This is a very crazy story.  If you thought our first was weird,
wait 'till you get a load of this one!  This is our second
tagteam effort and we'd really like to know what ya'll think.  The X-
Files and its characters belong to Chris Carter (oh omnipotent one),
1013, and FOX (who aren't really using their heads right now,
come on, XF on Sunday? Ok, lemme stop.)  Have fun reading *snort*, and
try *giggle* not to get too confused *wild laughter*.  :)  (Oh,
I'd like to add that what is about to happen is probably
scientifically totally wrong, but oh well, CC ain't always right
either.)

**********

Culex Pipiens
by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

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

Fort Wayne, Indiana
May 10, 1996
3:36 AM


        Andrea Mitchell closed her dream journal and turned off
the lights, a smile on her face.  She'd been having such
wonderful dreams lately that she'd taken to writing them down and
rereading them again and again. Most of her dreams focused on her
boyfriend, Kyle, and whether or not she should say yes to him on
prom night.  The previous night she'd dreamed that she had, and
it had been wonderful.  Andrea looked forward to going to sleep
to see what she would dream about.

        Andrea was dreaming.  Her mother was crying and the
living room was dark.  Her mother was on her knees before the
cross that hung on the wall, praying and sobbing.  Andrea moved
further into the room, afraid, but her mother ignored her.  She
looked up and saw that the family picture that hung over the
fireplace was shrouded with a black cloth.  That was when she
knew something had happened to her father.

        "What happened to Daddy?" she asked, walking over to her
mother.  "Where is he, where's Daddy?"

        Her mother gave her a look of intense hatred.  "You
killed him, you bitch, you little slut!" her mother shouted at
her, rising from her knees.


        "I - what?  No, Mama," Andrea cried, backing away from
her mother.

        "Get out!  Get out of my house!  You are going to have
the devil's child and I want it out of my house!" her mother
screamed, poking Andrea in the belly.

        Andrea looked down and suddenly her stomach was huge.
Then she knew what had happened.  She'd slept with Kyle, and even
though they both knew about being careful, she was pregnant.  And
when she told her father, his eyes had bulged out and his lips
had turned blue and he'd died.  Andrea ran out of the room,
crying, and her mother didn't stop her.

        She sat up in bed, shaking, the tears still on her face.
It was dark in her room and she didn't look at the clock.  Andrea
stumbled to her feet and went into the bathroom.  When she turned
the light on, her mother called to her sleepily.  "Honey, are you
sick?"

        "No, Mama," Andrea said, looking into her own haunted
eyes in the mirror.  She was pregnant.  Her father was dead and
it was her fault. She opened the medicine cabinet and located the
dusty box of razor blades pushed in the back.  The baby had to
go.  With trembling hands and fierce determination, Andrea began
to cut the baby from her body.

        Her father began to pound on the door, demanding to know
if she was all right.  Andrea froze and looked down at the blood
on her hands and arms and staining her belly and the floor.
"Daddy?" she whispered, confused. He was dead, or was he?  She
realized it had all been a dream.  There was no baby.

        But it was too late.

***********

apartment of Fox Mulder
May 13, 1996
6:56 AM


        Fox Mulder was dreaming.  He was in the house in
Massachusetts and outside, he could see the autumn leaves turning
their beautiful colors. It was warm in the house and peaceful.
More than that, it held a calmness, a serenity that he hadn't
felt in years.

        "Here you go." At the words, he looked up.  First he saw
the tall glass of iced tea.  His favorite. Then his gaze traveled
farther and he saw her.  Scully.  She smiled at him, the smile
that never failed to make him smile in return.  It made him feel
warm inside.  It was a loving smile, quirky and all hers.  She
patted his arm and sat down in the chair next to his, sipping
from a glass of her own.  Not iced tea, Mulder knew. Scully
didn't  like iced tea very much.  Root beer, probably, he
thought, and for some reason the thought made him smile.  He
lifted the glass and sucked from the straw.

        The flavor of the iced tea was rich and perfect.  It went
along with the house, the foliage,  the way he felt, totally at
peace here.  He found himself looking at Scully.  She was part of
that peace.

        He reached over and slid his hand over her smaller one
and she looked at him as though she was surprised by the sudden
gesture.  Then she squeezed his hand and went back to watching
the squirrels play in the piles of fallen leaves through the
window.

        Life is perfect, Mulder thought, sipping the iced tea.
He was glad; there had been many years he hadn't believed he
would be able to achieve this sort of peace.  And yet he had.

        Mulder came awake slowly to the buzzing of the alarm and
opened his eyes, the first morning in many he didn't struggle and
fight against the dawning of a new day.  He didn't usually sleep
very deeply or very well. He didn't enjoy dreaming and he never
awoke with a smile on his face.

        Today was the exception.  He even smiled out the window
at the grey rainclouds forming over the city, wondering what good
things would come to him this day.  The feeling of peace from his
dream was a long time in subsiding.

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

apartment of Dana Scully
May 13, 1996
6:56 am


        Dana Scully was dreaming.  She sat on the edge of the
bed, more excited than nervous.  She ran her hands through her
hair, smoothing it and mussing it at the same time.  She looked
down at the chenille bedspread, her fingers plucking at its nubby
texture.  Then she looked down at herself.

        She could see the faint pink of her skin through the
diaphanous  white gown.  She fingered the silky material and
wished the door would open. The anticipation was killing her.
Her blood began to rush a little faster at the mere thought of
him, coming to her, loving her.

        The door opened and at first she couldn't see his face.
Her eyes didn't make it up that far, admiring the slim grace of
muscular legs, fabulous washboard abs, her breath catching as she
caught sight of the size of his aroused male parts.  He joined
her on the bed and then she saw his face.

        It was Mulder.  Of course.

        "I want you," she whispered as his hands explored her
body, finding all of the soft and tender places on her skin.  He
said nothing as his eyes turned dark, focused in deep
concentration on her.  A moment later, his lips followed where
his fingers had touched and she gasped, feeling the intense rush
of please shooting through her.  She couldn't stop gasping, her
cries coming louder and faster as the pleasure built and built,
throbbing deep within her until...

        "Hey, we're Mark and Steve and it's time for all you
sleepyheads to get up!  Seven AM here in drizzly Washington DC
and here's our next song on this less-talk Monday: 'All I Wanna
Do'."

        Scully opened her eyes and glared at the clock radio.
Could she manage to sneak in a few more minutes of sleep, finish
her dream, and still get to work on time?  By the time she began
to make a decision, she was already too awake to go back to
sleep.  She shut off the radio, remembering her dream and still
feeling aroused by it.  A song entitled 'All I Wanna Do is Make
Love to You' really wasn't going to help her collect herself.

        Dreaming of Mulder again, she thought as though to scold
herself as she stripped off her cotton pajamas in the bathroom
and started the shower's spray.  Cold shower this morning, very
cold.  This dream had been different from the others, Scully
thought, as she stepped into the stall. Her skin still tingled
from her dreamed experiences.  It had felt so real!

        At this point, anything would, she thought cynically,
telling herself she needed to get out more often.

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

basement of the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building
Washington DC
May 13, 1996
7:50 AM


        Mulder arrived at the office early, the way he always
did, but there was still a stack of folders waiting for him on
his desk.  He didn't open any of them the way he usually did,
looking over at Scully's desk instead. He remembered his dream
and poured her a cup of coffee, fixing it the way she liked it
and setting it on her desk to wait for her, thinking maybe it
would make her smile the way she had in the dream.

        "What's this?" Scully asked, when she got into the office
a few minutes later.

        He'd become absorbed in the case file he'd opened and
Mulder hadn't heard her enter.  He saw her looking at the coffee
with her brows raised. "I made coffee," he told her.

        "Why?" she asked.

        He loved her suspicious mind.  He shrugged and she sipped
the hot liquid, although she was thinking the last thing she
needed was more caffeine. "Had a dream about you last night,
Scully," said Mulder.

        "Really?  Was it sexy?" she asked playfully.

        "Very," Mulder replied, matching her joking tone.

        "What was I wearing?" she asked, folding over the
newspaper with the hand that wasn't holding the coffee.

        "A big brown cardigan sweater."

        "What a turn-on," Scully kidded him.

        "We were both about seventy years old and sitting on the
front porch of this big white house in New England watching the
Fall leaves turn color," Mulder said.  "It was so peaceful."

        "Sounds great," Scully said, wondering if he'd like to
hear her dream. She blushed just imagining it.  She'd say, 'I had
a dream about you, too, want to hear it?' and he'd say 'sure' and
she'd reply, 'we were having sex like in all my dreams about you,
but this time it was different'.

        "You're blushing," Mulder said, studying his partner.

        "Am not," she informed him and changed the subject.  "Any
new cases come in?"

        "Just this one.  A teenage girl in Indiana got up in the
middle of the night and disemboweled herself in the bathroom with
one of her father's razors," Mulder read from the file.  "Want to
see the photos?"

        Scully could already see the photos, however, as she'd
risen to her feet and was looking over Mulder's shoulder.

        "The same thing happened at her neighbor's house three
days earlier," said Mulder.

        Scully frowned.  "Nothing supernatural about that; she
heard about it and copied it."

        "Not exactly a great way to commit suicide, Scully,"
Mulder pointed out and her had to agree with him.  "Plus the
neighbor's family hushed it up. There's no way that Andrea
Mitchell could have known what happened.  She hadn't even been
told that Kyle Saunders was dead."

        "You think that the ghost of the first victim came and
took the life of the second?" Her skepticism was clear.

        "Not exactly.  It was clear that Andrea's wounds were
self-inflicted," Mulder reported.  "What gets interesting is her
parents found a journal of sorts underneath her bed.  She'd been
writing down her dreams."

        "So what, Mulder, a lot of New Age types do that."  This
is taking forever, Scully thought, acutely aware of how close she
was standing to Mulder and how enticing the clean scent of his
cologne was.

        "Kyle Saunders' family found the same thing.  Each of the
entries was virtually identical to the entries in Andrea
Mitchell's journal.  Both victims killed themselves in the middle
of the night, when everyone else was asleep."

        "What're you saying, Mulder, they killed themselves in
their sleep?"

        "No, I'm saying that their dreams somehow drove them to
this act. There was another case, about a month ago, in the same
town.  A man woke his family and lined them up against the fence
in the back yard in the middle of the night and shot them.
Methodically.  When the police came, he didn't know what he'd
done.  Just yesterday he entered his plea - not guilty by reason
of insanity."

        "Let me guess," said Scully, rolling her eyes. "His
dreams made him do it."

        "His lawyer entered his dream journal into evidence as
exhibit A." Mulder told her with a grim grin.  "Our flight's at
noon."

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

Flight 1211
to Indiana
May 12   3:13PM


        Scully woke from a short nap and looked out at the clouds
and let herself slip into a trance while watching them dissolve
into different shapes.  She smiled as one turned into another
airplane, flying a mile out, parallel to them.  It began to form
motors and wings.  Then the sides grew windows and it began to
shimmer in the suns light.  It veered off course and began to fly
at them.  It was a real airplane!  She saw two people jump out of
the airplane and fall down into the clouds.  The pilots were
gone.

