okay, Fox. It was really nice to see you. I was just thinking
that it  would be so funny if I ran into you since this is just right
down the street  from our old apartment. And then there you were! It
looks like you're  doing well for yourself." She glances at Scully,
who is looking really  perplexed.

"Yes, I'm doing just fine. Thanks for stopping by." Please leave,
please  leave, please leave, I chant over and over in my head. 

"An old friend of yours, Mulder?" Scully asks. Oh, no. How do I get 
out of this?

"Um, yeah, she used to live in this neighborhood, too." Which is in
fact  true. And I'm going to stick to the facts. Just not all the
facts. Maybe if I  don't say too much, Scully will just drop it. What
were we talking about  before Jenna showed up? Maybe I can refocus her
attention to that. 

Oh, wait. I had just accidentally told her I love her. That's bad. I
most  certainly do not want to talk about that anymore. I'm just going
to go  ahead and do what I always do. I'm going to ignore everything
that has  just happened.

Scully has started eating again. That's a good idea. She's going to 
ignore everything too.  

"How's your salad, Scully?" 

"You've already asked me that. It's still fine, although I'm getting
full."  The waitress, who I like more and more all the time, comes by
with our  bill. I take $75 out of my wallet and put it on the table.
I'm sure that will  be enough and I just want to get out of here. I
stand up and Scully  follows suit. 

"So Mulder, who was that woman? You seemed really annoyed by her 
presence. Old fling gone wrong?" Scully asks as she puts her coat on.

Man, how am I going to get out of this one? I've gotta say something.
I'll tell the truth. That won't hurt anyone, right? "She used to live
in my  building and I haven't seen her in a long time." I shrug.  "She
moved to a  farm in Maryland with that guy she was with." I don't say
anything more  as we walk through the restaurant and into the cold
evening. 

Well, she did used to live in my building. That's the truth. Scully
wants  to spend more time with me. I don't think telling her that
Jenna not only  lived in my building, but in my apartment, in my bed,
would be  conducive to that.

"Mulder, are you okay?" She looks very concerned. "Are you feeling 
ill?" We reach the corner and I tap the crosswalk button. Scully
reaches  up and touches my forehead, checking for a fever. I love when
she does  that.  Her hands are always so cold. "Something is
definitely going on  with you. I mean, first you act all excited about
the prospect of having  dinner, then when we do go to dinner you get
jealous over a friend from  med school, then indirectly tell me that
you love me." The light turns and  we begin to cross the street as she
continues. "Which I'm sure was not  meant the way you said it, and
then we bump into an old "friend" that  you obviously do not want to
talk about. What the hell's going on with  you, Mulder? You've got me
worried." 

We stop walking and she looks at me for an explanation. I'm going to 
ignore all of what she said. I'm going to maintain that everything is
fine  and maybe she'll let me off the hook. I need to maintain
normalcy. I can  do that. 

"Everything's fine, Scully." I start walking again. We're almost to my
apartment. Hopefully, I can distract her somehow and she'll forget 
about Jenna. "I'm not feeling ill in the least. I'm just not used to
having  such a good time with you. Not that we don't always have a
good time."  I backpedal.

"Mulder, why are you acting like this? You are talking yourself in 
circles. If you can't tell me what's going on, that's fine. I'd rather
hear  you say 'I don't want to talk about it.' God, you're being so
cryptic and  frankly, it's irritating me. You know, I had a nice time
too, Mulder, until  all of this." 

"Okay, Scully. I don't want to talk about it. Can't we just go back to
having a nice time? Did I tell you I thought up fifty names for my
fish  today? You never can be too prepared. Hey, have you ever thought
about replacing Queequeg, Scully?" I speed up my walking but she 
keeps up with me. "I always liked him."

"Mulder, Queequeg?" She's slightly breathless, I'm walking so fast. 
"You hated my dog. Mulder, you can't just go back to 'having a nice 
time,' as you so aptly put it. You know, whatever it is that's wrong
with  you is obviously personal and I get it - I'm just your partner.
So, why  don't you deal with whatever it is that is plaguing you and
leave me out  of it?" She begins to lag behind, giving me some space.
Space I decide I  really don't want. 

Crap.  I really, really don't want her to leave. I can fix this. How
can I  fix this? Think, man, she's getting farther and farther behind.
I'm going to  have to tell her the truth. The real truth, not those
fake truths I was  telling her before. I stop to allow her a second to
catch up.

"Scully, come on, let's talk about this." 

"No, Mulder. I get it. You made it perfectly clear that you would not
like to discuss it with me, of all people." She's not making any
effort to  walk very fast and I watch her impatiently. I take the
couple of seconds  it takes her to catch up to calm myself down.

"I'm sorry, Scully." I manage to say as gently as possible. "I do want
to  discuss it with you. I really do. I just don't want to do it here
in the  street. We're almost at my building. Why don't you come up and
I'll  explain everything." Please say yes, please say yes, I chant
over and  over in my head. 

"Fine," she says, exasperated.

"Okay, Scully. Let's go upstairs. I haven't been absolutely truthful
with  you this evening. I want to explain myself."

CHAPTER 3
Mulder's Apartment, Arlington, VA

God, what is it now? There's always "something" with Mulder. I wonder
why that is. He said he hasn't been truthful with me. But he's always
honest with me. Being truthful is ingrained in his being. He slowly
trots  to the elevator, catching it just before the doors close.
Another couple is  in the back, groping each other and carrying on. I
wish I had a normal  loving relationship where I felt free enough to
display my affection for  my partner in public. Wait. I meant the
person I love. Shit. Again,  visions of Mulder are streaming through
my mind. What is taking this  damn elevator so long?

I look over and study his profile. He's making a point not to make eye
contact with me. It must be really bad if he can't make eye contact
with  me. A feeling of sheer dread washes over me like a tidal wave.
It can't  be as bad as I'm imagining it to be right now. Can it? Well,
I'm about to  find out. The elevator comes to a halt on the 4th floor
and Mulder exits  first, taking long, quick steps to his apartment. He
inserts the key and  unlocks the door, stepping aside so that I can
enter before him. I guess  chivalry isn't dead. 

Suddenly, I've had it with the silence. Enough quiet time -- it's time
for  this canary to sing.

"Okay, Mulder. So what is it that has you acting so strange?" I ask
him,  without being nearly as polite as I had initially wanted to be.
He's  looking at me with fear in his eyes.

"Scully, have I ever told you I was married?" he croaks out.

"Married? Excuse me? Mulder, did you say married?" I'm stunned. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I was."  He looks at me cautiously to gauge my reaction 
and I give him a "go on" gesture with a flip of my hand. "I was
married  for about a year. From January of 1990 until sometime early
in 1991. I  can't remember exactly when the divorce was final. I think
it was  February." He's having a hard time looking me directly in the
eye. "She  moved out in November and it took a couple of months to
draw up the  divorce papers." I am still trying to figure out if I've
met anyone from  that period in his past. An image of Diana flashes
through my mind, but I  don't think he's talking about her. 

"She was a Professor at Georgetown University." Nope, definitely not 
Diana. I'm relieved. "She left me for one of her students. She started
the  affair in September and moved in with him in November. I didn't
even  notice anything was going on." He shrugs dejectedly. "I was
spending a  lot of time at work. I was distracted by a case involving
a guy named  Edward Skur. Have I ever told you about him?" He focuses
briefly on  me. "I probably haven't, it doesn't really matter. Anyway,
when she left,  she was very nice about telling me she was looking for
someone who  wasn't so weird. That's not exactly what she said, but
it's what she  meant." He finishes his response and sinks into the
couch. His body  language shows how painful it was for him to tell me
this. 

My entire body is numb and tingling with what can only be categorized
as shock. Doctor diagnose thy self. Oh my God. This is not what I 
expected him to tell me. "Mulder, I don't know what to say. I can't 
believe what I'm hearing. I had no idea... I can't... I'm sorry. I
didn't  know." I shake my head trying to clear my mind of the rampant
feelings  running wild from his confession. "Why haven't you told me
this before?  I've known you six years and you've never once mentioned
that you  were married." I am having a hard time processing this. How
could he  have kept this from me? I look up at him and notice that
he's hanging on  my every word.

"It never came up." He shrugged again, like the answer should be 
obvious. "You didn't tell me about Jack until I met him on a case.
It's  the same thing." How can he compare the two? I think I might
shoot  him again. "Scully, you and I rarely discuss things that
happened before  we met" Well, he does have a point there. "The only
thing that made my  relationship with Jenna different than any other
relationship I've had in  the past was the fact that we were married."

Uh, yeah, I think that's a big difference! "Scully, look, I was 29,
had an  established career, so when I started to date Jenna, it seemed
like the  thing to do. I mean, everybody from my class at Quantico was
getting  married." I look at him unbelievingly. "I know that's not a
good excuse,  or the conventional reason people get married, but I
really wanted to do  something normal for a change." he said this
while looking at the ceiling.  I know how hard it is for him to admit
his secret desire to fit in. The  more he explains himself, the less I
want to shoot him. He gets a small  reprieve for now.

"I was tired of always being weird. I met Jenna through a guy I played
basketball with and we hit it off. After dating her for three months,
I  asked her to marry me." Three months! "She said yes, and we got 
married two months later. My parents were not thrilled about it." 
Somehow, that didn't surprise me. I doubt Mulder's parents have ever 
been thrilled about anything. "They thought I should have married 
someone I knew better. Someone they knew better, actually. They 
were right as it turned out. Then when Jenna left me, I dedicated
myself  to my work more than I ever had before." 

He's now sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupping
his  face while looking at the floor. I know how hard this must be for
him.  "Right before Jenna left me, I was working on a case about a guy
named Edward Skur and I met someone who told me about the X-
Files. I did some poking around and found them in the basement. It was
perfect timing actually." His demeanor immediately brightened at the 
mention of the X-Files. 

"I gave up even a pretense of being normal and eventually, the FBI
left  me alone, at least until they sent you." He finally made eye
contact with  me from where I was standing across the room. I just
couldn't bring  myself to sit right next to him while he told me of
his marriage to another  woman. I especially do not want to consider
what that says about me.  "Today I started thinking about my life and
came to the conclusion that  I'm tired of being alone." He sighs and
shakes his head.  "I figure you know me better than anyone and still
accept me. That's  one of the reasons I love you." He's looking me
right in the eyes. His  guard is down and he has finally admitted what
we had silently agreed  we'd never speak of. 

He loves me. I think I'm going to faint but he's continuing "I just
haven't  told you that before because I figured you weren't
interested." He  thought I wasn't interested? How could he have
thought that? I'm about  to object and barely open my mouth before he
resumes his explanation.  "Then when I thought you might be
interested, an opportunity never  presented itself. He lets out a long
breath, "Well, until now. I know this  is bad timing, but it's true,
Scully."

I take a deep breath to try to compose myself. I think I need a little
clarification here. I need facts before I can move on. "Mulder, when
you  referred to your ex-wife, you said her name was Jenna. You
introduced  the woman we met at the Grill as Jenna. Am I correct?"

"Uh-huh." 

"Okay. Let me get this straight. You were married to that woman I met
today in the restaurant." He nods his head yes. "For how long again?"

"A year. Maybe a little more." 

"Maybe a little more? Please Mulder... you married her. And here I'm 
supposed to believe that you love me, yet you can't even recall the 
amount of time you spent committed to a woman you were supposed to 
spend the rest of your life with?" I'm getting angry. I can feel the
heat on  my face. I'm sure my damned Irish skin is turning a bright
red. 

"Did you even love her?" I say in a condescending tone. I'm trying so
hard to contain my anger and resentment for his not telling me, yet
the  fact that he supposedly loves me is still overwhelming.

"What happened with Jenna is so different than what you and I have." 
He says simply, like I should already know this. "I don't know if I
really  loved her or not." He shrugs as if it's the easiest answer. "I
don't think I  did, because I know I love you, and I never felt
anything for her like I  do for you." He sits up a straighter. "I only
married her because I was at  a point in my life where it seemed like
the right thing to do. There  haven't been many times in my life where
I've had the opportunity to  have a normal life. So, I jumped at the
chance." 

He's trying to make me understand and I'm having a hard time with it.
He senses this and pauses before beginning again. "You know, I didn't
even tell Jenna what happened to Sam." But Samantha is everything to 
him. Why would he have spent the better part of a decade searching for
her and not have told his wife about his sister? I look at him, 
unbelieving.

"I was trying to get away from my past when I married Jenna and I 
didn't want her to know what had happened. It wasn't hard to do, 
actually. Jenna had only met my parents once and they weren't exactly
forthcoming about Samantha when she questioned her picture. You 
were different, though, Scully. How long did I know you before I told
you about Sam? A day?" My mind flashes back to that hotel room in 
Oregon when he told me about his sister. "Somehow I knew that you 
wouldn't laugh at me or discredit my search for her, and you didn't. I
think that's when I really fell in love with you. The day after we
met."  He's been in love with me since then? That's ridiculous. 

"Mulder, you can't be serious. This is crazy! Why are you telling me 
these things? I don't know what to think, or say, I feel so confused."
My  entire body becomes uncomfortably warm again. "This is all so
sudden  Mulder. It's like you just decided that today was the day to
drop a  bomb like this. Why?" My mind is going numb. I can hardly feel
anything outside of my rapidly beating heart. 