        What was going on?

        She turned to see Mulder was not in his seat, all the
passengers were sleeping.  She jumped out of her chair and ran
down the aisle, noticing that there were no stewardesses in
sight.  She looked into the cockpit and gasped, there was no one
flying the plane.  Glancing around she saw there were no
parachutes.

        They must have taken off, leaving them because there was
a
problem.  Or maybe this was another set up to kill the two of
them
so they wouldn't learn the truth.  But to kill the rest of the
passengers?  She ran to the first man she saw and checked his
pulse, he was dead.  She pulled his arm up, it was stiff,
rigormortis had already set in.  Maybe they had made a stop and
replaced the actual passengers with corpses?

        Her eyes widening she looked around frantically for
Mulder. He was still not in his seat.  She ran to the bathroom
door and tried to open it.  It was being sucked in, how could
that be happening?  She kicked the door and found herself being
sucked into the bathroom.  She held the door and saw that the
floor was
missing.  That's where the pilots got out.

        Maybe Mulder tried to stop them and he fell through the
whole.  Her eyes began to water as her arm began to throb with
the
pain of pulling herself back in.  She ran back to her seat and
looked at the plane coming at her, at the plane she was in.

        She watched it come closer and closer.

        When she could see the tip of the nose two feet from the
plane she closed her eyes and screamed.  The impact of the other
plane sent her crashing into the opposite wall of the plane, onto
two dead passengers.  She felt piece of glass scratch her arm and
she yelped in pain.  Both planes began to fall, fire ripped out,
engulfing everything and she began to cry as she watched the sky
fall around her.

        The ground coming closer and closer.

        She tried to move but found herself paralyzed with fear,
this was not how she wanted to die.  It wasn't supposed to be
like
this.  She saw another small plane fly up, past her and she knew
that impact would be soon.  She closed her eyes again and at the
first feeling of her organs exploding she jumped awake in the
car.

        Mulder was shaking her.  "Scully!"  He said, more out of
shock this time, than fright.  He'd watched her face twist into
an
expression of fright and then into pain and then both at the same
time.  He didn't know what she was dreaming, but he knew she had
to wake up.  He had pulled the car over and began to shake her
awake, but she hadn't responded, only screamed in agony.

        Now she looked at him with tears in her eyes and her
mouth
gaping open, breathing hard.  She had gripped his arms as soon as
she had woken up and now she let go and looked down, embarrassed.

        "You OK?"  He asked, concerned.

        She nodded.

        "What were you dreaming?"  He removed a strand of hair
from her lip and she looked up at him.

        "We were in the plane, on the way to Indiana.  But
everyone on the plane was dead and there was another plane
heading right for us.  The pilots had all jumped out and you fell
out of the plane trying to catch them."

        "You OK?"

        "A little shaken, but I'm OK."  She looked out and
noticed
they were stopped.  "Where are we?"  She asked, a little
confused.

        "Somewhere between Safe Haven and Fort Wayne.  I really
have no idea.  You're the one who knows how to read a map."  He
smiled at her, she shook her head.

        "We're ten miles from Fort Wayne."

        He looked confused, "How do you know?"

        She pointed out and he followed her finger, seeing the
sign that said, '10 Miles to FORT WAYNE'

        Then he pulled the car back onto the road and drove into
the large city, easily finding the police station.  They walked
into the office of Sergeant Daniel Kilsky and he smiled,
motioning for them to take a seat.

        "I take it you're the two FBI agents who wanted to
investigate this case, Mulder and Scully?"  They nodded as their
names were said.  "Well, what do you think so far?  I mean, if
the
FBI is involved, this must be serious, is it a serial killer?"

        Mulder spoke up, "Sergeant Kilsky, I'm not inclined to
believe anything just yet, neither is my partner, but if you want
to know, neither of us think it's a serial killer, at least not
from the reports."

        "I could take you to the latest crime scene, Andrea
Mitchell.  We don't have much access to the other, Kyle Saunders
because the family's asked us not to interfere with their life
anymore."

        Mulder stood and they quickly left the building.



End of part one.

Comments, please send to: eponine119@att.net
                          nalvarez@delphi.com



Disclaimer in part one



**********

Culex Pipiens, part 2

by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

**********



Mitchell crime scene
4:05 PM



        As they drove up they could see the yellow tape that
still
lined the house gate and was thrashed along the bushed near the
house.  Scully frowned, wondering why these things always ended
up
on the ground, littering the scene of a crime, instead of a trash
can.

        The three got out and joined two uniformed men inside the
bathroom where Andrea's black tape outline was still streaked
with
blood.  Mulder walked out of the bathroom and looked at the
journal lying beside the bed.

        "Where's the family, we might want to get in touch with
them."  Scully told Kilsky.

        "They're staying at a local Inn.  I can get you the
address when we get back to the station."

        She nodded and turned to Mulder.  He was sitting on the
bed reading.  She sat on the bed next to him and looked at the
book, it was Andrea's dream journal.

        "Good reading?"  She asked, not intending for it to sound
even slightly funny, thought he smiled.

        "She was trying to decide whether she should sleep with
her boyfriend on prom night or not.  According to this, she was
kind of obsessed with it.  She would dream about the consequences
of both."

        "That might explain, to some degree, why she disemboweled
herself."

        He looked at her for more of an explanation.

        "She might have dreamed that she was pregnant and she was
trying to discard of the baby, but I don't see why she would wake
up thinking her dream was reality.  Unless she was sleepwalking."

        "I don't think she was a sleepwalker.  But you could talk
to her parents."  He looked down at the book.  "Maybe the dream
just *felt* so real that when she woke up she took it as fact.  I
mean, haven't you had a dream that *felt* real, a little too real
and you have to think about whether or not it really is?"

        "I think I'd remember if I slept with someone."  They
locked eyes and she looked away quickly.  "Besides, that wouldn't
explain why her boyfriend would disembowel himself only days
before.  I don't think he could have thought that he was
pregnant."

        "Maybe we should go have a look at *his* dream journal."

**********

Fort Wayne Police Station
4:30 PM


        While Scully talked on the phone with Andrea's parents,
Mulder flipped through Kyle's dream journal.  He had taken
Andrea's with them to try and compare some of the dreams.  He
noticed that some of the dreams were identical, while others were
so off from each other, it was as if they were having other
people's dreams. Scully hung up and sat in the chair opposite
from Mulder.

        "What did you get?"  He asked her.

        "Andrea's parents said that they've never known Andrea to
sleep walk, although she did moan in her sleep in the last year."

        He let out a chuckle, "After reading this, I think I know
why."  He cocked his brow and she smiled at the gesture.

        "They did tell me that when they finally got into the
room
she was told them what she had dreamed.  But they'd never made
sense of it."

        "What did she say?"  He looked up at her.

        "They said she said only a few words, 'Kyle, night, bed,
baby, daddy, heart, dead, me, baby, dead, but, not, real.'"

        He nodded, "She dreamed that she slept with Kyle on Prom
night and she ended up pregnant, but when she told her father,
who
is a really religious man, as is the mother, he had a heart
attack
and died.  Because of this she woke up thinking she was pregnant
and that *she* had killed her father with the news, so she had to
kill the baby.  But she realized too late that it wasn't real."

        She got up and shook her head, wondering how he made
these
connections.  But she thought about the words and realized it did
make sense, if you thought about it long enough.

        "I also called Kyle's parents and they said the same
thing
about him as Andrea' parents.  But they had gone out that night
to
find Kyle lying in the bathroom dead."

        "Did you get the medical report on him?"

        "Yeah, he cut off his penis, as well as most of anything
down near it."

        "Why would he do that?"

        "Maybe he dreamt the same thing as Andrea and he felt
really bad about her father, or maybe he didn't want her to get
pregnant that night."

        She sighed, "Maybe he dreamt she gave him some disease?"
He looked at her.  "What?"  She grunted.  "Like that wouldn't be
one of your fears about sleeping with someone?"

        He only looked at her.  She was a medical doctor,
something medical like that was bound to pop into her mind.  He
got up and Kilsky came in.

        "There's been another."  He said, out of breath.

**********

House of Homer Jackson

4:53 PM



        When they arrived, there were already policemen on the
scene, winding their yellow plastic tape between trees and around
the perimeter of the yard.  Scully was dismayed to see a press
van parked across the street, but she didn't see any reporters
snooping around, so she instantly dismissed it from her mind.  A
distraught woman with short, curly grey hair stood on the lawn
talking to a policeman.

        The policeman turned to Mulder and Scully as they walked
up.  "This is Mrs. Jackson, she's the one who called 911.  Mrs.
Jackson, these are FBI Agents Mulder and Scully. I'm sure they
have some questions for you."

        "FBI?" she asked and her face crumpled as she began to
cry again.

        Scully waited a few moments before she asked her first
question.  "Mrs. Jackson, we need to know exactly what happened."

        "My husband killed himself, is what happened."  Mrs.
Jackson snapped at her.  Then her shoulders sagged and she put
her hands into the pockets of the ratty housedress she wore.
"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down at the ground.  "He was
sleeping...we were both sleeping.  He woke me by laughing,
loudly, in his sleep."

        "Had he done that before?" asked Mulder.

        "Once or twice.  I woke up and looked over at him, and he
had this big grin on his face.  Then he opened his eyes, got up,
still smiling, pulled the gun out of the nightstand, put it in
his mouth, and pulled the trigger."  She sniffled loudly but she
didn't begin to cry again.  Mulder could see that she'd separated
herself from the pain for the moment, so she could try to get
through this.

        "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Jackson, we hope to get to the
bottom of this as soon as we can," said Scully.  "But I have just
one more question.  Do you think you could answer it?" she asked
gently.  The woman nodded. "Why were you and your husband asleep
in the middle of the afternoon?"

        "I work the night shift, have for twenty-five years.  To
make some extra money and so I could be home with the kids when
they needed me.  Since they all moved out, Hom- my husb- he
wanted to spend more time with me." Her voice began to shake
again.  "He just started on the night shift where he worked about
a month ago.  Had some trouble adjusting at first."

        "Did your husband suffer from any sleep disorders?
Sleepwalking, anything like that?" Mulder asked.

        "No, just the trouble adapting to the different sleep
pattern.  It's like jet lag, you know?  But he got him some pills
and got over it."

        "What kind of pills?" asked Scully.  The woman shrugged.
"Thank you for your time," she said, and she and Mulder left the
widow alone to enter the house and look at the crime scene.

        It wasn't pretty.  Bone, blood and grey matter smeared
one wall of the bedroom.  The gun was still in the victim's hand.
Scully knelt down by the body as Mulder walked around the room,
searching through drawers. "No dream journal," he commented.

        "Homer Jackson doesn't seem the type," Scully agreed
while she looked the body over.