"I'm telling you today because today is the day you agreed to go out
to  dinner with me." He says this with another one of those damned
shrugs,  as if it's the only answer in the world. What the hell? This
doesn't make  any sense.

"Mulder, we have dinner together all of the time. I have dinner with
you  more than I eat alone. When we're on a case, we have every single
meal together. Why was today so different?" I move closer to the couch
he's leaning back, arms crossed behind his head. He almost seems 
relaxed now that he's confessed all his sins, so to speak. What the
hell?  Me, my mind is mush. I can't think straight and I'm shifting my
weight  from one foot to the other barely able to refrain from
pacing.

"That's not true, Scully. We have eaten out together exactly once
while  not on the clock. February 23, 1997. Your thirty-third
birthday." He  remembers my birthday? "That is the only time we've
ever eaten at a  restaurant when we weren't on a case. I was going to
tell you I loved  you then, but we got interrupted by that whole Max
Fenig thing.  Remember?" I do remember. He gave me a key chain that I
still have  on my key ring today. "Then you got sick and I was afraid
to tell you  how I felt. Meeting your brother Bill didn't help my
decision any. He  really does hate me, you know." 

He didn't tell me because of my brother? What exactly has Bill said to
him? I want to ask him, but he continues, "Today, I was having lunch
in  the cafeteria, and I thought about how much I want to spend time
with  you." Since when? He's been wanting to spend time me with. How
did I  miss that? "Then when I asked, you said yes and I thought this
may just  be my chance but seeing Jenna ruined my plans." He slowly
stands up  looking at me sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about
her. The entire  experience was something I'm not proud of but I can't
hide how I feel  any more. Scully, I'm telling you I'm in love with
you." He walks  around the coffee table and slowly moves towards me. 

I don't know what to say. I can barely breathe. "Mulder, I . . . ." He
is  in front of me, staring into my eyes with dilated pupils. Oh God,
he's so  beautiful. What is he doing? "Mulder, what are you doing?" He
gently  lays both his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look up
into his face.

"Scully, I love you," he whispers as he slides his right hand up
around  my neck, lean fingertips twirling at the nape. I gasp as he
leans his face  inches from mine. I can't speak. I have lost all of my
thought processes  to focus only on the tender lick of his lips before
my breath mingles with  his. Oh sweet Jesus. He tugs at my neck,
giving me an extra nudge  toward his mouth. He is waiting for me to
move the remaining inch it will  take for our mouths to meet. I can't
help the electric current running  through my mouth to his - wanting,
needing, bringing us together by the  sheer force, a gravitational
pull that cannot be denied. 

I move the extra inch and it's as if the world stops. Nothing exists
but  his lips sliding over mine, unsure at first but gaining
confidence with each  moment that passes. I tug his bottom lip into my
mouth, worrying it a bit  with my teeth. I've always wanted to do
that. He gasps and the kiss  takes on a whole new meaning. He grips my
body tightly around my  waist and crushes my mouth with his. It
doesn't hurt, more the opposite.  His need for me is ravenous. He's
holding onto me as though I might run  if he let go. There's no way
wild horses could drag me away from this  mouth. I have never felt nor
tasted anything so sweet.

I open my mouth and tilt my head to gain better access. Our tongues 
move over each other, learning what the other likes best. The kiss 
quickly turns to something more carnal. I feel movement. He's walking.
Taking us backwards. Backwards? Hard to think when his perfect lips 
are trailing kisses down my neck, licking and biting at my pulse. Oh 
God, this is so much better than I had ever imagined. I could drown in
him. Oh hell, I think I will. The backward motion continues until I'm
up  against his bedroom door. He slides his hands down my sides and
starts  to lift up my blouse. The fire between us is setting my entire
body  aflame. 

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!! 

What the hell is that? How am I supposed to decipher anything with 
those sweet lips tugging and nibbling on my earlobe? Mmmm God, it's 
been so long since I've felt a man's touch and it's even better that
it's  Mulder's. 

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

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

Scully is kissing me and liking it. Actually, she's more than liking
it.  She's loving it. This is better than I've ever imagined, and I've
imagined  it often. She is molding herself to me and I need to feel
more of her. I  can't believe this is happening.

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

The buzzing inside my head is getting louder. It almost sounds like a
phone ringing. Scully's pulling away. What the hell? I push against
her  body and the door, re-affirming my contact against her. She
pushes me  away again.

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

Crap. It is the phone. Nobody ever calls me, except Scully and she's 
here. It's too late for my mother to call me. Maybe it's the Gunmen.
I'll  let it go to my machine. 

"Hello, this is Fox Mulder, I'm not here. Please leave a message."

"Mulder, this is Assistant Director Kersh. I need to talk to you about
a  case as soon as possible."

Kersh is calling me at home? He wants me to go on a case. I look at 
Scully. We're both still panting but she nods at me and I pick up the
phone.

"Sir? I'm here. I was just in the other room." He doesn't know that I
live in a very small apartment, does he?

"Mulder, I'm glad I reached you. I've tried Agent Scully's home and 
cell phone number and wasn't able to reach her. I need the two of you
in California tonight, investigating a case," Kersh demands.

"A case? You want us to go on a case?" I'm incredulous and my head 
is still fuzzy from the kiss.

"Yes, Agent Mulder, a case. Last time I checked, you were still
Federal  Agents." Kersh really irritates me. Why is he sending us on a
case? I  thought he was going to have us investigate manure shipments
until we  quit the Bureau.

"What did we do to be granted this honor?" I really need to know.

"You were requested by the local branch office in Modesto. Apparently
they have more faith in you than I do. This is a big case, Mulder.
Don't  screw it up." If I ever start to believe in myself, I'll just
talk to Kersh.  He'll remind me what I've become, useless.

"A big case, Sir? What is it?" Scully has found a piece of paper and
pen  on my desk and has written a question mark on it. She's as
curious  about what Kersh wants as I am.

"It seems that the daughter of the Regional Deputy Director was killed
by a suspected serial killer. They've asked for you and Scully because
of your special interests."

"Our special interests? Is this an X-File?" Please let it be an
X-File, I  plead silently. Scully scribbles XFILE!? on her paper.

"It is not an X-File, Agent Mulder. It is a serial murder case. You
both  have experience with these types of cases, so they requested
you." I  shake my head at Scully and she looks deflated. "I need you
two to be  in California as soon as possible. I've booked you both on
the 11:00  flight to San Francisco tonight. I haven't been able to
reach Scully. If  you can't reach her, just go on ahead without her.
I'm sure she'll catch  up with you later, if only to protect you from
yourself." What's that  supposed to mean? Man, I hate Kersh.

"Oh, uh, I think I know where I can reach Scully, Sir. We'll both be 
there." I hang up and tell Scully the few details I know. Immediately,
we  are in case mode and our kiss is almost forgotten.

CHAPTER 4
Flight 1310 DC to SF
Somewhere over Cleveland

We rush to the airport. When I say rush, I mean run, using all of our
FBI status to get us through airport security. We find our seats,
Mulder  stuffs our carry-ons in the overhead compartment and sits next
to me  with the grace of a dancer. It's strange to me how utterly
comfortable he  is in his own skin. For a lengthy individual, he sure
moves his limbs  without restriction. Okay, now the plane's engines
have started, the  initial fear starts deep in my belly. I absolutely
hate flying. Mulder knows  this about me but never once has he teased
me about it, just as I've  never teased him about his fear of fire. 

The plane's large engines start to propel us into motion. I quickly
grip  the arms of the seat, nudging Mulder's arm completely off the
arm-rail  between us. The plane plows forward, I grit my teeth
together and start  chanting Our Fathers as the plane speeds up. When
I'm close to the end  of my first round of prayer, a warm, large hand
moves over my left  upper thigh, caressing and squeezing lightly. I
open my eyes to see that  it's none other than Mulder, trying to offer
a semblance of comfort.  Little does he know that that hand is slowly
burning a hole right through  my leg and straight into my soul. He's
not looking at me. He has leaned  his chair back and closed his eyes.
He made this bold move without  even thinking about it. He's can be so
sweet. Sweet, but married once  upon a time. I can't get over it.

Married. Mulder was previously married. I'm still in utter shock from
that revelation. How could he keep it a secret from me for the past
six  years? Did I not pay enough attention to things we've discussed?
I  would have thought that something that crucial to one's life would
have  come up at some point or another. Why am I so worried about this
little  tidbit of information from my elusive partner? That's just it.
We are  partners. Finding out that he was "partners" in the truest
sense of the  word with another woman, one Jenna Thomas, really
bothers me. I  should be the only partner he's had, just like he is
for me. I know that is  unrealistic to think that Mulder didn't have a
past before me but I really  had never thought he was the type of guy
to marry. 

No, not just be married - it's the thought of him married to anyone
other  than me, if I'm truthful with myself. This all comes back to
what I want  from a relationship with Mulder. What is it that I want?
Do I want a life  mate, a boyfriend, a partner, a best friend? Yes,
yes, yes and yes. I  want all of those things and I want them with
Mulder. I've just never let  myself admit it until now. 

Wow. That was definitely an eye-opener on my part. I'm proud of 
myself. I can finally admit that I want and *need* him in my life, for
more than just a damn good partner and friend. 

I'm still reeling at how someone could be so cold hearted and betray 
Mulder the way this Jenna did. She seemed nice enough at the 
restaurant. She is tall, although everyone's tall compared to me.
Blond.  That was a surprise. If anything, I would have expected Mulder
to be  with a brunette. She did have nice blue eyes. I wonder if he's
ever  compared my eyes to hers. Her voice, however, was something that
I  couldn't tolerate for any length of time. The high-pitched tone
alone  would make me want to wring her neck. Then again, I have more 
reasons than her voice for wanting to wring that skinny neck. 

She hurt Mulder. She's one of the reasons he's so afraid of a
committed  relationship. At least this adds a missing piece to the
puzzle that is  Mulder's mind. I can't blame him for acting the way he
does,  considering what the previous women he's given his heart to
have done  to him. I can only try to show him that I'm not like them.
I'd never hurt  him that way, or any way for that matter. I love him.
They couldn't have  treated him the way they did if they loved him. Oh
well, to the victor  goes the spoils. 

Love. Mulder said he loves me. Not once but four times if you add 
them up. Only once did he look me directly in the eyes when he said
it.  Me? Well, I have yet to relinquish that phrase in return. The
honest-to- God truth is that I'm scared. No, I haven't been hurt the
way Mulder  has but I have other reasons to fear a relationship with
him. For one, we  work so well together. That's the people we are.
Without the X-Files  we'd be lost. We would never have met and we
would not be the  people we are today. Our experiences in the X-Files
have molded the  relationship we have. Frankly, I'm not so sure we
should risk what we  have. We've been so good. For six years we have
hidden our feelings  from each other. Though obviously, I've been more
successful than he  has. 

I've know he finds me semi-attractive, I just didn't know that he
loves  me in the way that every girl dreams of being loved. He's even
admitted  it. Thinking back, that moment steals the breath from me.
He'd kissed  me. Not some wispy peck on the cheek or lips, but a
full-blown kiss to  end all kisses. How can I remember something so
vividly and still  consider blocking it out completely? God, I want
him more than  anything I've ever wanted in my entire life. The good
and bad thing is  that he wants me, too. Hell, with the way he was
acting, maybe even  more than I could have ever imagined.

My feelings are so jumbled up. I've never been this indecisive. I've 
always been able to review the situation and make an accurate decision
based on the facts presented. Okay, then that's what I'll do. I'll
make a  mental Pros and Cons list to aid in thinking objectively.
Start with the  Pros, Dana. Let's see . . . Pro number one - I love
him. Not just love,  but I am *in love* with him. Pro number two - he
loves and is in love  with me. No rejection there. Three - every time
I look at him lately I  want to jump him. And when I say jump him, I
mean hop on and ride  him like's he's my only route home. 

That was bad, Dana. Now you've gotten yourself aroused again. Shit, 
just don't look at him or he'll know. He always knows when I'm acting
different and that brings me to Pro number four. He knows me better 
than I know myself, although if asked, he'd say he didn't have a clue.
But he does. From the way I take my coffee all the way down to my 
mother's birthday. He won't admit it unless under extreme duress but
he  does in fact know every one of my family members' birthdays. How
do  I know this? Well, every time it's a family member's birthday or
near it,  he'll ask about them in one way or another. It could be as
subtle as  asking how my brother Charlie is doing and if I'd talked to
him recently.  It's almost strange but then again, I wouldn't expect
anything else from  my Mulder. 

My Mulder. When the hell did I start thinking about him as *my* 
Mulder? Getting yourself off track, Dana. Back to the list. Pro number
five - he's my best friend. Pro number six - he's the best partner
I've  ever had in my life. I couldn't have asked for a better partner.
Really,  with all of his idiosyncrasies we still have the best solve
rate at the  Bureau. The proof is in the pudding, as they say. 

God, the Pros are so easy when I'm referring to Mulder. There are 
countless things that are positive about him. All right let's even
this out a  bit. Con number one - we work together. Isn't it funny
that one of the  Pros actually balances out one of the Cons? Alas,
it's true. It's not  professional to be in a romantic relationship
with your partner. That's  one of the reasons they don't team up as
many opposite sex partners as  they used to. The sexual harassment
suits alone are a good reason.  Regardless, he's still my partner. I
love him and want to be with him  physically, yet it's definitely not
encouraged by the Bureau. 