        Mulder found a plastic pill bottle in the drawer of the
nightstand next to a small box of bullets.  He rattled it and
Scully got up and joined him, trying to look over his shoulder.
"Melatonin," he read.  "Ever heard of it?"

        Scully nodded, meeting Mulder's eyes.  "It's a substance
produced naturally by the body.  Lately health food stores have
begun to sell it, claiming one pill at bedtime will cure jet lag,
insomnia, and give you more energy."

        "Dangerous?  Could he have overdosed?"  Mulder asked,
looking down into Scully's eyes.

        "The people who market it say that overdose is virtually
impossible, since it's a natural substance already produced by
the body.  Even in large quantities, the worst thing it will do
is give the taker a mild stomach upset and headache," Scully
explained.

        "Have you ever taken it?" asked Mulder.

        Scully shook her head.  "Have you?"

        "I've never even heard of it," said Mulder, "Why would I
have taken it?"

        Scully shrugged, looking away from him, focusing on the
policemen trampling the flower bed outside the window.  "I know
that sometimes you have trouble sleeping, I just wondered if
maybe you'd attempted to self-medicate your insomnia."  She
glanced at Mulder and saw the angry look he was giving her and
closed her mouth.  "I'll make some calls later, see what else I
can turn up about it," she said and he nodded.  He thrust the
bottle into his pocket and walked away from her quickly.

        Scully watched him go, irritated.  She was his friend as
well as his partner, she thought, wondering why he was so
sensitive.  Four nights out of five she slept in a motel room,
one thin wall separating them.  Did he think she couldn't hear
the television on all night?

        Pushing the thoughts away, she returned to her study of
the victim.

***********

Morgue
Coroner's Office
6:57 PM


        Scully examined Andrea Mitchell's body, searching for
something the coroner's official might have missed.  Something
that would explain what was going on.  Something...extraordinary.
Not supernatural, she thought, censoring her thoughts
immediately.

        It wasn't easy.  She compared the wounds of the body to
those noted on the official coroner's report, but as was the case
after all autopsies, whether the victim died of natural causes or
of foul play, all of the incisions had been closed.  There were
photographs, of course, but it wasn't the same.

        Her hands on her hips, Scully walked around the table,
scrutinizing the girl's body, praying to find something that
wasn't in the report. Anything at all.  She gave a small cry of
excitement when she spotted it.


        "You solve the case, or are you just happy to see me?"
quipped Mulder from the open doorway.  The sound Scully had made
gave him chills down his spine.  It was not the sort of noise one
usually made in a morgue. The bedroom, maybe at a sports playoff,
but not the morgue.  He had to smile.  Unless you were Scully.

        "Always happy to see you, partner, you bring me dinner?"
she asked, advancing on the body.

        "The Colonel's finest."  He set the two paper bags of
Kentucky Fried Chicken down on the desk in the corner and walked
over to her.  "What did you find?"

        "Look."  Her rubber gloved finger touched the greying
flesh of the dead girl.  Mulder only glanced at the body, his
eyes settling on Scully's much more attractive face.  "Bug
bites."

        "Bug bites," repeated Mulder, feeling it was something of
a let-down.

        "It's something," Scully said, touching the swollen
tissue again, examining its slight bruising, feeling the hardness
of the skin.  "Looks like spider bites."  She thought a moment
while he watched her, and then she looked up, her face
brightening as she peeled off her rubber gloves. "Let's eat!" she
said.

        "Not here," suggested Mulder with a grimace.  "I'll wait
for you in the car."

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

Red Roof Inn
8:37 PM



        Mulder knocked at Scully's door, grinning to himself.  On
some cases, this became almost a ritual between them and he
always enjoyed it.  It made him feel closer to her, he thought,
then pushed the thoughts away as being silly.  It was just one
more thing that added to the bond of their friendship.

        "Who is it?" she called from inside her room a moment
later.

        He traced the gold number on the door, shining it with
his fingertips. "Chris Carter," he called back.

        The door opened and he found himself looking down into
Scully's perplexed face.  "Who the hell is Chris Carter?" she
asked.

        "He has that scifi show on TV..."  Mulder said, but she
just gave him a doubtful look.  "OK, so he's not Speilberg.  Yet.
I'm going for a run, you wanna come with me?"

        Scully's hands smoothed the fuzzy collar of her thick
terrycloth robe. Mulder was amazed that she would even bother to
pack such an item, but he knew that on the road, they both took
their comforts where they could get them.  "Sorry," she said with
a tight-lipped smile.  "Just had a shower, and I'm expecting a
friend to call me back about arachnids indigenous to this area."

        "Frohike?" he asked with a grin.

        "In his dreams," she muttered.  "Have a good time," she
wished him brightly and closed the door.  The smile she had on
her face when she said it made Mulder grin through the first mile
and a half of his run.

        He found himself standing out in front of the Mitchell
house without really remembering how he'd come to be there.  That
was one of the reasons he liked running; there was nothing like
the runner's high, the moment when the real world faded out and
there were no thoughts in your mind but your body and your
breathing and your footsteps on the pavement. He often found his
mind teeming with conclusions after a good run.  But now he just
frowned up at the dark, empty house.

        He walked up to the front door and tried it.  It opened
easily beneath his hand and he went inside, turning on lights as
he went.  There was something eerie about the quiet in a house
where an unexplained death had recently occurred that made the
hair at the back of his neck stand on end.  Mulder mounted the
stairs and went into Andrea's room.

        He stood in the center of it, looking around at the
typical bedroom of a teenage girl.  There was a pink cover on the
bed, and clothes in bright colors were heaped onto the chair in
the corner.  A slim princess phone sat on top of the television.
School books were stacked on the desk. Posters of people Mulder
had never heard of adorned the walls.  He sat down on the bed,
trying to get into her mind.  What had she been thinking the
night she died?  What outside forces could have caused her to
take
her own life?

        He looked over at the nightstand.  Clock-radio, romance
novel, nail polish, dusty cotton balls, a half-eaten candy
bar...and two plastic pill bottles.  Mulder picked them up, one
in each palm, and read the labels.

     Vivarin, and melatonin.

**********

Red Roof Inn
early the next morning
1:31 am



        Mulder heard a sound coming from Scully's room and sat up
in bed, pressing the mute button on the television, straining to
listen closer. She screamed and he jumped off the bed in a
minute, grabbing his gun and throwing himself against the door
that divided their two rooms.  It gave way easily under the force
of his shoulder and he walked into her room.

        Two men in black suits stood in front of the door to the
hallway.  They both had semiautomatic pistols which they
immediately pointed at him. His heart in his throat, Mulder put
his hands up, his eyes sliding across the room to find Scully.

        She was on the bed, her face contorted in pain.  A man
hovered in front of her on the bed, struggling with her, trying
to hold her wrists long enough to snap her own handcuffs around
them.  Mulder stood frozen where he was, unable to move to help
her because of the two big men with even bigger guns, just
waiting to take him out.  There was a soft click as the handcuffs
fastened.  Scully tried to bite the man and he punched her, hard
enough to knock her head against the wall.  Her eyes met
Mulder'sand still he was helpless to do anything to keep the man
from what he was
doing.  It tore him apart to not be able to help her.

        One of the men walked over and took his gun from his
upraised hand.

        The man on the bed stood, keeping his back to Mulder.
His hands on Scully's shoulders forced her down on the bed.  And
the man laughed.

        The sound turned the ice in Mulder's blood to fire.  He
recognized that cold, lifeless laugh.  It went along with the
stench of cigarette smoke and pale eyes like a snake's.  Mulder
launched himself at the man, intent on ripping his head from his
neck with his bare hands.  He expected the men blocking the door
to shoot him, but they didn't.

        Mulder jumped on the Smoking Man, who sneered up at him.
He opened his mouth to speak, to make one of his snide remarks,
but the voice that emerged from those foul lips was Scully's.

        "Mulder?  Mulder! Wake up!"  Her voice brought him out of
it and his eyes snapped open.  The room was dark; the TV was off.
Scully was kneeling on the other side of the wide bed, peering
down into his face with concern in her eyes.  "You were having a
nightmare.  A bad dream. You were yelling loud enough to wake the
whole motel."

        His eyes were wide as they met hers.  It was hard waking;
he'd never had this much trouble shaking off a dream before.  He
swallowed, but the bitter taste in his mouth didn't go away.
He'd never had a dream like that before.  "He...was going to hurt
you, Scully," he said softly, the images still burned into his
mind.

        "Ssh, it's OK," she whispered soothingly into his ear,
her fingers cool against his hot forehead as she stroked back his
damp hair.  "It was just a bad dream and it's gone now."  Her
hand continued to move softly against his face.

        "Scully?"  Mulder said and his voice was tight.  His
heart still hadn't stopped racing.

        "Mmm?"  She was practically sitting in his lap now, as
she continued to touch him.

        "I think you'd better go now," he said.

        Immediately she realized what she was doing and pulled
away.  She didn't say anything, just met his eyes briefly before
she turned and crossed through the doorway back into her own
room.  The door closed soundly behind her.  Mulder closed his
eyes and groaned, sinking back down into the pillow,  Scully's
rumpled pajamas and her embarrassed look and her blush now
burning into his short-term memory.



End of part two.

Comments?  Please send to nalvarez@delphi.com
                          eponine119@att.net



Disclaimed in part one

**********

Culex Pipiens, part three

by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

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

Red Roof Inn
May 14
7:22  AM


        Mulder searched through the pockets of his jogging pants
in frustration when Scully entered the room.  He knew he put the
pills he had found in Andrea's house in his pockets to show
Scully.  He looked up at her, confused.  She ran a hand through
her hair and closed her eyes.

        "What're you looking for?"  She asked.

        "Pills?"

        "I wasn't aware you were taking any."

        "I'm not."  He said sternly.  "Remember, I went for a jog
yesterday and I stopped at Andrea's house and I found two bottles
of pills on her night stand and I put them in my pocket."

        She looked at him oddly, "When?"

        "Last night, I even invited you to come..."

        She shook her head, "Mulder, last time I saw you last
night you were telling me that your stomach was going to explode
if you looked at another chicken."  She paused, giving him a
concerned look, "Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

        He looked up at her, "So, I did have a dream last night."

        "Yeah, damn near woke up the whole hotel with your
screams."

        "And you came in my room?"

        "And you told me to leave."  She nodded and took a step
away form him, "Are you ok?"

        He shook his head, "It's just getting hard to tell the
dreams from reality nowadays."

        "The case is probably getting to you.  Relax."  She put a
hand on his shoulder and then removed it quickly, remembering
last
night.  "Look, we can stop by Andrea's house later.  This may be
your photographic memory telling you something."  She smiled as
she opened the door.

**********

Mitchell crime scene
7:48  AM


        As they walked up the stairs Mulder felt his heart race.
What if the Melatonin was the key to the case?  What if they sent
it to be examined and they found out that it increased the
senses,
making dreams seem so real that you'd wake up thinking they were
fact?

        Scully could see the excitement in his face.  She knew he
was thinking about the pills and if they were the answer, but she
wasn't so sure.  Melatonin is taken by at least a million people,
maybe more, and they weren't experiencing an epidemic.  Right now
she would be more willing to believe that the people were
sleepwalking and didn't know it, than people having an odd
reaction to a popular medication.

        He looked at her desk and saw nothing.  Everything he had
seen in his dream was in the room, but there were no bottles of
medicine.  Not even an Aspirin bottle.

        "Someone must have taken it."  He said, still looking for
the bottle in the drawers.

        "Do you want to go check the evidence room?"  She asked,
watching him ransack the room.

        "No, I mean, someone took it so we wouldn't find it."

        "How can you be so sure?"

        "Because it was here."

        "Mulder, you saw it in a dream, it wasn't real."  She
paused, "You might just have been seeing what you wanted to see.
That happens in dreams."

        "I didn't want to see you get pummeled."  He mumbled.

        "What?"  She asked.

        "Nothing, look, let's check out the evidence room.  Maybe
Kilsky took it out and put it in without telling anyone."

        She nodded and followed him out of the house, having to
jog to keep up with him as he walked quickly to the car.  They
got to the police station five minutes later and went to the
evidence
room, but they didn't find the Melatonin or the Vivarin that
Mulder said he saw.  Mulder was, of course, a little ticked.

        Kilsky walked into the room and looked at Mulder who was
sitting on the floor with his hands on his head and his elbows on
his knees.

        "Whatcha doin'?"  He asked, cheerfully.

        Scully answered, "Looking for something we think may have
been misplaced."

        "What's that?"  He asked, suddenly concerned.

        "Mulder says he may have seen a two bottles of pills at
the Mitchell crime scene, Melatonin and Vivarin..."

        "Yeah, I heard you two were looking into the bottle found
at the Jackson crime scene so I took the two bottles, the one
from
Jackson and the one from Mitchell and I sent them to be
examined."

        Mulder let out a sigh of relief, "When are you expecting
the results?"  He asked Kilsky.

        "They said they'd call when they had 'em."

        "Thanks."  He paused.  "Can you call us when you get it?"

        "Where are we going?"  Scully asked him.

        "I wanna visit a store and see just how much of this
stuff
we have floating around this city."

**********

Publix Supermarket
9:25 AM


        Mulder and Scully rushed through the store to find the
medicine aisle.  The store was so large Scully had to call his
cellular to get him to the aisle she was in.  He walked up to her
and she looked up at the bottles.

        "There's a total of five bottles there.  I asked a clerk
how much they stock and he said not much."

        "How many units?"

        "He said they order one hundred bottles of sixty capsules
each every month.  He says usually there are more left at the end
of the month, but this month and the last they've been sold out
before that time."

        "So we have an epidemic of insomniacs?"  He asked her.

        She shrugged and then picked up one of the remaining
bottle's off the shelf.  He gave her a curious look as she walked
to the cash register and bought it.  They walked slowly to the
car
and as they were putting on their seat belts he turned to her as
she pulled the pills out of her pocket.

        "Why did you buy that?"

        "So we can examine one on our own."

        "Don't trust Kilsky?"

        "It's not that, it's just that I wouldn't want the pills
he sent to fall into the wrong hands down at the lab here.  We
can
send a few of these to Pendrell, or Danny and see what They come
up with."

        He nodded as she pocketed the pills again.

**********

Foster Residence
May 14  9:45 AM


        James Foster lay in bed with his covers pulled over his
head looking at the pattern on X-Men action figures that adorned
it.  He had wanted those sheets since he was eight, now at ten,
he finally got them for his birthday last month.  He knew it was
time to get up, but he didn't want to.  If he got up he would
have to admit that he wasn't really sick and then his mother
would make him go to school.

        He had to pee though.

        He threw the covers off him and stood, stretching and he
heard the front door slam.  'Whatever' he thought to himself as
he
entered the bathroom.  He heard his father downstairs,

        "Michael, you don't have to do this, we can talk about
it!" He yelled.

        Michael?  James thought, wasn't he was supposed to be in
school?  Yeah, it was past nine in the morning, he left for
school
a long time ago.  What was he doing home?  James peered out of
his
room and crawled to the stairs to see through.  He saw his mother
and father both kneeling on the floor looking up at someone,
Michael.

        "Honey, please, we can talk about this!"  His mother
yelled. Then she began to cry.

        "Shut Up!"  It was Michael.  Why was he yelling at mom
and
dad?  James thought.  He tried to move, but every bone in his
body
told him not to, not to go any closer because he'd get in
trouble.
But he heard a click.  He knew that click.  It was a gun.

        There was only one gun in the house and it was in his
parents room.  James ran to his parents room and he pulled his
mothers sewing chair and put it in the closet to climb up and
reach the gun that lay hidden behind a suitcase on a shelf in the
closet. He reached his hand up and touched the leather case it
was held in and he pulled it down.

        He sat on the floor and unzipped the case as slowly and
quietly as he could.  His mouth gapped as he saw the gun was
still
in it's case.  He saw that the bullets were still in and the gun
was cocked already, as it always was.  Just in case.

        He ran to the stairs again and he heard his brother.

        "I did everything.  I was perfect.  I got straight 'A's
in
classes, I got a near perfect SAT score, I got awards at school
for everything.  I got a full paid scholarship at an IVY league
college, the one you wanted me to go to."  He paused to laugh, a
loud wild laugh, "I even joined the football for you, became
captain, quarterback, got my letter.  It looked pretty on that
jacket *I* worked too hard to pay for.  You did nothing, you
barely knew I was alive.  If it weren't for the fact that I had
to eat, You probably wouldn't know you had a son."

        He paced the room and James saw him.  He looked crazy,
hell, he was screaming at mom and dad, he *Was* crazy!  James was
about to take a step into the room to ask Michael what he was
doing when he heard the first shot ring out.  He covered his ears
and he turned to see his mother fall to the floor.  He screamed
when the second shot rang out watching his father fall to the
floor.  His brother turned to him and he ran to his bed pulling
the covers up over his head again.

        He closed his eyes and listened for the footsteps near
his
door, but they didn't.  He heard a rustle of keys and then the
door slammed.  He opened his eyes again and jumped up in bed,
breathing hard and wiping the sweat from his brow so it wouldn't
fall into his eyes.  He tasted salt and it took him a few minutes
to realize he was crying.

        He stood and ran to his parents room, not looking down
stairs, he didn't want to see his parents with the bullets in
their heads.  He whimpered as he pulled the gun from it's case.
He walked into his brothers room and pulled the covers back to
reveal a disheveled head of brown hair.  How could he sleep after
what he'd just done, James thought pointing the gun at his
brothers head.

        His body jerked back as he shot the gun.  He bent over
and
threw up on his brothers carpet when he saw the blood and brains
and skull shoot out onto the wall.  He dropped the gun and
started
to cry.  He heard a gasp and turned to see his mother standing at
the door with his father, who looked like he had just run a
marathon.  He had, James realized.  The slam was him going to
work, it had all been a dream!  But why had it been real?  He
looked back at his dead brother as his mother fell saying,

        "Why James? Why?"

**********


        "What the hell is going on?  We've got dead bodies
turning up left and right - all of them victims of suicide.
Night terrors.  These people are not supposed to be killing
themselves!"

        "The boys in the lab are working around the clock to try
to find out what's gone wrong, sir.  The situation will be
remedied soon."

        "Soon isn't good enough.  Did you know that the FBI is on
the scene?"

        "No, sir, I hadn't..."

        "We have to stop this.  Now.  Remove the substance and
halt the product testing until we can get this back under our
control.  This is supposed to be a good drug, one that makes
people so happy they only want to take more.  Not one that makes
them kill.  Oh, and take care of the FBI while you're at it."


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

Foster Residence
1:47 PM


        Scully turned away from the bodies on the living room
floor and walked down the hall to where Mulder was searching
through the bedroom of the third victim, whose body had already
been removed by the coroner's office.

  "None of the wounds were self-inflicted, Mulder.  I don't
understand it.  A teenage son, seemingly the perfect student,
shot once in the head while sleeping in his bed.  The parents, in
the living room, were shot several times each.  And the youngest
son James is missing."

        Mulder looked at her solemnly.  "You think he did it?"

        "Mulder, he's ten years old!"  Scully protested, but her
partner just looked at her.  "I don't like it.  It doesn't seem
to fit the pattern of the other killings."

        "It happened in the morning."

        "That doesn't mean the killer had just awoken and was
confused.  It was almost ten AM, I think that makes your theory
unlikely."  said Scully.

        "Ten isn't that late to sleep in," Mulder informed her.

        "Our suspect is a lazy ten year old?  He's armed, but
only dangerous when he first wakes up?"  Scully demanded,
shooting Mulder a look that suggested he get real.

        "You're right that something doesn't add up," Mulder
agreed.  "I just don't know what it is."

        "Maybe the older son put a hit on his parents."

        "And got killed too?"

        "OK, maybe the younger son did it.  Kids are growing up
fast these days," Scully said sarcastically. She raised a hand to
rub the back of her neck.  "I hate this, Mulder. It doesn't make
sense.  None."

        "At least there's one constant," he said, tossing a small
plastic pill bottle up into the air and catching it again.
"Let's go."

        "Where are we going?" asked Scully.

        "We'll find out what we can about James Foster.  Maybe he
had another connection to the previous victims," Mulder
suggested.  He withdrew the keys from his pocket as they
approached the car.  Scully walked around to the passenger side
of the rented vehicle, as usual.  Even though she knew she was a
better driver than Mulder.

        He unlocked the door, then looked down at the keys in his
hand.  After a moment's thought, Mulder called "Heads up!" to
Scully and tossed them over the roof of the car to her.

        "You're letting me drive?" Scully asked, raising her
eyebrows at him.

        "Why not," said Mulder as they passed each other,
switching sides of the car.  "I need to think."

        "Pinch me, Mulder, I think *I* might be dreaming," Scully
joked as she got into the car, fussed with the various controls
and turned the key in the ignition.  She opened the sunroof while
she was backing out of the driveway and consequently, they
jounced over the curb a little too quickly.  She sensed the look
Mulder gave her rather than saw it, but ignored it.  She was in
control now, she thought with a tiny little grin as she pressed
the accelerator a little harder than was necessary.

        After a couple of blocks, the novelty wore off and she
slowed down, creeping along the residential, tree-lined streets
at a respectable 27 mph.  She flicked on the turn signal and
rolled through the stop sign closest to the elementary school.

        She heard the roar of a revving engine and turned her
head to see a huge black sedan barreling down the cross street,
headed directly for them. She punched the accelerator and swerved
to try to get out of the other car's way, but something went
wrong.  The steering went freaky and the car fishtailed on the
pavement.  Scully jerked the wheel back the other way in
compensation, her eyes still fixed on the black car approaching
them at freeway speed.  The steering wheel fought her and the
rental car began to swing back and forth, nearly going into a
spin.  Scully closed
her eyes, knowing the crash was inevitable.  It was only a matter
of seconds now.