Con number two - I love him. Again, a Con balances out a Pro. The 
reason is that I'm so in tune with him that getting into a
relationship with  such a demanding individual could be a daunting
experience. I could so  easily lose myself *in* him. His entire being
makes me melt and as much  as I want to melt into him, I need to save
a piece of myself. What if he is  too much for me? 

He's rather needy when it comes to me. I'm pretty much the only person
he can count on. His mother . . . well, I'd love for my mom to go over
there and teach her a few things about parenting. Even now that vile 
woman treats him poorly. I can remember countless calls to her,
letting  her know that he'd been in the hospital for something and she
never  once came to see how her child was doing. I never understood
that.  Neither did Mom, but she's been great to him. Treating him like
her  own son. 

Oh, there's Pro number seven - my mother loves him. She can trust him
to pull her baby girl out of a bind when a situation gets sticky. I
don't tell  Mom much about what Mulder and I do, but what I do tell
her is how  many times he's saved me from going over the edge. She
secretly  wishes I'd settle down, and if it were with Mulder, she'd
feel like at least  I was being protected. Not that I need to be
protected. 

God, it's easy to get off track. Con number three is the big one. I
can't  give Mulder children. He's so good with kids, he'd be a great
father and  I can't provide that for him. My natural ability as a
woman was taken  away from me and if Mulder and I pursue a
relationship, he will have to  accept the fact that we cannot have
kids. How could I ask that of him?  He deserves a family. Then again,
he's never directly said he wants  children. Oh, I don't know. Here I
am worrying about being able to  provide Mulder with children of his
own after one kiss. One kiss, albeit  a very good kiss, which
incidentally would have gone much further had  we not been
interrupted. I almost wish we weren't interrupted. Then the 
choice would have been taken away from me. 

Jeez, I'm so wishy-washy tonight. I need some sleep. I need to talk to
Mulder but I'm afraid of what he'll say. He's already laid his cards
on  the table. The real question is, do I tell him I feel the same or
insist that  we forget about it and continue on as we have been. He'll
expect  something from me. Can our partnership survive my letting him
down  easy? Do I want to let him down? I need more time to think this
through, to process it all. I hope he's willing to give me the time. 

I take one longing look at my partner, valiantly trying to sleep. He's
got  the right idea - sleep. This plane ride is 5 hours long and we
still have a  little over 4 left. He still hasn't moved his hand and I
hope he doesn't.  The connection is grounding, and it calms me. I'll
just shut my eyes and  think about all of this later. 

Flight 1310 DC to SF
Somewhere over Chicago

Scully hates to fly. She's afraid of it and because of our work, she
has  to do it all the time. It's one more thing that she does because
of me. I  knew she was nervous when the plane took off. I could see
that she  was saying Our Fathers in her head as soon as the engines
started to  whine. So, I did what I had always wanted to do when we
fly. I put a  reassuring hand on her leg to let her know everything
would be okay. I  had never made such a bold move  in the past because
I was sure she  would push me away. She didn't tonight and it felt
good to be able to  comfort her..

It seems to have calmed her down. She's actually sleeping now. She 
had been pretending to be asleep for the first two hours of our
flight, but  I knew she wasn't. I could feel that she was still tense.
I didn't say  anything to her because I knew that she needed time to
process all that  happened today.

Actually, I'm glad she didn't seem to want to talk about it just now.
I  wouldn't have known what to say. I've already said what I need to
this  evening. I told her everything. I confessed my two biggest
secrets --  that I was married and that I love her.

I'm still a little surprised that when I told Scully I had been
married she  didn't storm out of my apartment. It would have been
easier if I had  told Scully about it early in our relationship. It
wouldn't have been that  big of a deal. The marriage wasn't a big
deal. Back then I was pretty  proud to have gotten a girl that looked
like Jenna to marry me, but it  really wasn't as deep of a
relationship as Scully thinks it was. She had  said that I was
supposed to care about Jenna for the rest of my life. She 
asked if I had even loved Jenna. Well, truthfully, no I didn't. 

Marriage isn't the same thing to me as it is to Scully. Her parents
did  have a 'til-death-do-they-part type marriage. Marriage isn't like
that to  me. My marriage to Jenna was an experiment. It was a learning
experience for me. I was surprised when she agreed to date me. I was 
astonished when she actually married me. The only thing that didn't 
amaze me was when she eventually left. I had been expecting the 
inevitable since the day we met. Not that Jenna left me out of malice
or  anything. Like I said, it was all very friendly. I was so sure
that it would  happen that I didn't make any moves to stop her leaving
when it did  happen. 

Actually, Jenna was only my second real girlfriend. Phoebe was my
first  and she just reinforced everything I had learned growing up.
Phoebe  proved to me that you should never want anything too much
because  once people know what you want they know what they can take
away  from you. I wanted my sister to come back, and she never did. I
wanted my parents to be happy together and they weren't. I wanted 
Phoebe to accept me for who I was and she didn't. 

In retrospect, Jenna wasn't like Phoebe at all, not really. The result
was  the same, but the methods were different. I think Jenna did love
me,  when I look back on it. I just didn't give her enough of myself
to keep  her interested. I just went through the motions with her.
When I asked  her to marry me, I really thought she would say no. It
wasn't fair to her  at all. I'm glad to see she's still with Brad
though. Maybe he's able to  give her what she deserves.

Scully and I are more like a married couple right now, than Jenna and
I  ever were. Our co-workers have been joking about it for years. Mrs.
Spooky they call her.  I've known how much she's meant to me for a 
long time. I just didn't want to admit it to anyone. I thought that if
I  admitted it, it would be taken away from me. Plus, Scully didn't
seem to  want to know. I've learned over time that she's not out to
take anything  away from me. I have told her more about my past than
I've anyone  else, and she's stayed with me. On a couple of occasions,
I've been  sure that she was going to leave me and she didn't. She was
even  surprised that I thought she would leave.

When I really think it through, Scully has told me how much I've meant
to her in her own ways. After the first time they closed the X-Files
and  split us up, I was ready to quit. I even knew what I was going to
do. I  was going to leave the Bureau and pursue my interest in the
paranormal  somehow. She told me that she would consider it more than
a  professional loss if I decided to leave. Not long before that, she
had  gone to great lengths to meet with me, in a parking garage, no
less, to  find out if I was all right. I can hear her words in my head
now like she's  just said them. The thought slams through me. She's
tried to tell me how  much I meant to her, and I ignored it. Man, we
are good at indirect  messages.

Tonight, I did pretty good, giving her direct messages. Well, at least
once we got back to my apartment. I told her I loved her. Four times.
She didn't flinch. I kissed her and she kissed me back. She hasn't
told  me out loud that she loves me, but she told me in her actions
towards  me tonight. If she didn't love me, there's no way my hand
would be  where it is now.

That kiss was perfect. We were going to take it further, too. I was 
getting ready to unbutton her shirt. She was actively helping me do
it. I  believe she wants this as much as I do. I wish Kersh hadn't
called. That  man has an uncanny ability to ruin my plans. I really
wanted what we  started to make it to the final stage. It's been so
long since I've been  intimate with a woman. The last time was  when
Scully had been  abducted and I tried to drown my pain of her loss in
someone else. But  I couldn't forget and I haven't looked at anyone
else since. I don't even  think about anyone else when I jack off.
Only Scully. She's become my  fetish. 

The plane intercom dings to let us know it's time to put our seat
backs  up and get ready for landing. It wakes Scully up a little and
she turns in  a way that causes my hand to go closer to her crotch. I
start to get hard  thinking of all the things I would like to do to
her. All the things I would  like her to do to me. Kersh is not
involved in any of it.

I must have drifted into sleep for a minute because the next thing I
know  the plane is landing and Scully is shaking me awake. Oh, this is
nice.  We're still ok. She's had five hours to think it over and she's
still smiling  at me. I smile back at her and get up to retrieve our
luggage.  

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

Mulder is so funny. He just about skipped his way to the rental
agency.  He's trying valiantly not to talk about the kiss we shared
but I can tell he  wants me to bring it up. I'm not ready. I still
need time to process. But  he is damn cute when he's excited like
this. He should be dead on his  feet. We didn't get much sleep on the
plane and it's really late. We just  traveled back in time two hours
so we're far more tired than the hour  suggests we should be. 

The clerk hands Mulder the keys and directs us to nothing other than a
blue Alero. Surprise, surprise. I think we are meant to travel the
world  in nothing but lame sedans. I wonder if we've ever rented this
one  before. Probably not. 

"Okay Mulder, so where are we headed again?" I'm pulling out the map 
as he shifts in his seat.

"It's four in the morning so I say we drive to Modesto, which is an
hour  and a half away, check into a hotel, take a shower, and go to
the field  office. I want to get there bright and early to find out
what's so big  about this case. What do you think it could be,
Scully?" he asks as he  heads out onto Highway 580.

"I don't have a clue as to why Kersh would send us out so quickly. 
Your plan sounds fine Mulder. I want to get a look at the body. What's
her name again?" I'm looking in the case file trying, to find the name
of  our victim.

"Mabel O'Rourke . . . daughter of some FBI bigwig out here." I'm 
always amazed at his memory.

"Says here, victim appears to have been strangled, body was found at a
local hospital in Modesto. The body was found face up with an icepack
wrapped around her neck. Now why the hell would someone put an 
icepack around her neck, post-mortem?" 

"No idea. What else does it say?"

"Victim, Caucasian female, 64 inches in height, date of birth
11/10/77.  They've held the body until I can perform the autopsy. I'll
know more  after that." Poor girl. So young.

"Is there any information about any of the other victims found in the
area? Kersh said there had been a number of killings in the vicinity
of  our current victim."

"Well, actually there were two other bodies found in Oakdale, which is
about 30 minutes from Modesto, but there doesn't seem to be a 
connection. Our victim, Mabel O'Rourke was the daughter of John and 
Carol O'Rourke. John is the Regional Deputy Director of the bureau 
and has requested the assistance of the national headquarters to
assist in  the manhunt. He would do the search himself, but due to the
nature of  the case understands that he is too close and wouldn't be
objective.  Well, at least he's honest. We'll have to interview both
parents to find  out whether their daughter had any enemies."

"This is a strange one Mulder. Something about it doesn't sit well
with  me. Hopefully the autopsy will answer some of my questions."

"The guy picked the wrong girl for his third victim . . . ."

"Mulder, the local PD already ruled out a connection between the 
murders. Just because they haven't solved them yet doesn't mean that 
they are related. Why would you automatically think that?" 

"Three unconnected deaths in a town of how big, Scully?"

"Well, Modesto has around 230,000 and Oakdale has roughly 
50,000," I answer, having read the stats from the file. "Where are you
heading with this?"

"I don't know, Scully. Isn't the area we're going to mainly
agricultural?  Lots of farm folks? It just seems odd that there would
be so many  unconnected unexplained deaths. Just call it a hunch."

"A hunch? I should have guessed. Okay Mulder, do you live your life 
by hunches and chances?" Damn, I left myself wide open for that one.

"It seemed to work out fairly well for me last night. I had a hunch
that  you would go out to dinner and then later, I took a chance."
He's  grinning from ear to ear. How do I respond to that? Now I'm
blushing.  Damn my Irish skin.

"Scully, if you would prefer I no longer follow my hunches, just say
the  word and it's done." He says it seriously, but I know he's just
joking.  He's just worried that he pushed me into a territory he
shouldn't have.  I'm not a china doll and he needs to understand that
I won't break.

Well, I'm not one to back down out of a challenge. "You've got a point
there. Your hunch was accurate and taking chances often ends in a 
positive result. If you've taken a chance on the right thing, that
is." That  should leave him wondering.

I lean my head to the left, fully expecting and waiting for his
playful  retort and realize that he is not smiling. What did I say?
Wait a minute . .  . positive result, uh-huh. Taking chances, on the
right thing . . . that's it!  Oh God! He's so temperamental. Fix this
. . . ummmm. Just take that  leap, Dana, I coach myself.

"Which, of course, you did. Take the right chance, that is." His smile
returns. Oh my, that's nice to see. His smile can easily take your
breath  away.

"I know I did," he states coolly. He's melting my heart. The man truly
knows how to make a girl swoon.

"Well, anyway . . . um . . . the case, right. So do you have any other
thoughts? We're almost to Modesto now. Should be another 20 
minutes." I duck my head into my map again. Always the navigator. 
Good for changing the subject, too.


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

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. During the short car ride we
have  already said more than I ever thought we could. 

Kersh, or probably his secretary, has booked us into the Doubletree. I
am a little surprised at that. With all the budget constraints Kersh 
imposes on us, I would have been happy with a Motel 6. But a business
class hotel? The FBI must get a good corporate rate here.

"Hello, may I help you?" The clerk smiles warmly at me. Scully looks 
over at the clerk from where she is checking in with another clerk and
gives her a dirty look, which I make a point of ignoring.

"Yeah, I'm Fox Mulder. I think I have a reservation here."

The clerk looks at her screen and smiles at me. "Oh, yes. It was made
last evening. Once I make an imprint of your credit card, we'll be all
set."

"Uh, could you make sure my room is near my co-worker's room" I 
point to my right at her. "Dana Scully?". I know Scully would never
let  us share a room on the road, but we need to be close to one
another to  review the case, if nothing else. The clerk frowns at her
screen.

"You're in luck, sir. The room connecting with hers is available." She
makes an adjustment on her computer and hands me my keycard.

I walk over to Scully and we head to the elevator. She is in complete
business mode. The levity of the car ride is now replaced by the 
professionalism she always displays when we're working. We arrive at 
our floor and both walk to our rooms.

"Hmmm...Kersh is being very generous." Scully says. "This room tops 
any that we've ever had on our cases. Maybe he's not so bad after
all."

"Yeah, the guy's got a heart of gold." I deadpan. 

"OK, Mulder, I'm going to take a shower. I suggest you do the same. 
See you in the lobby in twenty minutes.

"I'll be there with bells on." I say as I walk into my room. 

CHAPTER 5
Modesto FBI Field Office

The Modesto Field office is pretty much like all the other field
offices in  the country. I've been in about half of them and I always
look at the  artwork. Nobody ever looks at the artwork, but it is
always  remarkable, if only for its blandness. The Modesto field
office has gone  with the blandness of the abstract shapes, as opposed
to flowers or the  architecture that other offices pick.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asks us. The receptionist is always
the same, too. Sometimes they are a little taller or a little younger
than  this one, but for the most part they're interchangeable.

"We're Agents Mulder and Scully. We're here to ..." I start to 
introduce us.

"Oh, yes, let me page Agent Donovan. He'll be very happy to see you, 
Agent Mulder. He has told everyone that you're the best in the 
business." 

Agent Donovan? I used to know an Agent Mike Donovan. We played 
basketball every Saturday until I married his cousin. I really hope
it's  another Agent Donovan. It's always awkward when I see people
from  my past. Maybe it's not him, I reason. Two Jenna related
incidents in  twenty-four hours would be too weird.

About fifteen seconds later, I feel a hand clap me on the back. "Fox 
Mulder, do you ever sleep?" Oh no it is Mike. "I put in a request for
you at seven o'clock last night. I didn't expect to see you until
later." He  says with a laugh. "I should have remembered what a
workaholic you  are." Weirdness does tend to seek me out I should have
known when I  read the name on the file that it was at least a
possibility. 

"Mike? How have you been?" Mike is shaking my hand, much more 
enthusiastically than I am shaking his. It's not that I don't like the
guy.  He's actually a very nice guy. It's just that he knows too much
about  me. 

"Well, I was transferred to Modesto about five years ago and have 
been trying to find the bad guys here ever since. It's not nearly as 
exciting as the work I hear you've been doing, but it's a living." He
turns to shake Scully's hand. "And I presume you are Dana Scully." He
smiles. "I'm really happy to meet you. Anyone who will put up with
this  guy for a partner deserves an Agent of the Year Award" Mike says
jokingly. Same old Mike.

Scully shakes Mike's hand and looks at me silently asking who this 
person is.

"Uh, Scully, this is Mike Donavon. We used to work together in the 
Violent Crimes Unit." I explain.

"Not only did we used to work together, we used to play together, huh,
Mulder? Remember the basketball team the FBI had at the recreation 
center?"   

"Yeah, I remember. So, Mike, what is this case you have us out here 
for?" I look over at Scully, who seems really interested in my old 
basketball team-mate. I need to move this conversation away from my 
personal involvement with him and onto the case. Mike seems 
disappointed that I don't give him more of a chance to reminisce. 

"Oh, uh, well, let me go grab the case file and then you and I can
visit  the crime scene. Scully, we have the body ready for you to
autopsy, if  you'd like to do that." Mike says before he disappears
into the main  part of the office.

"Yet another blast from your past, Mulder?" Scully says as soon as 
Mike is out of earshot.

"Mike is certainly a blast, Scully. He's a very nice guy. Can't play 
basketball to save his life, but he certainly is a good guy." I decide
to  leave out the fact that Mike has a cousin named Jenna, who I
happened  to once be married to.    

Luckily, Mike doesn't take long to get ready so I don't have to expand
on the details of my past before we leave to go our separate ways.

***************************
Memorial Hospital, Oakdale, CA 

I enter the autopsy bay, take off my crisp Donna Karen suit and wiggle
my way into a pair of green cotton scrubs, courtesy of the hospital.
The  interesting thing about scrubs is that they are so unbelievably 
comfortable. I don't mind getting out of my suits and letting my hair
down, so to speak. The only unfortunate thing is that once I'm done 
with the comfortable clothes they reek to high heaven of formaldehyde.
Of course, the ever-present bloodstains are always a problem as well.
Nope, these wonderful items of clothing are not meant to be taken 
home and snuggled up in while having a lazy Sunday morning. Once 
they have served their purpose, they are immediately relegated to the
biohazard bin. It's a shame, really. 

Sighing, I look over at the body lying on the sterile metal table in
the  middle of the room. "Well Mabel, it's time to find out why you
were  taken away from this world," I say to the lifeless body as I
pull the sheet  off. I take a quick once-over of the person we are
here to investigate.  So young. She was pretty in life and hasn't lost
it in death. She may be  pale and rigid but I can see the striking
bone structure that I'm sure once  provided a dazzling smile. 

I grip the light overhead and click it on. The body of Mabel O'Rourke
looks even paler once under fluorescents. I hit the record button on
the  microphone next to the light and start with my examination. 

"Dr. Dana Scully, Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation providing the autopsy of one Mabel O'Rourke born 
November 11, 1977. Autopsy number 517-2003. I'll start with the 
external exam."

"The body is that of a normally developed, well nourished Caucasian 
female measuring 64 inches in length, weighing 110 pounds.  The body 
appears to be consistent with the stated age of twenty-two years."

Twenty-two years old and strangled to death. For what reason? Why 
was the young innocent girl murdered? Mulder and I have our work cut 
out for us. Kersh and the O'Rourke's are counting on Mulder and me to
catch this bastard. Mulder's probably going to have to profile again.

God, I hate it when he's forced to profile. It takes so much out of
him.  He becomes a person that I don't know, a person that won't let
me in. I  know why he pushes me away when he's profiling. He doesn't
want to  confuse his real life with that of a psychopath. I can
understand to a  point. It's just he always tries to get through the
traumatic experience  alone and he doesn't have to. I'm here for him.
I guess that's really all I  can do when he starts going off the deep
end, which I know he will. He  throws himself into our assignments as
he does everything else. His  determination is unstoppable. 

When he has to profile, he becomes a machine. He is determined only 
to save the victim. If we're lucky, Mulder won't have to do too much 
profiling. If this doesn't turn out to be a series of connected
killings, he'll  only have to provide an overall profile. Otherwise,
he'll be forced to  delve into the deep-seated desires, driving fears,
and defining  experiences of this person.  Then somehow try to
anticipate when and  how the killer will strike next. I hope another
body doesn't turn up.

"The scalp is covered by long, 18" full, straight, dark brown hair.
The  skull is symmetrical and intact. The eyes are closed; upon
opening, the  irises are green in color. The teeth are natural and
well maintained. The  anterior chest is of normal contour and is
intact. The breasts are that of  an average female and contain no
palpable masses. The abdomen is flat,  and the pelvis is intact. The
external genitalia are female and  unremarkable."

Flipping the body to the side, "The back is symmetrical. The upper and
lower extremities are also symmetrical and normally developed." I move
the body back to its original position, face up. 

"Abrasions and contusions are noted on the hands, arms and feet. 
Injuries are consistent with defensive wounds. There are burn rings 
around the skin of the wrists, from a thick rope. The bones in the
wrists  are dislocated, indicating the victim had been suspended in
the air for an  undetermined length of time." God, I want to catch
this guy. Suspending  a victim in the air for no other reason than to
leave the victim feeling  completely helpless and at the mercy of
their captor is evil. Pure and  simple evil. 

Moving towards the obvious cause of death, the injury to the neck, I 
pull the light down to view the area better. "The neck has severe 
bruising and swelling. There is one clear indentation in the skin 
consistent with strangulation. Possible murder weapons would be 
something like rope or twine, but the injuries don't seem to match
those  materials. There is no residue or slivers embedded in the skin
as would  be consistent with rope, such as was found on the victim's
wrists. The  victim was left with an icepack wrapped around her neck
post-mortem,  thus leaving scattered broken capillaries from the
temperature of the  ice."

After doing my last once-over on the victim, something on her foot 
catches my eye. I move back down to the end of the table and notice a
few strands of something stuck between the her toes. Grabbing a pair
of  tweezers I pull them from between the last two toes of her left
foot.  What is this? I bring the items over to the microscope and
realize that  it's hay. Hay? Like hay that would be found, in a barn?
Looks like the  victim may have been murdered in a barn. Agricultural
area . . .  definitely plausible. With the victim having been
suspended in air, that  would make sense. She was probably hung from
the rafters, with her  feet barely touching the floor. Mulder will
appreciate this information.

"Next, the internal exam. I'll begin with the Y-incision." After
weighing  all of the organs in turn, announcing each of them into the
microphone, I  am relieved to find that I'm almost done. 

"All organs are within normal limits. No underlying pathological
disease,  conditions or congenital anomalies were observed. There was
no  evidence of sexual intercourse, forced or consensual, noted. Rigor
mortis in addition to body temperature indicates time of death 
approximately between 12:00 and 14:00 on September 17, 1998. 
Toxicology reports to be noted in the file at a later date."

"Cause of death, asphyxiation resulting from ligature strangulation. 
Today's date, September 20, 1999, autopsy done by Dr. Dana Scully. 
Victim, Mabel O'Rourke, number 517-2003.

Thank God I'm done. I swear, I'm dead on my feet. Getting so little 
sleep last night and standing over a corpse for the last three hours
has  my entire back in knots. When was the last time I even ate? I put
the  sheet back over the body. The morgue attendants will see that it
gets  back into the refrigerated drawer.

Dinner yesterday with Mulder, that's the last time I remember eating.
I  wonder if Mulder's ready for lunch. I head through the double doors
to  the locker that was loaned to me. I'm sure he already has all of
the local  FBI females drooling over him. Why is it that everywhere we
go he gets  hit on? Even the hotel clerk this morning gave him the
look, which in- turn made me give her the look. All women have the
ability to ward off  another female with "the look." I'm beginning to
wonder if all the women  we come in contact with will have the hots
for my partner, my Mulder. 

Damn, again with the "my Mulder." I swear he's a regular chick magnet.
God, I'm going to have to fight these types of women off left and
right  for the rest of my life. 

The rest of my life. 

Did I, Dana Katherine Scully just imply that I was going to spend the
rest of my life with Mulder? Jesus! I did. Looking around, I find the
small shower that I can use to rinse off the smell of the dead that is
one  of the side effects of being a pathologist. I quickly soap up and
rinse off. 

Thinking back to last night I'm realizing how bad I've got it...and
for my  partner of all people. That is so unprofessional of me. This
isn't even the  first time I've been romantically involved with a
fellow co-worker. The  relationship I had with Jack before I even
joined the X-Files made me  draw the line at ever getting involved
with a man I worked with again.  Now here I am contemplating that
scenario again. This is starting to be  a pattern with me. I've always
desired the man that was inappropriate to  have. Besides all of that,
how can I be sure that being involved with  Mulder won't ruin what we
have? Does he even consider this aspect or  is he completely
oblivious? Knowing Mulder as I do, he may have  weighed his options
but probably spent a relatively little amount of time  debating the
issue. No, I'm positive he jumped in headfirst. Once clean, 
I dry off and retrieve my clothes from the locker. 

Mulder and I need to talk. We have to really consider what moving our
relationship to the next step will do to our partnership. Boundaries
will  have to be set. First and foremost, there will be no romance
during  work hours. Maybe not even after hours in the hotel rooms. We
have to  stay focused on our assignments and getting lost in each
other will not  be appropriate while in the field. Oh, but the feel of
his body next to  mine in the shadows of a dingy motel sure might give
a silver lining to the  otherwise imperfect accommodations. 

Thinking back to last night, that kiss was amazing, something right
out of  a romance novel. I still get chills thinking about it. His
mouth melting  over mine...his hands slowly sliding up my sides
attempting to remove  my blouse...his hands edging up further towards
the curves of  my...whoa Dana, do not go there! Did it just get really
hot in here?  Dana, this is the morgue of all places and you're
fantasizing about your  partner. I need help. No, I need to relieve
this seven-year stretch of  sexual frustration haunting my every
waking moment. Again, I need  help, maybe a psychologist could
help...uh huh, and I know just the  psychologist, I think with a grin.
Later, I'll rethink the situation later. 

I finishing dressing and head off to meet up with Mulder and Agent 
Donovan.

CHAPTER 6
Memorial Hospital Parking Lot

It was about a half hour car ride from Modesto to Oakdale. Mike 
quickly filled me in on the few known details of the case. The victim
was  the twenty-two year old daughter of the Bureau's Regional
Operations  Director.. She was a senior in college, had no known
enemies, a clean  past. Nothing at all that would explain why she had
been murdered.

When Mike and I got to the hospital, we went to the site where the 
body had been found. There really wasn't that much to see. The area 
had been cornered off, but it was pretty much unremarkable. 