        Mulder!  She remembered her partner sitting in the other
seat and wondered why he hadn't said anything. Maybe he hadn't
seen the car, maybe she should warn him.  She turned in his
direction.  Her heart raced and she felt the impact of the other
car, but it was different from the horrible bone-crushing wreck
she expected.  It seemed almost...gentle. She opened her eyes to
look at him...

        And saw him leaning across the car to shake her shoulder.
She jumped in her seat and looked around her furiously.  They
were safely parked in front of the school, in the shade of a
tree.  There were no big black cars in sight.  And Mulder sat in
the driver's seat.  "What -?" she said, not understanding, her
heart still pounding with adrenaline.

        "You were dreaming," Mulder said, frowning at her with
concern.  "I thought you were thinking with your eyes closed
until you started whimpering and then I thought I'd
better...Scully, are you all right?"

        "I'm fine," she responded automatically.

        "I mean, did you sleep all right last night?"

        "You're the one who woke me up with his screaming
nightmare," she retorted and instantly wished she'd held her
tongue when she saw the flash of hurt and embarrassment in his
eyes.  "It's just this screwy case," she remarked, and got out of
the car. Mulder had no choice but to let the matter drop and
follow her.

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

Red Roof Inn
7:45 PM


        Scully closed the pizza box and got up to stuff it into
the tiny trash can.  "We're at a dead end, Mulder," she said with
her hands on her hips. "James Foster was an everyday kid, a good
kid with no problems.  The lab found nothing out of the ordinary
in the pills.  I've never been this stumped before and I don't
like it."

        "Don't worry, I've got an idea." Mulder said from his
comfortable spot on the bed, where he lay finishing off the end
of a bag of potato chips. Even though it was her motel room and
she was going to have to sleep with all those crumbs later.  "But
you're not going to like it," he cautioned her.

        "Try me," said Scully, crossing her arms and leaning
against the dresser.

        "Those pills are the only thing common to all of the
crime scenes.  We can only assume that there's a link to the
murders and suicides and the dreams," Mulder began, watching her
carefully.  "One of us has to try it.  To see what the effects
are."

        "To get into the mind of the killer," said Scully in a
low voice.

        "Exactly," Mulder said seriously, looking into her eyes.
The bag of chips, now empty, was forgotten as she toyed with the
pill bottle from the drugstore.  "I think I should be the one to
take it."

        "You? Why you?" Scully demanded.

        Mulder had known she would react this way, so he already
had his argument set so it wouldn't seem like his only concern
was for her safety.  Although that was his only concern.  "I'm a
psychologist.  I'm an expert profiler.  I'm used to getting
inside the minds of the criminally disturbed."

        "You're trying to protect me, aren't you?" cried Scully,
angry.  Damn, thought Mulder.  "I think I should be the one to do
it."

        He got up from the bed and grabbed the pill bottle from
her hands.  "And I think I should be the one.  It's only logical,
Scully, I'm bigger than you and so the drug will have less of an
effect on me than it will on you."

        "But so far, the majority of those affected have been
young and on the small side.  So it's only logical I should take
it to come closer to replicating the victim's experience," she
argued.

        "But it's not safe-"

        "We've established that, and that's no reason for you to
take it and not me."  Scully restrained herself from continuing
that line of argument, as furious as she was at Mulder's blatant
attempts to protect her.  "Besides, you obviously haven't thought
the consequences all the way through if this test is successful
and the drug does induce some sort of dementia. The person who
doesn't take it has to be able to keep the person who does take
it from causing bodily harm to themself and others.  And you said
it
yourself, Mulder, you're bigger than me."

        "And you said it yourself, Scully, you're a trained FBI
agent and you know how to handle yourself," Mulder said, but her
words had merit that he couldn't ignore.  He'd never forgive
himself if he took the drug and it made him hurt her.  Come to
that, he would rather let her take it and then watch over her,
make sure that she came to no harm.

        "OK, it's settled."  Scully said.  "I'll take it."  She
watched him, waiting for an argument, but he only nodded.

        "Give me your gun," he said, holding his hand out.  She
gave it to him and watched as he put her weapon and his in his
room next door.  He tossed the keys to the room on the bed of the
other room and locked the door.  "I can get the manager to let me
back into my room later."

        "OK," said  Scully, feeling slightly nervous.  She
stepped out of her shoes and began to unbutton her jacket.
Mulder swept back the bedspread and turned down the covers for
her.  He even plumped up the pillow.  It gave Scully a funny
feeling in her stomach, seeing him do something so domestic, so
intimate.  They faced each other.  Without her shoes on, she
barely came up to his shoulder and he resisted the urge to hug
her, to assure himself that she would be safe in his care.  Their
eyes locked in a confirmation of trust.  If this experiment went
as they planned, she would be trusting him with her life.

        Scully stretched out on the bed awkwardly, conscious of
Mulder's eyes on her.  She popped the tablets into her mouth and
swallowed them, closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to come.



end of part three.

Comments?  Please send to eponine119@att.net;
nalvarez@delphi.com



Disclaimed in part one; if you are in need of parts please email
me at eponine119@att.net



**********

Culex Pipiens

by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

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

        Scully opened her eyes.  Light was coming in through the
curtained window; it was morning.  She felt incredibly well-
rested and couldn't remember having any dreams the night before,
let alone any bad dreams. She sat up and saw Mulder curled up in
the chair asleep.  He should have looked uncomfortable with the
way his six foot plus frame was contorted to fit in the chair,
but he wasn't.  He was smiling in his sleep.

        She got up and walked over to him, meaning to wake him,
but at the last moment, she stopped herself, looking at him
instead.  He looked like he was at peace.  He probably needs the
sleep, she thought, unable to keep herself from reaching out and
touching him, her fingers trailing down his cheek.  His faint
sleep smile deepened into a grin and she stood there, smiling
back down at him.

        A moment later, he grabbed her arm and yanked, pulling
her off balance so she fell into the chair with him.  "Mulder!"
she cried and he grinned at her and opened his eyes.  He'd been
faking.  "Let me up!" she cried, but he only tightened his arms
around her.

        "You're my prisoner," he told  her and he sounded
serious.

        "Mulder, let me go," she said, as his words frightened
her slightly, even though she was sure he had to be joking.

        "My prisoner of love," he whispered against her skin.
"You were so brave when you insisted on taking the drug
yourself."  He was slowly stroking her hair and she didn't think
she wanted to fight him.  She was surprised, but she liked it at
the same time.

        "Mulder-" she murmured as his arms slid around her and he
drew her in close to kiss her.  She was about to close her eyes
when he hesitated, just for a second.  And right before her eyes
she watched his body change shape, shift form into a shiny,
silvery mass before settling into a different form.

        She swallowed hard, tasting fear.  He'd transformed into
a very tall, very thin grey being.  "NO!" she screamed,
struggling to get away from him, but he was too strong and she
couldn't make him release her.

        "Listen to me," the thing spoke to her with Mulder's
voice.  She looked away, unable to bear its huge black eyes.
"I'm still Mulder.  I'm still the same man.  I'm just not...a
man.  I didn't know, until the clone who was Sam came.  She told
me why Sam had been taken when she was eight and I was
twelve...she'd gone back to our homeworld.  The government is
oppressing my people, Scully, they're holding prisoners and doing
terrible things.  I needed your help to stop them."

        "But you...you're not...you lied!  You didn't tell me.
You kept the truth from me."

        "I had to, Scully, I had to wait for the time to be right
to tell you. You've never believed..."

        She'd made the mistake of looking at him, of trusting him
because he was Mulder and he sounded like Mulder.  And she'd
become mesmerized by his eyes.  She could not look away.  She
felt herself growing weak.  "You're the one who kidnapped me,"
Scully said, horrified at the realization.

        "My people needed you."

        "You're lying!" she screamed, feeling tears running down
her face.  "You took me because you wanted to touch me.  Because
you wanted to hurt me. And then you made me look into your eyes
and I forgot where I'd been. That I'd been with you.  That you
were one of Them,  one of the aliens. How many of them are you,
how many are pretending to be human beings?  Is the Cancerman one
of you?"

        He metamorphosed in front of her again.  "I am the
Cancerman," he said in that eerie thin voice.  "I am everyone.  I
am everything," he said.  He leaned in close to her and she could
smell his Morley stale breath.  "You're not so different, you
know.  Look at yourself.  Just look!" he cried.

        She didn't want to, but she did.  And she saw that her
feet were grey beneath her blue pants.  She now had only three
fingers and they were long and spindly.  They explored her face,
its inverted pear shape, touching her now thin lips and tiny
nose.  And her eyes.  She could touch her eyes, they were huge.
She was one of them!  She choked and began to dig the long
fingers into her face, searching for herself.  She knew she was
in there somewhere, she just had to...

        A blow to her face stopped her thoughts.  It also stopped
the keening wail she'd heard but hadn't realized was coming from
her.  Scully opened her eyes and looked up and saw Mulder
standing in front of her, holding her wrists above her head with
one hand.  "No!" she screamed, fighting against him, struggling.
He was one of the aliens, he was the Cancerman, he was the one
who'd hurt her and taken three months of her life and turned her
into one of them.

        "Stop it, Scully!" he shouted at her.  "It's a dream!
It's a dream! Don't believe it."

        That's just what he would say, she thought, kicking him,
but he maintained his stance and grip on her hands, practically
pulling her up from the bed by her arms.

        "Remember the murders?  The melatonin?  The experiment?
You're hallucinating, just like the other victims and you have to
stop before you hurt yourself more."  Mulder insisted.

        His power is getting stronger, she thought, because she
was beginning to believe him.  Her face hurt and felt sticky.
She opened her mouth and licked her lips, finding that they were
not thin alien lips.  And she tasted blood.

        Her eyes opened wide as she remembered.  And realized it
had been a nightmare.  A nightmare that felt more real than
reality.  "I remember," she said.  Mulder looked into her face
and she nodded.

        He released her wrists and she stood up.  His hands
closed over her shoulders and he turned her to face the mirror
above the dresser.  Blood ran in streaks down her face from
shallow cuts.  "Look what this made you do to yourself," Mulder
said, meeting her eyes in the mirror.  "You were gouging your
skin with your own fingernails."

        Scully looked down at her hands in horror and saw that
pieces of skin were embedded underneath her fingernails.  She
could only stare down at them.  "Aren't you glad you insisted on
taking the drug?  Doesn't it feel good to be right?" he asked,
his whisper hot and angry on her ear.

        She began to shake as she looked at the skin under her
nails.  She broke away from him and raced into the bathroom where
she didn't even bother to turn on the light or shut the door
behind her, just dropped to her knees and threw up.  A few
minutes later, she weakly pulled herself up from the floor and
brushed her teeth and washed the blood from her face.  She could
hear the telephone ringing and Mulder answering it.

        She was having a hard time believing that what she'd
experienced had been a dream.  It had been so real...and yet,
thinking back, of course Mulder wasn't a space alien.  Looking at
the gashes on her face and seeing how close they were to her
eyes, remembering the dream, she could understand why he was
angry.  Finally she gathered the gumption to go back into the
motel room.