"Tell me about the other victims found in the area," I ask Mike. It
really  bothered me that there had been three murders in this little
farming  community. 

"There's not much to tell, really. One appeared to be from exposure 
and the other was hit by a car. Actually, those two deaths occurred
not  far from here, but that's not saying much considering how small
this  town is. The car accident victim was hit just on the other side
of the  hospital" he points to the street to my left "at that
intersection over there.  The guy that died from exposure was found
over there in that group of  trees." I turn around and follow where
Mike's pointing to a small copse  of trees about three hundred yards
away.

"How long ago did these deaths occur?" I ask. 

"Uh, I think the exposure victim was found about three months ago and
the crash victim was about a week later," Mike answers.

The causes didn't seem to be related, but I couldn't shake the feeling
that somehow they were tied to this case. People don't just die in a 
town like Oakdale. If the exposure victim died three months ago, that
would mean he died in June. People don't normally die of exposure in 
the summer, unless it's a severe case of heatstroke. I've learned from
experience, though, to keep my thoughts about cases to myself. It 
doesn't help anyone if I think through the cases out loud.

Mike and I leave the scene, ducking under the police tape and head 
toward the main hospital..

"So, Mulder, are the rumors about you and that partner of yours true?"
Mike asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Rumors? What rumors?" I have an idea of what rumors he was talking 
about, even though I was surprised that he would have heard them all 
the way out here.

"Well, I was talking to Rega not too long ago, and he said it was all
over the bureau that when there was a fire in the Hoover Building's 
basement a couple months ago, you and Scully showed up together in 
the middle of the night to see what the damage was to your office. 
People say that you guys must have spent the night together to be able
to show up at the same time," Mike gestures casually.

I remember Rega. He and Mike used to be partners when Mike was in 
D.C. Rega was one of those guys who made everybody else's business 
his own. He never seemed to do any work, but he was always busy. He 
would talk to the secretaries just to see what they had heard. He was
the type of person to spread rumors to try to get a little attention
for  himself.

"I wouldn't put to much stock in anything Rega says," I advise Mike. 
Why had Scully been at my apartment that night? Oh, yeah, I remember 
now. I had had a fight with Spender and she came over to see if I was
okay. Then we got that horrible phone call and we went to the office 
without thinking about what it looked like. It's really none of
anyone's  business why we were together that night. 

"Yeah, I figured it was probably a coincidence that you guys got there
at the same time. I told him I knew for a fact you don't mix your 
personal life with your work life," Mike said knowingly. That had been
true when Mike had known me before. I never discussed my personal 
life with anyone from work besides Mike. I didn't even tell Jenna what
was going on in on the comings and goings ofat work. That arrangement
had worked perfectly until the day Jenna came home and told me that 
she was leaving me. I guess I should have shared a bit more of myself
with her. I'd like to think I've grown.

"Hey, Mike, what do you say that we go and see if Agent Scully is 
done with the autopsy? I'm getting hungry so maybe we should break 
for lunch," I suggest. I really didn't want to continue this
conversation. I  hate the rumors about Scully and me and it was
irritating to hear about  them right now. What difference would it
make to guys like Rega if  Scully and I were involved? It should make
absolutely no difference to  them what we were up to as long as we
still got our job done, right?

"Lunch sounds good. Let me call the Oakdale Police Chief and see if 
she can join us after lunch," Mike says as we head back to the car. 

*****************
Oakdale Brewing Company

I met up with Agent Donovan and Mulder at a local eatery. They had 
already left the crime scene by the time I showed up to inquire about
lunch. Just as I was pulling out my cell phone it started ringing.
Mulder.  He called to invite me to lunch so we could all discuss the
case.

I park the rental in a slot adjacent to the brick building. Green
awnings  jut out evenly, with the establishment's name written in
white block  lettering on them. It's nice and quaint from the outside.

Entering, I am immediately taken aback by the enormous brewing tanks 
behind a wall of glass in the very large open room. A sculpted wooden
bar takes over the east end. Several patrons are enjoying themselves,
boisterously discussing their day over a burger and beer. I scan the 
room searching for the one individual I would be able to pick out of a
crowd of thousands. There's always been something about Mulder and 
me that is unexplainable. Somewhat of an X-file, if you will. We seem
to  have some type of homing device that only works when looking for
one  another. I could probably locate him in a crowd, blindfolded. Not
only  am I aware of his presence at all times, I am quite familiar
with his scent  and the energy that flows off his body in waves every
time I'm near him. 

He looks up the minute my eyes reach the far right-hand side of the 
room. See, never fails. I walk towards him, realizing that I'm making
a  show of swaying my hips from one side to the other, almost
forgetting  that there's another agent watching our fireworks. His
eyes don't leave  mine until I have pulled my chair out and move to
sit. He does that  gentlemanly half-stand as I begin to sit. I love it
when he does that. It  makes me feel that he's always considering me
above his own comfort.  It's sweet. How many men in this day and age
do that for their  girlfriends? Did I just think "girlfriends"? I'm
not exactly his girlfriend. I  mean, one kiss doesn't automatically
shift us from one status to another.  Dana, you're over-analyzing
again cut it out I reprimand myself. 

"Hi Mulder, Agent Donovan," I say as I tilt my head in Donovan's 
direction. I forgot this wasn't a partner-to-partner lunch. Mulder
smiles  at me, making sure I have his full attention before moving
onto the  reason we are here. 

"Scully, how was the autopsy? Find anything interesting?" Mulder's 
attention was immediately refocused on the case. 

"Actually, Mulder, yes, there were several interesting finds. First
and  foremost being that the victim had pieces of what could only be 
considered hay-" before I could finish, Mulder was already speaking.

"Hay?"

"Yes, hay, like what you would find in a barn. Well, I'll know for a
fact  once the lab results confirm it. Also, the victim's wrists were
both  dislocated, defensive wounds were present, as well as the
indentation of  the weapon the killer used to strangle her with. I
suspect that the killer  used something like twine. There weren't any
rope fibers embedded in  the skin, so really that can't be it. I
requested the toxicology reports and  expect the results sometime
tonight or tomorrow." Both agents are  looking at me, paying close
attention. 

"What about baling wire?" Mulder suggests. "Could baling wire have 
caused the wounds?" he deducts immediately after my report. 

"Actually, yes, Mulder, I hadn't considered that an option but you
very  well may have described the murder weapon. I'll have another ME
send  for some and test it against the victim's throat and see if the
marks  would be similar to being strangled with such an item." Wow. It
never  ceases to amaze me when he makes leaps of logic like this. "Oh,
and  the wrists had rope burns that had chaffed the skin
tremendously."

"Rope? Well, that's not surprising."

"Why not?" Agent Donovan asks.

"Because anyone who has baling wire at his, or her, disposal would 
have rope around," Mulder expertly answers.

"No, you're right, Mulder. I also concluded in my autopsy that the 
victim had been suspended in the air from the wrists. That would
explain  the dislocation and rope burns. The hay was found wedged
between  her toes," I add for his benefit.

"Mike, how many farms would you say there are in this area?" Mulder 
turns his attention to the other agent. 

"Umm, I don't know, a hundred maybe."

"What kind of vehicle hit the pedestrian in front of the hospital a
couple  months ago?" I know Mulder is jumping from one case to another
and I  would normally ask why, but I've learned not to questions his
leaps until  they've gotten too far off the topic of our current
investigation.

"I don't know, why?" Mike asks confused. This guy worked in Violent 
Crimes with Mulder and he's not following his line of questioning. 
Maybe that's why he was transferred. 

"Just wondering," Mulder says. "How many farms are big enough to 
mask the sounds a crime like this would incur? The victim was most 
definitely hung in the air high enough for the bones to dislocate.
That   would suggest the killer was unconcerned with the possibility
of the  victim screaming for help. You'd need an environment that
could  accommodate such a problem." Mulder reiterates my thoughts
exactly.

"Um, I'm not sure. I'm not all that familiar with the area," Donovan
adds  grudgingly.

"Is there anyone you can think of that would be able to help us out? 
Someone who is familiar with the area?" Mulder asks without a hint of
irritation at the other agent.

"Well, I have a meeting with the Chief of Police scheduled for us, 
Mulder, after lunch. She'll probably be able to help us." He smiles at
Mulder then at me. 

I wonder what their relationship was before this case. Why does Agent
Donovan seem so easy-going with Mulder but Mulder has his guard 
up? I know that face and those eyes. He doesn't normally react this
way  around "old friends". I would venture to say that the friends he
does  have he talks to with a smile, like he's happy to be in their
presence.  Not this guy though. He seems nice enough to me. I'll have
to remember  later to ask him why he's semi-uncomfortable.

"Was there anything of interest at the body drop off?" I ask as the 
waitress comes up and deposits a burger and fries in front of Agent 
Donovan, a French dip and fries in front of Mulder and a chicken 
Caesar salad in front of me. Mulder must have ordered for me. Again. 
This is exactly what I would have ordered by the looks of the greasy 
concoctions sitting across from me. I can hear both men's arteries 
clogging up with the first bite taken. I look over at Mulder and nod 
towards my plate, gesturing my appreciation and smiling at his choice.
He shakes his head with a grin. He so easy to please. Then again, I'm
getting all mushy over his ordering a meal for me, so what does that
say  about me? 

"Not really, except there have been two other bodies found within
sight  of where this body was found," Mulder answers around a mouthful
of  roast beef.

"Well, it may just be a coincidence. Have you had any more thoughts 
regarding the victim being found with an ice-pack wrapped around her 
neck?" I ask as I dig into my pile of salad.

"Not really," he says tentatively. I don't know why he doesn't want to
discuss it but for now I'll let it sit. Agent Donovan looks between
the  two of us like he's confused, as well he should be with my
partner being  evasive. 

"Okay, well, our next step is to find out what the Chief of Police can
add to the investigation. Right now we don't have much to go on. We 
don't have a murder weapon though we may know what it is. We are 
unsure of the location of the crimes and we do not have a suspect. 
Mulder, I'm assuming you'll have an initial profile to go off of
later?"  He'll soon want time alone to work up the profile and as
usual the  weight of the world will rest upon it, which does a number
on his  psyche. I'm definitely not looking forward to that.

"Mulder, I believe Greta said she'll be available around three o'clock
to  talk to the both of you about the case," Donovan suggests
helpfully

"Three o'clock would be good. I want to spend some more time 
looking around the area here to see if I notice anything else." Looks
like  Mulder's going to profile a little earlier than I expected.
Doesn't surprise  me. 

"Alright, then I'll need a ride back to the motel so that I can
transcribe  the autopsy report and contact Assistant Director Kersh
for the update.  The Regional Operations Director, the father of our
latest victim will  want to want to be updated regarding the murder of
his little girl. We'll  have to schedule meetings with them tonight or
first thing tomorrow  morning."

"Sounds good." 

We finish the rest of our meal, pay the bill, courtesy of the Modesto
FBI. Mulder walks with us to Agent Donovan's car. Before turning and 
heading for the rental, he looks to see if Donovan is looking, he
isn't.  Mulder slides his hand down my arm and squeezes my hand
tightly,  reaffirming our new closeness. We still haven't talked about
anything but  we will, eventually. He turns around and heads off in
the direction of our  rental car to go back to the hospital where the
body was deposited. He  often returns to the site to get a feeling of
why the killer chose that  specific place to drop off the body. 

I admire his retreat and get into the car. 

CHAPTER 7

I am feeling pretty good about things as I get into the car. We are on
an  actual case.
I don't know too much about the case yet, but there seems to be some 
meat to it. I really like the investigation part of my job. I also
welcome  the opportunity to get away from Mike so I can just look
around the  crime scene. I doubt I'll find anything, but I need some
time to collect  my thoughts. 

I arrive at the hospital and survey the area. As I leave my car, I
notice  that all three bodies were found within very easy access to
the  emergency room. Maybe the deaths weren't connected at all, but I
can't help the feeling that the Oakdale PD is wrong. I make a mental 
note to get more information about the two other deaths. I wonder if
the  other bodies had any evidence that even remotely connects them to
a  farm.

Scully had said that the O'Rourke victim had hay residue on her feet.
I  stoop down to closely examine the pavement hoping to find some 
remnants of hay. No such luck. She must have been killed on a farm 
and brought here. I know from the case file that the victim had been 
found very soon after being dumped in the parking lot. The killer had
placed ice bags around the victim's neck and the ice had not yet
melted.  Why would a killer pack his victim in ice? The logical answer
would be  to preserve the body for some reason. Usually, when a killer
tries to  preserve the victim, he has a later purpose for the body.
Either he is  going to return to the body and further disturb it, or
he has a personal  relationship with the victim and can't accept that
the victim has died.  Maybe it was an accident that Mabel had been
killed and the murderer  wanted to make sure she was found and helped.
That would lead me to  believe it was a crime of passion. 

I start to make my way over to the small copse of trees where Mr. 
Patterson had been found and continue to review what I know. Of 
course, it sounded like the murder had been so brutal that the victim
was far beyond help. The victim had been tortured by being hung from 
somewhere, possibly a barn. That is not consistent with a crime of 
passion. Murderers who are emotionally connected to their victims 
normally don't torture them. Crimes of passion are done quickly - this
murder seemed to take some time. None of this adds up.