        Mulder hung up the telephone when she entered.  "That was
Skinner.  He says there's nothing here than indicates an X File.
We're booked on the next flight to Washington."

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

Alley somewhere in Indiana
10:15PM



        James Foster looked at the rat climbing the garbage bin
and he hissed at it.  It fell into the giant bin with a hiss of
it's own and he stood, out of the shadows.  He had absolutely no
idea where he was, or how he got there, but he was there.

        A car passed and its light trickled into the alley and
James ducked behind the bin again with a loud bang.  He put a
hand on his shoulder feeling the bruise that had formed from
something else he had hit along the way to wherever he was.  He
began to cry.  He was cold, still in his pajamas, and he was
getting really really hungry.

        What had happened back at the house had surprised
everyone, except of course, his brother who didn't know what was
coming. James swore that his parents were dead, at the hand of
his older brother, he saw it happen.

        Jamie had gone on a rampage afterwards, killing his
brother and then killing his parents in the same fashion he had
seen his brother kill them.  He didn't know why he had picked the
gun back up to force his parents into the living room to kill
them, but he did.

        He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas and
looked at them, they were dirty.  His mother was going to kill...
his mother wasn't going to do anything, she was dead, he reminded
himself.  He began to cry louder.

        "Is he there?"  He heard a man whisper.

        "I heard crying and this *is* where we followed him."
Another answered.

        James' mouth fell open and he peered out to see two men,
dressed in black suits standing there, looking at the alley.  One
pulled out a flashlight and James jumped back into the shadows.
He stopped crying and sat with his back pressed against the side
of the garbage can.

        "I saw him."  One said pointing the flashlight at the
trash bin he was hiding behind.

        "Are you sure, it might have been a rat, these kinds of
places are infested with them."

        "No, I don't think rats wear blue pajamas."  He said
sarcastically.

        "Well, go get him, we need to find out what went wrong."

        Jamie heard footsteps and he pulled a stick off the
floor,
it had probably been used to play stick ball earlier that day.
He
heard the footsteps coming closer and he gripped the stick,
waiting for just the right moment.

        The light stopped moving and he heard the man lift the
lid
of the garbage can, looking in and then slamming the lid, scaring
Jamie into jumping up, before time and slamming the stick onto
the
man's back.  He fell to the floor and Jamie stood over him,
breathing hard, holding the stock so hard the splinters dug into
his skin.  He looked at the other man who was standing ten feet
away.

        "Jamie?"  The man asked.

        The boy swung the stick over his head and screamed,
running towards him in a kind of bull charge.  The man pulled out
his gun in shock and fired a round into the boys chest.

        He looked away as Jamie hit the floor with a soft thud.
He waited for the wheezy breath to subside and then he helped his
partner up, who was now regaining his own breath.  They lifted
the
small boy off the ground and covered him with a blanket and threw
him in the trunk of the car.  Then they sped off.

**********

Red Roof Inn
May 15  9:00 AM


        Scully put the last of things into her suitcase and
snapped the buckles.  She put the suitcase at the door and walked
to the bathroom to look at her scratches.  She shuddered at the
reminder of that dream.  As soon as she entered her room again
Mulder opened the connecting door to the two rooms.  She gave him
a face,

        "Hey, I decided I wasn't going to let you go back to
sleep
with the door locked."

        "I could have been naked."

        He smiled, "Damn my luck."

        She resisted the urge to punch him.  "What are you doing
in here, shouldn't you be packing?"

        "Packing?"  He cocked his brow.

        "Yeah, we have to leave on the ten am flight back to DC."

        "We do?"  He took a step closer to her.

        "Don't you remember last night?  Skinner called and said
this wasn't an X-File and we were booked on the next flight back
to DC, but that one was full so we had to settle for the ten am
flight out."

        He put a hand on her shoulder and sat her down on the
bed.
Then he looked her in the eye so seriously that Scully thought
for
a moment that she might be having that dream again.

        "Scully, nobody called me last night."

        She looked at the floor and then back at him, "Then, what
did happen?"

        "You had a nightmare, I came in here to make sure you
were
ok.  You had scratched at your face and you ran to the bathroom
to
clean yourself back.  When you got out of the bathroom I had hung
up the phone with the hotel management, they were saying that if
we didn't stop screaming in out sleep they would kick us out of
here because we were waking up the other customers.  I stood and
walked to you, told you that I wanted to get another hotel, and
you passed out in my arms.  I put you back in your bed and when I
was sure that you were asleep I went to my room and slept
myself."

        She shook her head, "I did take the Melatonin?"

        "Yeah, and I don't think we should play with that
anymore."

        "Maybe it was a one time thing, maybe this dream would
have occurred if I hadn't been using the stuff, I mean the lab
did say that there was nothing in it."

        He nodded, "Ok, we'll get out of this hotel before they
ring our necks, check on the search for James Foster and then
we'll do lunch while searching for a motel that has separated
rooms."

**********

Abandoned Warehouse
earlier that same day
3:44AM



        George Kilner walked into the warehouse with his hands in
the air as two men were pointing guns at his balding head of
brown
hair and he really liked his head so he did as they told him.  He
sat in the chair in front of the ring leader for this whole
operation.  The man took out a gun and put it on the table.

        The man looked into George's grey eyes and began, "This
gun was used by my man to kill a ten year old boy that ran at him
with a large stick, ready to take his head off."

        George stayed silent, scratching his pot belly.

        "What's going on here George?"

        "What do you mean?"

        "I mean, what the hell has gone wrong?  This was supposed
to be a 'good' drug, so people could get an easy high with a
addiction rate of one hundred percent.  This was a drug that was
supposed to have promise, it was supposed to sell faster than any
other illegal drug."  He paused, "Now, five of the test subjects
have gone crazy and killed people.  What's the problem?"

        "I don't know, there shouldn't be a problem, we've gone
over the chemistry of the drug several times and have found
nothing wrong."

        "Then why has it's distribution been stopped, why are
people killing, why am I not happy?"

        George felt a trickle of sweat fall down his back and he
shivered.  He didn't know what he could say to save his life, if
he could say anything at all.

        "Distribution was stopped because we have to figure out
what went wrong.  We think there may be a problem when it mixes
with another drug, but we have yet to find out.  We're testing
everything on the shelves."

        "Sam."  He ordered.

        One of the two men came around and showed George his gun.
George didn't know about guns, but this one looked able enough to
blow a hole through a steel plate ten inches thick.  He swallowed
loudly and the man laughed.  He said,

        "People are still going to be feeling the effects of the
drug for days, so there will be more deaths, more murders.  If
the
problem isn't rectified in a week, you will be part of those
deaths, those murders."

        Sam made a clicking noise with the gun and George sank in
his chair, then he nodded to the man.  The man looked at his
other
guard and then at Sam,

        "Get him out of here."

**********

Fort Wayne Police Station
10 am


        Sergeant Kilsky didn't look very happy to see Mulder and
Scully when they walked into his office.  "What've you got for
us?" Scully asked.

        He frowned at her.  "What happened to you?"  He looked at
the scratches on her face and then  his eyes slid accusingly over
to Mulder.

        "Did you find out anything new about James Foster?"
Scully asked, giving him one of her coldest looks and ignoring
his question.  She disliked his implication, maybe because she
felt so strange today after having taken the melatonin and had
those dreams, though she wasn't about to admit the feeling to
Mulder or to anyone else.   Maybe that was why she disliked his
implication so much, she thought, looking at her partner, because
she felt kind of uncomfortable with Mulder today.  Like maybe
something more had happened that she couldn't remember and he
wasn't telling her about.

        "Damn right we did."  Kilsky said, crossing his arms.
"What the hell good are you Federal Agents anyway?  Why didn't
you find him first, tell me that, will you?  You come in here,
supposedly take over our case and then you don't do shi-" he
stopped himself.

        Scully raised her eyebrows at him, wondering where that
had come from. Mulder had the same look on his face.

        "Foster's dead."  Kilsky sighed.  "Found his body in an
alley.  Shot. Ten year old kid, shoots his family, then gets shot
himself."  He shook his head, glared at them, and walked out of
the room.

        "Well that was professional," Scully remarked, reaching
for the file Kilsky had thrown down on the table.

        Mulder frowned and stared off into space at her words,
thinking. "Mulder?" her voice sounded faraway when it finally
penetrated his mind.

        "What?" he asked and winced at how harsh it came out.

        "I was just saying I wanted to have a quick look at the
body.  You coming?"  Scully asked.  Mulder nodded, and followed
her.

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

end of part four

Comments?  Email us at nalvarez@delphi.com; eponine119@att.net



disclaimed in part one.  If you are in need of parts, email me at
eponine119@att.net

**********

Culex Pipiens, part five

by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

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


10:30 am



        The cellular phone's ring was shrill and he answered it
on the first ring.  "Farnell here."

        "How many times have I warned you about that?  Don't give
your name until you know who you're talking to!"

        "Sorry boss."  Farnell rolled his eyes.  He was sick of
his boss, sick of the business, though he had never tired of the
money he made.  Still, he wanted out.  Not to go legit; never
that.  But he was thinking maybe he could go away somewhere,
start a little business for himself.  He knew how the big guys
operated.  He could be a big guy.  Soon, he told himself.


        "You take care of those nosy FBI agents?"

        "More or less."

        "What's that mean?" his boss demanded, his voice rising
nervously.  Have a heart attack, Farnell thought maliciously, but
the man didn't.

        "They've got some of the stuff.  It should only be a
matter of time before they fall off the deep end."

        There was a long pause.  "Make sure,"  his boss cautioned
him, then hung up.

        Farnell flicked the remote control in the direction of
the TV, thinking about Hawaii.  That wasn't established
territory, was it?  Yeah, he thought, maybe he'd go to Hawaii.
But for the moment he was in no hurry to go anywhere at all.

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

Morgue
11:02 am


        Scully could feel Mulder's eyes on her as she examined
the child's body. Mulder's eyes had been on her the entire day so
far and she was tired of it.  She tried to block the feeling and
concentrate on the corpse before her.  She lifted the boy's head
from the table, wondering if she should examine his brain.  She
frowned, then decided it wasn't worth it.  They had a solid lead
with the drug.

        She walked around the table once more to be sure she
hadn't missed anything, fighting the urge to snap at Mulder to
leave the room, or at least stop looking at her.  Scully was so
busy being angry with him for no particular reason that she
almost missed an important clue.

        James Foster had a bruised insect bite on his arm.  It
looked just like the bite Scully'd noticed on Andrea Mitchell's
body.  It couldn't be a coincidence could it? she wondered,
remembering that she'd never received the information she'd
requested about local insects.

        She heard Mulder's footsteps as he walked up to stand
behind her.  Too close, she thought, feeling his body brush
slightly against hers before he moved back a step.  "Find
something?" he asked.

        She touched the bite with her gloved finger.  "Another
insect bite, Mulder."

        "What does it mean?"