I will have to wait to talk to Scully before I can figure this out. I
honestly  can't remember how I solved cases before I met her. I know
we'll be  able to catch the killer, but not until we've hashed out the
evidence  together.. She's always able to guide me in making the right
leaps of  faith. I know that she will listen to my theories patiently
while I work  through them and won't rip into them before they are
fully formulated. 

Man, listen to me. Everybody's right. I am arrogant. The one area of 
my life that I have any self-confidence is my ability to solve crimes.
I've  been doing it for ten years now and have a success rate that is
second  to none in the FBI. I should be proud of that. Scully should,
too,  because I wouldn't be able to do it without her. I really need
to tell her  that more often. For instance, I still call it my office,
even though it has  been  her office, too, for six years now. Well,
it's Spender's office at  the moment.

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLLIIIIIINNNNNGGGG. Damn, I hate my 
phone.

"Mulder"

"Oh, hey, Mulder, it's Mike. I just wanted to let you know that I 
confirmed the meeting at three o'clock with Chief Randall," he says 
cheerily. I already knew that. Why is he calling me?

"Okay, great. Thanks, Mike. I'll be there. Is there anything else?" I
ask,  somewhat irritated.

"Oh, and Mulder, I know you're not married to my cousin anymore but 
I don't want that to get in-between working on this case together. And
I  like that partner of yours. Agent Scully seems really nice. Easy on
the  eyes, too.  I'm still not sure why you and she don't make a go of
it. She  seems to only have eyes for you. I don't even think she
noticed that I  was at the table at lunch today until she sat down.
It's the same way my  Mary looks at me. Gives me a thrill every time.
You should really think  about that, Mulder." As if my relationship
with Scully is any of his  business. 

"Thanks, Mike, I'll keep that in mind. See you at three," I say while
hitting the off button. 

Well, that was an irritating conversation. Mike and I played
basketball  ten years ago and now he thinks he can give me advice? I
was not  particularly happy to see the guy this morning and I am
really not happy  now that he is involved in this case. I wasn't lying
when I told Scully that  he's a nice guy. He is. He's too nice,
though. Plus, he has the  disadvantage of knowing things about me that
I would rather not think  about.

Early in my career, I was more sociable than I am now. Back then, I 
didn't have the weight of an interplanetary conspiracy weighing on my
mind, which made it easier to fit in. I tried to hard to fit in and
act  normal back then. Once Scully joined the X-Files I gave up trying
to fit  in with my peers. There didn't seem to be a need. 

The only person at work besides Scully that I'm remotely friendly with
is Skinner and I don't completely trust him. I'm fairly certain he's 
complicit in my being removed from the X-Files and that makes it
really  hard to be friendly with him these days. At the end of the
day, he is (or  was) my boss and that makes it really hard to be
overly friendly with  him.

The thing that really irritates me about Mike is his penchant for
gossip. I  don't remember him being like this before, but then again I
might not  have been paying attention. Back then, I wasn't the source
of gossip  like I am now. I know people are wary of me because of my
interest in  the paranormal. Why Scully has stayed with me over the
past few years  is yet another favorite water cooler topic. While I
know that Scully will  want to keep our relationship a secret, part of
me wants to take an ad  out in the FBI newsletter and announce that we
kissed last night. If  they're going to talk, we might as well give
them something to talk  about, right? 

I look at my watch and see that it is time to head over for the
meeting  with Chief Randall. Maybe the meeting will shed some light on
the case.

*********

Oakdale Police Department
3:00 p.m.

I meet Mulder outside of the police department. Agent Donovan 
offered to pick me up on his way back to Oakdale. He's a nice guy. 
Almost afraid to talk to me which I find rather strange. He asked me a
bunch of benign questions on the road up, like where did I go to
school  and such. However, he was impressed by the fact that I could
"cut up  dead people," using his words, and be an agent in the FBI.
Well, I  guess that's a pretty odd combination for some people. 

Mulder and I immediately get into step next to each other as Agent 
Donovan ventures ahead. I'm hoping the chief will be able to give us a
better idea of the area and the murder from her perspective. 

What's her name again? Greta Randall. What kind of name is Greta 
anyway? Like Hansel and Gretel? Nope, more like sex kitten vixen by 
the looks of her. She walks up in the tightest and shortest red suit I
have  ever seen. What is it about this quaint little town? It seems
everywhere  you go there are beautiful women sizing Mulder up. Aren't
any of the  women here married or gay? In addition to her tight suit,
I notice that  she's tall, has thick black hair done up in a twist.
Even though Mulder  told me he doesn't have a type, I still know this
is the type of woman he  goes for. She is looking at Mulder; her
perfectly straight lips are  tightened into a seductive grin. She's
looking only at Mulder, most  definitely not at me. She is almost
aggressively ignoring me. I want to  stick my hand out and say,
"Hello, I'm Dana Scully. This is Fox  Mulder. He belongs to me." 

But, I think that would cause negative attention to me so I push back
the urge to throttle her. God, even her blouse is barely buttoned. A
nice  cleavage shot is thrown our way when she bends over to pick up a
piece of paper she drops. Even I couldn't help but catch a glimpse.
Big  breasted. They all are. Why do I even try?

I venture a glance over at my partner who is oddly enough not paying 
any attention to her. Actually, what is he looking at? He's looking
down  at me but not at me. Ha! He's peeking at my chest! Full big
bosoms are  right in front of him and he's staring at me. Me! Ha, take
that sex kitten  vixen! He's MINE! Okay, Dana, stop being smug. I
stare him down  until he finally peels his eyes off my chest and
catches me staring. I smile  coyly at him letting him know that I'm
not offended, flattered really, but,  we are on a case and need to
focus. He quickly looks away and then  back at me with a small smile.
He then moves his attention back to Ms.  Kitty and I feel humbled by
the fact that he was checking me out when  sex-on-a-stick was making a
very obvious flirting attempt at him. It is so  nice to have silent
communication. All right, back to the case.

"Chief Randall? I'm Fox Mulder. This is Dana Scully. We're with the 
FBI. We'd like to talk to you about the O'Rourke case," Mulder states
with practiced ease. 

"Yes, Agents Mulder and Scully, we've been expecting you," she says 
with a nod of her head as she addresses each one of us. Was that my 
imagination or did she spend extra time shaking his hand before
shaking  mine? Is she looking him up and down? Let it go, Dana.
"'Mike, it's  always nice to see you. How's Mary?" she says, not even
waiting for a  reply before she turns around and expects us to follow
her to another  room. Probably her office. 

She eventually leads us to a conference room and sits at the head of
the  table. Classic intimidation pose. Doesn't affect Mulder or me.
Agent  Donovan, however, looks petrified. Can he really be this new to
authority?

"Chief Randall, we were hoping you could give us your perspective on 
Mabel O'Rourke's murder," I say calmly, trying not to convey my 
irritation with the way she's ignoring me. This is my case, too. This
woman gives the rest of us a bad name. 

"Well." She seems annoyed that I asked the question and not Mulder. 
"Ms. Scully, right?" I nod in the affirmative. "She was killed
offsite,  dumped at the hospital. We don't have any suspects as of yet
unless  you two have conjured up someone in the brief amount of time
you've  been here. What more can I say?" This woman seems utterly
bored  with this investigation. Why? 

"What about the two earlier deaths? What can you tell us about those?"
Mulder says impatiently, changing his focus from me to her.

"What other deaths are you referring to Agent Mulder?" She turns to 
mush when responding to his question.

"There were two other deaths near the hospital, a couple of months 
ago. One was a car crash and the other was exposure, I think." Mulder
looks at Donovan for confirmation and Donovan nods at his retelling of
the facts.

"Well, I don't know how they relate to this case but Hazel Vincent was
hit by a car in front of the hospital. As far as we could tell, it was
a hit  and run and done early in the morning around three or four
o'clock.  Neither the car nor the driver were ever found." I doubt
they looked  very hard. It probably would have been too much work for
her. "The  exposure victim was a homeless alcoholic named Harry
Patterson. He  died of exposure and was found in the bushes next to
the hospital." She  waves her hand dismissively. "Happens in urban
cities all of the time.  We didn't think anything of it. We couldn't
even find a relative to identify  the body. What do these deaths have
to with Ms. O'Rourke?" 

I can't believe she never once looks at Agent Donovan or me. It's 
almost as if we're not even in the room. Well, it's not like it hasn't
happened before. At least Mulder will get what he wants out of her. It
just better not be what she wants out of him! Whoa, where did those 
primitive thoughts come from?

"Drunks die in bushes in urban areas, Chief Randall? Do you consider 
Oakdale an urban area?" Mulder said, looking over her shoulder at a 
map of the tiny town.

"No, we certainly are a small town, Agent Mulder but we didn't have 
any other explanation for his death. The man was homeless, the body 
was found tucked away in the bushes to rot until the weather became so
warm the stench had reached the parking lot. End of story," she said 
with finality. Clearly, she didn't investigate these cases very
closely. She  smiles suddenly as she tries to focus us away from the
earlier deaths.  "What else do you want to know?" 

"Could you tell me how many farms in the area have two-story barns?" 
Mulder asked, surprising Ms. Kitty. I swear that woman has "Look at 
me, don't you want this?" tattooed on her forehead. It's apparent that
Mulder's not buying and I smile at that thought.

"Two-story barns? There are probably at least 50." She most certainly
doesn't care about the question, but I can tell she wants to help
Mulder.  "I can have an assistant pull up the information from our
assessor's  department database and print it out before you leave,"
she offers.  "Why two-story barns? You suspect that our killer killed
the victim in a  barn?" I'm considering chirping in but decide against
it. Let Mulder deal  with her. She doesn't know there are more than
two people in the room  anyway.

"I suspect the killer may have had access to a barn, yeah. I would 
appreciate it if I could get that information from you. Scully, do you
have any questions?" He gestures towards me and finally Ms. Kitty 
drags her eyes away from him to me. 

"No, Mulder. The list is all we need. Thanks, Chief Randall, we'll be
in  touch," I say coolly, trying like hell not to slap the table and
demand the  chief's full attention. 

We both get up from our seats and move out of the conference room. 
The chief moves past us to her assistant. Mulder, Agent Donovan and I
sit in the waiting room while the chief gets us the list of farms with
two- story barns. She slides up to us and hands Mulder the list. She
leans  over and whispers something into his ear that I can't hear. 

"Um, no thanks. I'm committed to someone but I appreciate the offer."
He gestures for me to get up and get going. 

"Okay, Agent Mulder, your loss," she states as she strides confidently
away. We move outside the police station.

"What was that all about Mulder?" I say accusingly. "What did she 
whisper to you?"

He looks embarrassed. "Well, she offered dinner tonight and dessert 
back at her place."

"She did NOT!" I'm fuming! How could she blatantly ask him out like 
that? She's the chief of police for Christ's sake!

"Scully, it didn't mean anything to me. I don't care what she offered.
I  told her I was seeing someone else." I'm walking off again. I'm so
pissed off, the gall of that woman. How could she hit on him with me 
right there! Dana, wait a minute. She doesn't know that you are the
one  he was referring to when he turned her down. He turned her down.
That's right. He didn't fall for her scheme. He even told her that he
was  committed to someone else. I believe those were his exact words.
That  thought brings a smile to my face. Sometimes he knows exactly
what to  say. I better rephrase my comments so he doesn't think I'm
mad at him. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder, I didn't mean to get upset. You are an extremely 
handsome man and other women are bound to take notice. Let's just 
get out of here okay? We still have to interview the O'Rourkes." I put
my hand on his arm and squeeze reassuringly and head off towards the 
car. I just now realize that Agent Donovan must have heard the entire
conversation. Great, just what I need right now, a fellow FBI agent 
adding gossip to the rumor mill. Mulder and I need to be more careful.

CHAPTER 8
O'Rourke's Residence
5:30 p.m.

Scully and I pull up to the white colonial-style home. 148 Magnolia 
Drive. It's really a big home and surrounded perfectly by lush
sycamore  trees. There's stained glass on both sides of the windows
adjacent to  the front door, which has a fantastic window treatment
with a cursive  "O" directly in the middle. Everything looks custom
made and  landscaped to perfection. I turn off the engine and Scully
and I both  head towards the house.  As we pass the carport, Scully
points to the  wisteria hanging from the lattice covering the carport
and smiles. I smile  back. I can see the two of us living in a house
like this one day. I'm not  sure that she would ever want to live with
me, but when I've pictured  my future, it has always involved me
living with Scully in a house akin to  this.    

When I knock on the door, a tall man answers it. Mr. O'Rourke, I 
presume. He's tall, appears to have been military by his stance. His 
eyebrows are knit tightly together and he nods at us, apparently
having  figured out who we are. "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully."  He must
have  been notified of our involvement in the case in advance. 

"Mr. O'Rourke, I'm sorry for your loss. We'll make this as quick as 
possible. Scully and I just need some information and we'll be on our
way" I say, trying to make our presence less of an invasion, but also
knowing I'm failing. 

Mr. O'Rourke opens the door wide and leads us to a room just off the 
front entry. It's a formal but comfortable room. Obviously, this was a
happy home with happy memories. There are at least a dozen framed 
pictures scattered on the end tables. Scully picks one up and looks at
it.  Mabel was a beautiful girl who had been so full of life. I feel a
burning in  the pit of my stomach to find her killer. Mrs. O'Rourke is
paging  through a photo album of even more pictures of her daughter. I
know  that we need to be here to do a thorough investigation, but I
hate  intruding on private moments like this. I'm going to do
everything in my  power to make this quick so we can leave the family
to their grieving.

"Carol, this is Agent Scully and Agent Mulder with the DC office. 
They're working Mabel's case and need to ask us a few questions," he 
says with an audible sigh. This man is definitely broken down. The 
teary-eyed woman looks up from her album.

"Okay" she nods. "I still can't believe our Mabel is gone." She chokes
down a cry. 

"Mrs. O'Rourke, she was a lovely girl. What can you tell us about
her?"  I ask, looking at the photo book.

"Oh, Mabel was just the perfect daughter. She was so full of life, so
friendly. I can't imagine anyone wanting to do this to her," Mrs. 
O'Rourke manages to say between sobs.

"Did she have a lot of friends, Mr. O'Rourke?" I don't want to upset 
Mrs. O'Rourke any more. Hopefully, her husband can help us.

"Well, she was pretty focused on her schoolwork but I'd say she had a
good handful of close friends. I've run a list of her friends and
their  contact information." His brow knits with concern. "I don't
think one of  her friends could have done this? Honestly, I would
think that it would  take someone a little more conniving. Her friends
are all her age. She  didn't even have a boyfriend." 

"I don't believe it was done by a friend, but I would appreciate a
list of  them," I say gently, looking at Scully for support.

"Can you think of what Mabel might have been doing the day she went 
missing?" Scully puts down the photo she has been holding and turns 
her full attention to Mr. O'Rourke. 

"She said she was going horse back riding after she got done with her
morning class," Mr. O'Rourke says while pulling out his handkerchief
to  wipe away a stray tear. 

"She has a horse?" Scully asks, directing the question to both of
them.  Mr. O'Rourke nods in the affirmative.

"Could I get the name of her stable, too, Mr. O'Rourke?" I ask. I've 
already got an idea that the killer had some connection to a farm and
a  farm hand at a riding stable might fit with my profile. 

"It's called Gateway Riding Center. Her mother and I bought Cookie 
for her on her  sixteenth birthday. She loved that horse. I've already
talked to the stableman and he says Mabel never made it to the stable
on that..." Mr. O'Rourke takes a deep breath, trying to get his 
emotions under control. "...on that day," he finishes stoically. It
doesn't  surprise me that Mr. O'Rourke has already called the stable.
I  understand his desire to investigate this tragedy himself. What
father  wouldn't?

"Would she have gone anywhere besides the stable that you can think 
of?" I ask.

"She had mentioned that Cookie was out of treats, so I would imagine 
she stopped at the feed store on the way to the stable," Mrs. O'Rourke
says. She has stopped crying now, but it's apparent that she could 
begin again at any time.

"What feed store would that be, Mrs. O'Rourke?" Scully inquires 
gently.

"She usually goes to Clarkeson's Feed and Seed on Ladd Road," Mrs. 
O'Rourke supplies. I can't help but wince at her use of the present 
tense. Scully glances at me and we wordlessly decide that we have 
asked enough questions of the O'Rourkes. I really don't want to
intrude  upon their grief any more than we have to. 

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. O'Rourke. We really appreciate your time. 
We'll be in touch as we progress through our investigation," Scully
says.  Mr. O'Rourke rises to escort us to the door. 

When we get to the entryway, Mr. O'Rourke says, "Thank you very 
much, Agents. This has been so difficult for my wife and I. I've 
investigated hundreds of murders and never understood how hard it is 
for the victim's families." He wearily wipes his hand across his face.
"Thank you so much for keeping it brief. Here's the list of Mabel's 
friends. I hope it  helps," he says, pulling a neatly folded list of
names  out of his pocket. 

"Take care, Mr. O'Rourke. I'm sure we'll find the person who did this
to your daughter," I say. There's really nothing more I can say.
Scully  pulls on my forearm and we turn away from the house and head
back to  the car.

"Boy, was that difficult," Scully says as she buckles her seatbelt.

"Certainly the least favorite part of my job, Scully. I think we need
to go  back to the hotel and decompress after a day like this," I say,
picturing  us spending the evening together.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful. All I want to do is crawl into bed and 
sleep. Do you realize just twenty-four hours ago we were sitting in
The  Mayan Grill? What a day!" Scully says, relaxing into the
passenger seat.  I guess my hopes for a cozy night together are
dashed. I'm still not  tired, but I can see that Scully is absolutely
exhausted.  

"Yeah, a good night's sleep is just what the doctor ordered," I lie as
I  head out on Route 47 back to Modesto.

***
Clarkeson's Feed and Seed
5:30 p.m.

"Hey, Jimmy, how you doing?" Hank Clarkeson asks the strange young 
clerk. Jimmy 
seems startled out of the daze he was in while sweeping the back room
of the store.

"I'm fine, sir. I'm fine. Just fine," Jimmy says.

"Good, glad to hear it. Hey, I was wondering if you would like to
knock  off a couple of minutes early and drive a few bales of hay to
Mr.  Banbury on your way home this evening," the haggard proprietor
asks,  noticing Jimmy starting to twitch his head peculiarly.

"Umm, I don't think I can do that Mr. Clarkeson. I just don't think
that  would be a good idea."

"Aww, come on, Jim, I don't have anyone else here who can do it. I 
was really counting on you. You know Mr. Banbury can't come in and 
get those big bales himself, not with his health problems. Plus he's
been  such a good customer," Hank tries to appeal to Jimmy's kind
nature.

"Um, Mr. Clarkeson, I just don't think..." Suddenly Jimmy's demeanor 
changes. "I'll do 
it. Yes. I would be glad to do it," Jimmy says in a voice that Hank 
doesn't really 
recognize. It's somehow higher. 

"Great Jim, that's just great! Thanks! Here's the address. Oh, and 
Jimmy, don't forget I 
won't be around the next couple of days. I'm going up to Redlands for
some R & R. I'll 
see you next Monday," he says, happy Jimmy has agreed to make the 
delivery.

***
"You have to do this, Jimmy. You have to do this for me." The voice 
instructs Jimmy as they drive the  F150 up Route 47 toward the 
Banbury house.

"Yes, he does deserve to die. I hate that old bastard Mr. Banbury. He
gave you some licorice last 
week. That's against the rules. No one should be nice to you. You are
nothing." The voice argues with Jimmy.

"I don't care that you liked the other one. She deserved to die. The 
pretty ones are the ones I like killing the most. What? Did you think
that  the O'Rourke girl really liked you? She was just being nice to
you out of  pity. No one really likes you. You should know that by
now. They hate  you just like they hated me. Why do you think you are
any different?  Did you think she wanted to be your girlfriend?" The
voice laughed  mirthlessly. "I know you tried to save her. You're so
stupid, you know.  You thought putting ice on her neck would save her?
I don't know why  I put up with you. Sometimes I wish you hadn't been
the one I chose.  Oh, well, nothing I can do about that now. We're
here. We have to do  this." The voice has Jimmy turn off the car. She
can feel him struggling  against her. It's a new feeling. He can't be
stronger than she is. If that  happens, it will all fall apart.  

Jimmy gets out of the truck and concentrates very hard trying to see
out  of his own eyes. He looks at the house reluctantly. He can see
what the  voice sees. There is a little window towards the back of the
house that  is fogged up with steam.

"Oh, no," Jimmy says as he feels the voice take over his body again
and  grab a hatchet out of the back of the truck. 

Jimmy can only watch passively as his body walks into the house 
through the back door and heads down the hall to the bathroom. There 
is nothing to stop the voice from doing what Jimmy does not want
done.

When the voice opens the shower curtain, Mr. Banbury spins around 
and tries to cover himself. The voice won't allow that dignity,
though.  Jimmy sees one of his hands grab Mr. Banbury's arms and bring
the  hatchet up to his stomach. 

"No, I want this one to suffer. He will learn not to give you candy.
You  don't deserve candy. He will pay for that. He wouldn't have saved
me  from those girls so he shouldn't be nice to you. Just because you
are a  boy doesn't mean he should be nice to you." the voice says to
Jimmy.  Jimmy tries to plead with her, but that just makes her swing
Jimmy's  hand back and chop into Mr. Banbury's stomach. Jimmy watches
as the  poor man's guts spill onto the floor of the shower as the
hatchet hits him  over and over again. Jimmy can tell that Mr. Banbury
is still alive  through most of the attack. Jimmy keeps screaming no,
but she  continues to swing the hatchet. 

Finally, as Mr. Banbury's body slides down to the shower floor, Jimmy
feels the voice leave his body. Jimmy can feel himself retake control.
Suddenly, he is realizes he's still holding the hatchet. The man who
had  been so kind to him just last week is now lying at his feet,
unmoving.

"Don't worry, Mr. Banbury. I will fix you up," Jimmy says earnestly as
he picks up the body. "I will take you to my barn. I will close you
back  up and then take you to the hospital. Maybe the doctors will be
able to  make you all better. They couldn't help Mabel, but that's
only because  the ice wasn't cold enough. I'll be able to sew you up
and the doctors  will be able to make you better, I swear." Jimmy
keeps talking to Mr.  Banbury while he uses the shower curtain to ball
up the lifeless body,  slinging it over his shoulder. He continues to
whisper promises of healing  him even after he gets in the cab of his
truck and starts down the road  toward the farm where he lives with
his father.

CHAPTER 9

Doubletree Hotel
Modesto 3:45 a.m.

"Please Scully, don't... no... no... no." The muffled cries wake me 
from a dead sleep. Where am I? Oh yeah, California. I'm in the hotel.
What was that? Again, from Mulder's room through the connecting 
door I can hear him sobbing. 

"Scully... why? What did I do? I can do better... please, Scully,
don't  leave... don't leave me!" I run to the connecting door,
flinging it open.  He's lying on the bed. All of the pillows have been
thrown to the floor,  along with the blankets. The sheets are tangled
at his feet. His body is  clad solely in a pair of boxers. His entire
body is rigid and soaked with  sweat from fighting whatever demon is
plaguing him tonight. Gut- wrenching moans are coming from his mouth.
His face is streaked with  tears. He cries out again, startling me. 

"Scully, you promised. You said you wouldn't... why? I can... yes, 
please give me a chance... you're everything... no... no... I can't 
live... no... I won't live... God... don't... go!" His voice escalates
and  I rush over to wake him. He's dreaming about my leaving or
something.  Why? Jeez, I wish I had worn the pajamas that covered more
skin. I'm  sitting on my partner's bed in a tight tank top and
matching panties.  Who knew the valley would be this hot in May? 

"Mulder, Mulder, wake up! Wake up, it's me, Scully, I'm right here!" I
say as I shake him awake. He opens his eyes suddenly. He immediately 
grabs me by the hips, not sure of what's happening. His eyes slowly 
come into focus. "Mulder, you had a nightmare."

"Scully, you're here. You didn't leave?" Tears still streak down his
face  as he tries to distinguish between real life and whatever took
place in his  dream. 

"Of course I didn't leave, Mulder. I'm right here. You had a
nightmare.  Do you want to tell me about it? You were screaming my
name," I say,  reaching out to stroke his hair, wet with sweat.

"You left, just like she did," he says, solemnly searching my eyes for
the  truth of his dream. He doesn't see in my eyes whatever it is he
is upset  over. He sits up, slides his hands up my back and brings me
into a fierce  hug. "You left me, Scully. You left and there wasn't
anything I could do  to change your mind. You didn't want me anymore,
just like Jenna and  the others." He holds me flush against him. 

"Now why would I do that, Mulder? Why did I leave in your dream?" I 
try to sooth him by caressing his back softly, hoping he'll be honest
with  me. It's obvious that the women in his life have hurt him and
he's afraid  I'll do the same. 

"I don't know. You just said that it wasn't working out, being
partners  and lovers." My breath hitches when he says the word
"lovers." He  picks up on it immediately and holds me tighter. One
hand moves up to  cradle my head; the other arm is wrapped
protectively around my back.  He is trying to move me closer to him. I
shift a little and look into his  eyes and in doing so, give him the
idea to pull me into his lap. I am now  straddling his legs, our
torsos pressed tightly to one another. 

"Scully, you said... you said that you didn't... you said you didn't
love  me, and that it wasn't working out. You were going to quit the
Bureau  and go be a doctor... and have a normal life." His breathing
speeds up  again. I grip him closer to me, if that is possible. I
speak directly into his  ear.

"Mulder, I would never say that. You can't possibly believe that's
true."  I pull my head away from his neck and slide my hands up to cup
each  of his cheeks. 

"But you haven't told me, Scully. You haven't told me how you feel. 
You could leave me. You should leave me. You'd be better off." He 
sounds so defeated. 

"Oh, Mulder, but I do... I do love you... so much." Now I'm crying. "I
promise Mulder... I'm not going to leave. I could never leave you. I
just  couldn't. I love you that much." I seal my speech with a sweet
kiss to his  sweet lips. He breaks off the kiss before it becomes
anything more than  sweet. He looks me in the eyes, gauging the truth
in my words. 