        "I don't know.  But I can't help thinking it's
significant."  His presence was overwhelming her and she took a
few quick steps away from him.  "I'll - uh- just get changed and
we can go."  Mulder nodded, but the burning heat in his eyes tied
Scully's stomach into knots.  She practically ran into the small
locker room off the morgue.

        She pulled on her everyday clothes and sat down, relieved
to have a moment without Mulder watching her.  She didn't know
what it was about him today that struck her as odd...just,
something.  Scully pulled out her cell phone to call her friend
to find out more about the insects.

        Then it occurred to her.  It seemed as though every time
she believed something to be true, Mulder contradicted her.  Like
this morning, when she'd packed her things and he'd informed her
that she'd only dreamed that Skinner called.  She frowned, her
teeth worrying her lower lip as she looked down at the phone in
her hand.  Mulder *was* acting strange...


        "Skinner, did you request our return to Washington?" she
asked the AD a few minutes later, feeling intensely guilty for
checking up on Mulder.

        "Yes, I've been expecting you in my office any moment.
Where are you, Agent Scully, and why didn't Agent Mulder relay my
message?"

        Scully's heart started to pound.  She'd been right, and
she hadn't wanted to be.  "There have been some new developments
in the case, and Mulder and I decided to remain here to
investigate.  I'll fax the details to you tonight, sir."

        There was a long pause before her boss said, "All right,
Agent Scully." She thought he would hang up then, but he didn't.
He added, "Dana, be careful."

        She opened her mouth to ask what he meant but the call
had already disconnected.

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

Red Roof Inn
12:42 PM


        The morning manager left early, at 11, because she was
feeling ill.  So when the afternoon manager heard screaming
coming from rooms 39 and 41, he just assumed it was the two crazy
FBI agents the night manager had told him about.  The ones who
screamed at all hours of the day and night and were driving the
customers away in droves.   The ones they were all praying would
move on.

        He didn't know they'd checked out.

        Neither, apparently, did the man in the dark suit who
crept into the rooms silently and killed the woman in 39 with his
silenced gun, though he hadn't managed to keep her quiet.  When
her neighbor in 41 came to check on the source of the screams,
he'd killed him too.  His orders told him to leave the weapons at
the scene, and he'd already decided to  make it look as though
they shot each other.  The man and the woman were both in dark,
conservative suits.  The man simply assumed they were the FBI
agents he was supposed to off.  After all, he didn't ask for ID
before he killed someone.

        If he had, he would have learned his victims were not
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, FBI, but Clarence Johnson and Lynda
Giy, two dentists in town for a week long seminar at the local
college.

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

Motel 6
4:50 pm


        Mulder watched Scully as she typed on her laptop which
was plugged into the phone jack in the wall.  She was sending the
information of the case to Skinner, though Mulder didn't know why
she was doing that; they didn't usually file reports until the
case was closed.  Maybe she's spying on me again, he thought, but
he didn't like the idea.  A long time had passed since the old
days when she really was spying on him and he had no desire to
return to those days.  It wasn't fair for him to suspect her just
because she was in a sullen mood and not speaking to him.

        He knew he should get up, take a walk, stretch - anything
to leave her motel room.  But he couldn't make himself go, just
as he couldn't make himself stop watching her.  She amazed him,
fascinated him.  The way her mouth moved when she spoke, the way
her eyes changed when he was thinking, the way the sun played on
her hair...everything about her bewitched him and he could not
look away.

        She glanced at him and caught him watching her.  He
smiled, knowing she'd caught him, but she simply frowned and went
back to what she was typing.

        That frown got to him.  It wasn't the first time he'd
seen it that day. But he couldn't help it if he remembered and
she didn't.  Because of the drug, he was sure, the drug that had
sent her into nightmares and caused to her scratch her own face
so viciously.  But he couldn't tell her. There were no words.

        Mulder closed his eyes, remembering.  He'd kept careful
watch on her while she slept and when she began to thrash on the
bed, crying out, he'd gone over to her, but he hadn't been fast
enough.  By the time he reached the bed, she was screaming and
tearing at her face with her nails.

        He'd pulled her hands away, his touch soothing her.
"Scully," he'd said and she opened her eyes, looking at him,
their blue depths full of confusion.  "You were dreaming," he'd
said, sitting down on the bed facing her, wiping the blood away
with his fingers.

        "It was so horrible," she whispered and put her head
against his chest. At first he'd been startled by that, because
it wasn't like Scully to reach out, not when she was scared.  She
covered up and hid, and she was better at it that he was.  But
with her touching him, he'd had no choice but to close his arms
around her, to embrace her and hold her until she felt safe.
He'd stroked her hair and dabbed at the shallow cuts and murmured
to her.

        Until she finally shifted, pulling back, away from him.
As she did so, she looked up and met his eyes.  He hadn't been
able to resist touching her face one last time, while she would
still let him.  He could still remember the cool smoothness of
her perfect skin.  The way something changed in her eyes, as
tension filled the space between them and Mulder was powerless to
keep from kissing the shallow wounds, first on one cheek and then
the other.

        She'd been the one to pull him into their first real
kiss.  And by the time they'd gotten around to making love, it
had been mutual.  And mutually satisfying.

        OK, Mulder thought, feeling warm, it was the best you've
ever had. Because you love her.

        But then the phone had rung, the motel night manager
calling to inform them that the screams from Scully's nightmare
had driven away three paying customers in the time that had
passed between the dream and the call.  That phone call brought
them both back to reality and with some reluctance, Mulder had
gone back to his own cold, lonely bed in the next room.

        And when he spoke to Scully in the morning, she hadn't
remembered. Nothing except the phone call, and she'd thought that
was Skinner, calling them back to DC.  Conscience, probably,
Mulder analyzed, but he couldn't tell her what had happened.

        Because although he couldn't stop watching her, although
she fascinated him and he wanted to at the very least kiss her
again, he felt horrible. She'd been under the influence of a drug
that made people behave strangely.  And she didn't remember what
they'd done.  Did that mean it hadn't been consensual?  His
stomach turned over.  Did that mean he'd taken advantage of her?
Even though at the time she'd...Did that mean...



        "Wake up, sleepyhead."  Scully's voice made him open his
eyes.

        "I wasn't sleeping," Mulder said, sitting all the way up
in the chair. "I was thinking."

        "Sure, whatever," she said, "We need to talk."

        Mulder sat on the bed, next to her and he looked into her
eyes.  She looked like she was struggling with something, maybe
she did remember what they did and she wasn't happy about it.

        "What is it?"  He asked.

        "We have to devise a way to know what's real and what's

not."

        "What do you mean?"

        "I mean, I took those pills and I'm not sure about what's
real and what's not and you're not helping any."

        "What do you mean?"

        She gave him a cold glance.  "I mean, I asked you if
Skinner had called and you said he hadn't, you told me that it
was the management complaining about our nightmares."

        "It was."

        "I called Skinner a little while ago and he told me that
he had called you and told you that we were supposed to be back
in DC today."

        "What?!"  He stood and paced the room.  "That's
impossible, I talked with hotel management."

        "Well, there's one way to find out."  He looked at her.
She picked her cell phone up and handed it to him,  "Call
Skinner."

        He grabbed the phone out of her hand and dialed the
number, confused.  What the hell happened that night?  He tried
to recall the memory, but now it seemed faint to him, like it
didn't really happen, maybe it was a dream.  Skinner's secretary
got it and relayed the call into his office.  When Skinner
answered he did not sound happy.

        "Agent Mulder, what the hell is going on up there?"

        "Sir, I need to ask you a question."

        The line stayed quiet for a moment, Mulder knew he was
letting off steam, "Go ahead agent Mulder."

        "Did you call me telling us to go back to DC."

        "No, but agent Scully did call me and I told her
to fax me a report.  I got a call from the PD down there that say
that there have been more killings in that town in the last week,
than there have been in the last ten years."

        "So, you didn't want us to go back up there."  He glanced
at Scully, who had her brow cocked in confusion.

        "No, I want you to figure out what's going on, that is
what I sent you up there for."

        "So, you still want that report faxed."

        "Yes."

        "Thank you sir."  He pressed the END button and looked at
her.  She looked at the phone as he placed it back in her hand
and
shook her head.

        "So what happened that night?"  She asked.  He knew she
didn't remember, but should he tell her?  If he told her and she
got mad she had her gun with her and he didn't.  He sat down
again, next to her.

        "What do you remember?"

        "I don't know what I remember, everything keeps
changing."

        "Just tell me what you remember."

        "The dream.  You weren't you and then I wasn't me and we
were all aliens and you were on top of me and you were having sex
with me, but I was clawing my eyes because they weren't mine, but
I don't know which came first.  I don't even know if that was the
dream.  When I woke up I went to the bathroom and when I came out
you were hanging up the phone with Skinner and he had told you to
go back to DC.  Then I went back to bed."

        She closed her mouth and she stayed silent, not looking
at
him, not wanting to look at him, remembering the dream.  Or at
least part of it.

        "What do you remember?"  She asked him suddenly.

        His jaw dropped.  How could he tell her.

        "Mulder, what do you remember?"  Her eyes took on a look
of fierce determination.  "Was it that bad?"  She stood.
"Mulder,
tell me what you remember!"

        He held her wrists and pulled her back down to the bed,
"What I remember may or may not be true, but you have to promise
not to do anything to me until we know for sure."

        "It's that bad."  She lowered her head, already sure she
knew what had happened.

        "I remember you were having that nightmare, you were
screaming and you were scratching at your eyes.  I came in here
to
stop you because you were hurting yourself.  I pulled your hands
away from your face so you couldn't do anymore harm and then you
hugged me and we made love."  He paused, waiting for any
reaction,
he got none so he continued, "Then the hotel management called
and
they said that we were making too much noise and we were scaring
off their customers and they wanted us out of the hotel, which is
why we're here."

        She stood and walked to the connecting door.  "Tomorrow
we
have to find out what really happened."  He told her.

        "And how do you suggest we do that?"

        "I can contact someone who can put us through deep
regression hypnosis, we can find out what really happened and how
far this drug, or whatever, goes into your mind."

        "Fine, tomorrow."

        He stood and walked to the door, connecting the two rooms
and walked through it.  He heard the door close softly and was
glad that she didn't press the lock, he wouldn't want to be
prevented from helping her, if the drugs had a lasting affect.
He began to remove his shirt and the door suddenly opened and
then he heard her gasp.

        He turned quickly, pulling his shirt back on.  She walked
to him and demanded,

        "Take off your shirt."

        He wondered whether this was the drug taking effect
again,
but took off his shirt in the mean time, keeping an eye on her.
She raised his arm and turned it to it's side and she looked at
the swollen area of skin.

        "Another insect bite."  She whispered.

        He pulled his arm away and then motioned to her arm.
"Maybe it's not the melatonin after all."  He said.

        Scully pulled off her jacket and then rolled up her
sleeve
as high as it would go and raised her arm for his inspection.
His
mouth dropped slightly as he found the small red puncture wound
three inches above her elbow.