"Scully, you mean it? You love me?" He looks at me searchingly. I 
mean, you love me and you want this," he waves between my chest and 
his. "You and me, more than just partners?" He takes a deep breath. 
"You have to be sure, Scully, because once you agree, there's no going
back. I won't be able to go back." He looks into my eyes
unbelievingly.  He looks a bit defeated. I don't know why. I just told
the man that I  love him. "I have to have everything Scully; I need
everything." He  stresses the word "need." "Are you going to be able
to give that to me,  and can you take the same from me?" He's rambling
but serious. His  words would have scared me, had it not been what
I've tried to deny  myself for several years now. I know now that I
can't hold back any  longer. I have to believe, I have to believe in
him, and in us.

"I'll accept nothing short of everything, Mulder... and I'll give you
the  same of myself." I whisper the confession to him. He smiles the
biggest  smile I've ever seen and crushes his mouth over mine. The
kiss is  furious, hungry, wanton. He slides his tongue between my
teeth; it's so  soft, just like silk. I clutch at him. He must have
just realized the lack of  clothing between us because his hands are
everywhere. His touch is like  hot fire on my over-sensitized skin. He
slides his hands up and down my  thighs, burning a trail of ecstasy.
He grips both sides of my ass and  crushes our centers together. I
can't help but moan into his mouth. His  erection is pressed against
me. I rub my sex against his, trying to release  some of the tension
building there. He moans into my ear.

"Jesus, Scully, I want you." He looks crazed and wild. 

"Then take me, Mulder." Did I just say that? I have never sounded so 
desperate in my entire life. He again engages our mouths in a searing
hot  kiss. I will never get over kissing this man. He tastes
incredible, very  male, rich and soothing to my senses. 

Just as I am getting into the battle our tongues are waging, he moves
his  lips down my neck - nipping, biting and licking my pulse. It
feels so  good. With every nibble he steps up my arousal just another
notch. I  swear I could die right here, and then he ups the ante. He
glides his  hands from their perch on my ass and cups both of my
breasts. I can't  help but moan. "Oh God, Mulder."

He's kneading my breasts with his very large hands and working on 
what's most definitely going to be a hickey at the spot where my neck
meets my shoulder. I knew he'd want to mark me. I happily remember 
that I packed my collared blouses. I'll need them later. That thought
makes me utterly giddy. Then all coherent thought leaves my brain as
his  fingers slide under my tank top and over the sensitive skin of my
ribcage.  Then those talented hands grip my breasts and the pads of
his  fingers roll my nipples. I arch up into his touch, begging for
more. I  reach down to take off my pajama top and ....

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

Oh, for Pete's sake. Mulder hasn't stopped - in fact, he's moving back
up to my mouth. As I try to tell him the phone's ringing, he kisses
me. I  give in for a minute, but something's got to be wrong. Why
would the  phone be ringing at five in the morning?

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

"Mulder, the phone's ringing," I get out between fierce kisses. 

"Huh?" He pulls back, dazed. His eyes are completely dilated and his 
erection is valiantly straining between our bodies.

BBBBBRRRRRLLLLLIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!

"The phone, Mulder. Answer the phone." He looks at me with the most 
longing gaze. I move off him and mouth the word "sorry" as he answers
the phone. I stand close to the connecting door as he listens to the 
person on the other end. He sighs loudly.

"Yeah, okay, I'll uh... I'll wake Agent Scully and we'll meet you
there.  Thanks, Mike." Something is wrong. I can tell by the way his
head and  shoulders now hang. He is no longer tenting his boxers.
"There's been  another murder. I told them we'd be there in a half
hour. Scully, I'm  sorry...." 

"No, Mulder, it's okay. This is what we do. This is our job," I tell
him,  trying to express my own regret. We almost made love. Almost. 
"Soon," I tell him. He looks at me with a small smile. 

"Soon," he repeats, almost as if it's a mantra or a prayer. 

We both get ready quickly, forgoing the showers, and head out to 
Oakdale.

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

When we pull into the hospital parking lot, the body is being loaded
on  to a gurney and taken away. There are a couple of police officers
interviewing the few witnesses who happened to be around. Chances 
are, nobody really saw anything, but you never know. 

Mike is already at the scene waiting for us. He smiles at us while we
come over to find out what's happening. Not even watching a body 
being wheeled off to the morgue seems to be able to bring this guy 
down. I guess maybe he was like this when we played basketball 
together, but it's really getting on my nerves now.

"Hi guys, I'm glad you could get here so fast. This is really
something.  You know, this town hasn't had a murder in over 5 years
and now -  two in one week. I'm really glad you two are here to help
us," Mike  says, talking about the murder as if he were talking about
the weather.  

Scully glances at me to see if I'm going to correct him on the number
of  murders. We decide silently not to bring that up right now. "So,
what  happened here, Mike?" Scully asks him instead.

"An old guy was attacked with some sharp, heavy object. Hit right in 
the gut, in fact. The thing about it is, it seems that whoever did it
tried to  stitch the poor guy up," Mike says, a little less cheerily.

"Stitched up? How?" Scully asks gravely.

"I couldn't tell exactly. Some sort of twine or something. It was
really  badly done, as you can imagine.  We have the body being
identified by  relatives now and you can start the autopsy as soon as
that process is  completed." Scully nods. I really don't want her to
do a second  autopsy, but I do want to find out who did this and that
is the only way  to do it.

"Did anybody see anything, Mike?" I ask, glancing around at the 
handful of witnesses being interviewed by local officers.

"I'm not sure. It doesn't seem likely, though. The young nurse over 
there found the body on that parking median over there." Mike points
at  a young woman and then at an area of the parking lot directly in
front of  the emergency room doors. "Her shift ended at four o'clock
and she  found the body right around four-fifteen. There had been no
activity in  the emergency room all night and nobody noticed any
unusual activity  before then. The last police patrol went through
here at two o'clock and  he says he didn't notice anything and he paid
special attention to the  parking lot, especially since last week..."
Mike drifts off. Well, at least  he is giving me the information I
need. Maybe he's not so bad after all.

Scully is looking at her watch and glancing at the hospital. One of
the  things I understand the most about Scully is her fervor to
investigate. I  know that she is anxious to start the autopsy as soon
as possible in  order to get the best evidence from the body. I want
to look around  too, even though I don't think I will find anything
here. I've been  scanning the area for evidence while listening to
Mike and haven't seen  anything yet. Most of the evidence I will need
will come from  interviewing people and the local PD is handling that
now. Besides, I  have already decided that all four of the victims
were killed by the same  person, so what I really need to do is visit
the last places Mabel had  been and I can't do that until later.

"Dana," Mike says, "they might be ready for you to do the autopsy by 
now, if you want to go get ready."

"Okay, I'll go see. I'll catch up with you guys in a few hours,"
Scully  says as she walks into the hospital.

I walk over to the patch of grass where the body was found. I pull a 
pair of gloves out of my pocket and run my hand through the grass. 
There are definitely some hay remnants on the grass. I pick a few up 
and put them in an evidence bag. I get up and hand the evidence bag to
very young-looking police officer. 

"Could you have these analyzed by the lab? I would like to know if
they  are from the same bale of hay as those found on the girl last
week." The  young man scampers away. The young guys are always so
eager to  work with the FBI. It's the old guys that are a pain in the
ass.

I look around the scene for another minute or so but quickly discern 
that there isn't any more obvious forensic evidence. My stomach 
grumbles. I look around for Mike. He is talking to another of the
local  officers, but when he sees that I am done, he walks over to
me.

"Well, Mike, I think I'm done here. I have several things I want to 
follow up on, but I won't be able to do any of it for another two
hours  or so. Do you have anywhere you need to be?"

"No, I don't. Officer Jones there says that they will be done 
interviewing the witnesses pretty soon and then they'll clean up the
rest  of the scene, so I'm pretty much done here."

"Do you know of a good place to eat around here? That would kill 
some time while we wait for Scully to get done with the autopsy," I
ask.  There's nothing like a good breakfast to help me solve a crime.

"Yeah, there's a Denny's on F Street. We can walk there from here if 
you would like," he says.

"That sounds perfect," I say. I can always go for a Grand Slam 
Breakfast.

***
When we get to the restaurant, Mike and I talk a little bit about the
case. He is still shocked that there has been another murder. For a
guy  who has been in the FBI as long as I have, he seems a little
naive about  crime. Of course, he has spent the majority of his career
in a less active  field office, so I guess I can't fault the guy too
much. I am done talking  about the crime with him, anyway. So I change
the subject.

"So, Mike, do you still play any basketball?" I ask him.

"Well, not really. Not for myself, anyway. I coach my son's team 
through the park district. Those kids are nine-year-olds and I have to
say that they are already better than we were," Mike says, chuckling.

"Billy is nine years old now?" I shake my head in amazement. Billy had
just been born when Mike was transferred. It doesn't seem possible 
that he can be that old.

"Yeah, he's nine. My daughter is six. I coach her soccer team," Mike 
says happily as he pours more syrup over his pancakes.

"That must be great," I say. "Getting to play with your kids like
that." I  can picture myself coaching my son's tee-ball team. In my
mind's eye, I  can see a red-headed five-year-old swing earnestly at a
tee.

"You should really give it a try, Mulder. Settle down, have some kids.
It  makes it all worthwhile." He smiles.

"Uh, I don't know if that's the life for me." Well, I know it is
indeed the  life for me, but I don't care to tell him that.

"How about Agent Scully? Does she want kids?" I wince when Mike 
asks me that. He has no idea that Scully is unable to have kids.
Scully  did want children, and because of me she will never be able to
have  any.

"Umm, I don't know," I lie. "I think she's more focused on her career
right now." I begin to intently cut into my sausages.

"You've never asked her? I ask my partner all kinds of things and he's
a guy. Sometimes I think I know more about my partner's hopes and 
dreams than I know my wife's. Hopefully you'll get to meet Mark 
before you go back to DC. Real decent guy. You'd like him. He's on 
vacation now but is due back within the next week," Mike says and I 
grab the opportunity to steer the conversation away from Scully and 
how much I know about her dreams.

"He sounds like a good guy.  I hope I get the chance to meet him.  
Does he play basketball?"

It doesn't work.

"Yeah, he is a good partner.  And you know how important it is to have
a good partner.  So tell me how it is that you can not know these
things  about Agent Scully." Mike just looks at me, an expectant and 
determined look on his face. 

"Agent Scully and I like to keep our relationship professional," I
say,  taking another bite of my toast. I hope that will stop this line
of  questioning. Mike, however, is looking at me. He seems like he is
trying  to decide whether or not to say what he wants to say. So I try
to head  him off. "It's true. We really don't discuss personal matters
very often,"  I say. Even I can hear how bad I sound.

"Really, Mulder?" Mike asks, trying to hide a smile.

"Really," I state. I continue to chew my sausage, hoping my coolness 
will shut him up.

"Mulder, I probably shouldn't tell you I heard this, but..." Oh, no. 
What has he heard? He can't know about Scully and me, can he? 
There's no way. "I heard what Agent Scully said to you yesterday after
we met with Chief Randall." I look up quickly, knowing exactly what he
is talking about. Mike is looking at his own plate. Crap. Scully had 
reacted a bit like a jealous girlfriend when the Chief made a pass at
me.  But she hadn't exactly said anything specific to our
relationship. Maybe  I can convince Mike that he hadn't heard what he
thinks he heard.

"Oh, yeah? What did she say to me, Mike?" I ask defensively.

"Mulder. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have brought it up. It's just that you
two  seem perfect for each other. And the way she squeezed your arm 
yesterday afternoon made me sure that you guys were much more than 
just partners. I'm sorry, Mulder. I overstepped my boundaries," Mike 
says humbly. He certainly isn't smiling anymore. Man, why do I do
this?  He's only trying to be nice. This right here is probably why I
don't have  many friends. 

"Actually, Mike, its okay," I say. What the heck. Why shouldn't I tell
him? He's a good guy. "Alright, what I tell you stays between us
right?"  Mike nods in agreement and I take a deep breath. "I love her.
And as it  turns out, she likes me too."  He's smiling at my
admission. "This is a  brand new development and though my feelings
toward her are not  new, we're still in the transitional period. At
this point, I'm not really sure  what's going on." Mike is looking at
me, eyes shining in glee. I have just  confirmed one of the biggest
FBI rumors currently in circulation. The  first would have been if I
had confirmed that we're sleeping together.  Soon that will be true as
well. Hopefully. . "Seriously, you can't tell any  one," I say,
pinning Mike with my eyes. Man, I hope he can be trusted.

"Your secret's safe with me, Mulder. I swear I won't tell anyone. I 
have to admit even I had fun speculating about you two, but now that 
you've told me the truth, I'll keep your confidence." I can tell Mike
is  serious. I believe him. "Really, I'm happy for you. You deserve to
be  happy."

"Well, I'm not sure about deserving it, Mike, but I do appreciate your
understanding." 

Mike drinks the last of his coffee and I signal the waitress to bring
us  our check. I am actually pretty happy about telling Mike about
Scully  and me. I feel overwhelming relief that I told him and he
accepted it. I'm  not sure what I was expecting to happen, but nothing
had. All is well  with the world.

On the way out, I order Scully a bagel and cream cheese and when 
Mike makes a comment along the lines of, "You've got it bad," I'm not
even mad or embarrassed.