        Mulder frowned as he brushed his thumb over the small
wound on Scully's arm.  "This looks like a puncture mark.  Almost
like a needle mark."

        Her lips were tight as she nodded.  "I don't think it is,
Mulder, but we have to find out.  I really don't like this."  She
felt cold all over, inside and out.  She felt like she'd lost
control.  "I don't like not knowing what's real and what's not.
I don't like not knowing what's happened to my own body."

        Mulder nodded, and his hand remained on her arm.  "What
do we do?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

        The look was too intense, given what he'd said had
happened between them that she didn't remember.  "I don't know; I
have to think.  I'm going to the drugstore, do you want to come
with me?" Scully said.

        "Yeah," Mulder agreed.

        "Good.  I don't want to let you out of my sight," Scully
admitted, worrying about what might happen.  If they were
together, at least they would have two views of what happened.
One of them was bound to be accurate.  She bit her lip.  The
trouble was in deciding which one.



End of part five.

Comments?  Email us at nalvarez@delphi.com; eponine119@att.net



disclaimed in part one.  If you are in need of parts, email me at
eponine119@att.net

**********

Culex Pipiens, part 6

by eponine119 & Mystic

eponine119@att.net & Nalvarez@delphi.com

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

        She walked briskly through the brightly lit aisles of the
all-night drugstore they found a few blocks away.  Mulder forced
himself to keep up, watching his partner with careful amazement.
Her face was like stone as she frowned in concentration, throwing
things into the red plastic basket she held in the crook of one
arm.  She wrote herself a prescription for syringes, he assumed
to take samples of their blood.  Containers to hold the samples
quickly joined the needles in the basket.  Followed by a
bottle of aspirin.  A small packet of coffee, caffeinated.
Vivarin. Condoms.

        Scully swallowed hard and she thought she might be sick
just thinking about it.  If it was real, why couldn't she
remember?  She shook her head. It didn't matter.  They had to be
prepared, in case it happened again. In case something happened,
something linked to this mystery which they did not understand,
and they lost control of their emotions.  Her fingerstrembled and
the color rose in her face as she felt Mulder's eyes on her. She
wished she could make a joke, or that he would, but there was
only
silence between them.  Trying to block her thoughts, to keep
herself from feeling anything at all, she grabbed a pregnancy
test from the shelf and dropped it into the basket.

        She wished Mulder would look away from her for just one
second. Conjuring up bravery she didn't feel, she met his eyes.
"Unless you remember being careful?"  One of her eyebrows went
up, challenging him. Looking grim, he shook his head.  She nodded
and after another second's thought added some Pepto Bismol to
their shopping.  It was going to be a long, long night.

        She didn't even stop to wonder what the clerk who rang
them up must have thought of them.

        Mulder was worried about Scully.  He could tell by the
rigidity of her shoulders, by the look in her eyes and the set of
her mouth that she was terrified and that she was determined not
to show it.  He could see her fears as though they were his own:
if she dropped her guard for a moment, she would crack.  He
tossed a handful of chocolate bars onto the conveyor belt.  They
needed food and this was the best they would do.

        She drew blood from each of them back in the motel room
and then cried out in frustration when she realized she had
nothing with which to analyze it.  Her shoulders sagged then and
she squeezed the container in her fist, furious and wanting to
break something.

        Gently, Mulder's hand covered hers and pulled the vial
out of her hand. He set it on the dresser and sat down, pulling
her down with him on the bed.  "Talk to me," he said.

        "I hate this," she said.  He nodded, but she didn't go on
for a moment, still fighting.  "One of us has to know what's
real.  First thing in the morning, I'll phone the local lab, run
some tests on our blood. Hopefully I'll find...something."

        Mulder nodded again.  "You don't trust me," he said
quietly.

        "That's ridiculous, Mulder, of course I trust you," she
replied automatically.

        "Good," he said.  "I want you to get some rest."

        "No!" she cried forcefully before she even had time to
monitor her reaction.  He gave her a searching look and she
jumped up from the bed, needing to be away from him.  She dug
through the paper sack on the dresser until she found the bottle
of Vivarin.  She opened it and shook two pills into her hand,
swallowing them.  "I don't want to go to sleep."

        "Because you're afraid."

        "Mulder-"

        "Scully, face up to your feelings just once in your
damned, stubborn life.  You're afraid.  Afraid of what might
happen.  Is the idea...of what we did...really so repulsive to
you?"  His voice dropped and he looked away from her finally.
Too ashamed to look at her anymore.

        Part of her wanted to laugh at his insecurity.  "We don't
have that kind of a relationship, Mulder, for a reason."

        "What is that reason?" he asked, glaring at her.

        She toyed with the bottle in her hand, looking as though
she was considering taking more pills.  "OK," she admitted, and
changed the subject out from under him.  "I am afraid.  I'm
afraid of not being in control of my life and my body.  I am
afraid of the things I cannot remember.  I am afraid of what I
might see if I go to sleep."  She glared back at him, as though
to ask, 'are you satisfied?'

        He crossed the room and grabbed the bottle out of her
hands.  "If you're not sleeping, I'm not either."  Mulder
swallowed two of the pills himself and smacked the stimulant back
down onto the dresser.  "We'll both be in control of ourselves,
and we'll both know exactly what's happened."

        "Good," said Scully.

        "Good," agreed Mulder, and he reached for the phone.

        "Who are you calling?" Scully asked, not relaxing.

        "An old friend who lives not too far away.  He should be
able to do the regression hypnosis so we can find out what really
happened.  How whatever it is works on the brain."

        "No."

        "What?"

        "I said, no.  You can go through that if you want to,
Mulder, but I'm not going to.  At this point it will only confuse
the issue."  Scully looked up and saw Mulder's doubtful look.
"Hypnosis is not proven to improve memory.  It only helps the
mind to express what it thinks happened, whether it is fantasy or
reality.  We need facts right now; the last thing we need is more
fantasy."

        "Are you saying that what I remember about last night is
fantasy?"

        "I'm saying that it could be."

        "Because you don't remember it."

        "That's right."

        "And you always have to be right, don't you, Scully?"

        That stung, but she refused to fight with him.  "Mulder,
I dreamed last night that you were an alien, who morphed into
Cancerman.  I don't believe that's true.  And the fact that you
don't remember it backs up the theory that it isn't true.
Besides the fact that it's completely implausible.  It was a
dream."

        "So what I say happened also has to be a dream.  Because
the very idea that the two of us would make love, ever, is
completely implausible." Mulder could feel the anger rising up
within him, a deep, fierce anger that he didn't feel very often.
He clenched his fists and tried to hold it back.

        "I didn't say that," Scully murmured.

        "So what exactly are you saying, Scully?"  He spat her
name at her, furious.

        ""I didn't say I didn't believe you!  I'm saying that I
think I'd remember it if we slept together!"  Scully shouted at
him, wondering what she could do to try to make him understand.

        The anger and tension between them burst as though it had
been a giant bubble.  Mulder's body relaxed as the tension eased
from his body and he turned away from her.  Ashamed of his
behavior.  He wanted to ask her a thousand more questions, but
his pride wouldn't let him.  The topic was too hot.  It was best
to avoid it altogether.  He thought of other things to say, but
bit his tongue on each of them.  They would all lead right back
down the same road.

        Scully didn't seem to realize he'd ended the argument.
She glared at him again and pulled the box of condoms out of the
paper sack.  Mulder's stomach clenched at the sight of it.  "I
wouldn't have bought these," she said, threw them down on the
dresser and stomped into the bathroom.

        The next fifteen minutes were the longest of Mulder's
life.

        Scully rinsed her face with cool water in the fluorescent
white bathroom. What the hell did I just say and do? she asked
herself, groaning, her angry words replaying through her mind.
She was agitated because Mulder tried to make her face her fears.

        She sighed and pushed the thoughts away.  Until she could
know for sure, it didn't bear thinking about.  For now, she just
had to stay awake and stay focused and solve the case.  Then
maybe everything else would fall into place.

        Scully looked more relaxed when she emerged from the
bathroom, Mulder thought, his pulse pounding in his ears as he
studied her intently, searching for any clue.  Her hair was
messy, he noticed, and she looked exhausted.  She sank down in
the chair across the room from him.

        "Well?" he asked when she didn't speak.

        She didn't say anything.  Mulder sighed and she looked at
him sideways. Relief, she thought, though for a moment his sigh
had sounded to her like disappointment.  She looked at her watch.
"Almost midnight," she said, "What do we do for the rest of the
night if we're not going to sleep?"

        "Talk," Mulder answered.  "Do you really think that
hypnotic regression only conjures up fantasy?  That it is only
capable of expressing what the mind wants to believe?"

        "Honestly, Mulder?  Yes.  I've heard too many crazy
stories..."

        His voice was hard.  "Crazy stories like the one about my
sister."

        "Mulder-"

        "You don't believe in aliens, ergo, you don't believe my
sister was abducted,"  he said it so casually, as though he
didn't care.  It gave Scully the chills.  "What do you think
happened?"

        "She was abducted by someone.  Probably the organization
your father worked for, with Deep Throat and those other men.
You've had some evidence of that," she answered carefully.

        "Do you think I'll find her?"

        Scully bit her lip.  "I think that with the woman who
showed up and said she was Samantha, who said she had knowledge
of her...I think that was a good sign."

        Mulder looked at her.  "Do you trust me?"

        "I trust you with my life, Mulder.  You know that."

        "Sometimes I'm not sure," he admitted.  "Sometimes I
think you don't even like me."

        She smiled at that, one of those quick, fleeting smiles.
"My father used to say I loved a good argument more than
anything."

        It took Mulder a moment to reply.  "So you only like
fighting with me?"

        "I like your company, Mulder," Scully said. "I like your
patience and your gentleness and your compassion.  And that you
aren't afraid of anything."

        He met her eyes.  "You're the one who's brave, Scully,
not me."

        "I'm afraid of everything," she said, her gaze not
wavering from his. "I'm afraid of being weak.  Of the unknown, of
-"

        "Of believing," he said before she could.

        "Yes."  She looked down at her fingernails and then
tucked her hair behind her ears.  "I know that I must be a huge
thorn in your side most of the time but -"

        "I don't know what I'd do without you," Mulder said.  She
looked at him and he was embarrassed at what he'd admitted, so he
continued, covering, "in the field, I mean, I don't know what I'd
do without you here to ground me.  To try to base everything in
science."

        "There is a scientific, logical explanation for what has
happened to us, Mulder."

        "Did I say there wasn't?" he asked.  "I wish you'd get
some rest."

        "No!"

        "I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

        "I don't want to go to sleep, Mulder."

        "You can't go your whole life without sleeping again,
Scully."

        "Why not?  You've tried," she said and instantly
regretted such a low blow.

        "I didn't - I wouldn't take advantage of you," Mulder
told her.

        "I know that," she said, kind of irritated.  "I said that
I trust you."

        "What happened between us - you wanted it too."

        "*If* it happened."

        He didn't want to bring it up again, but he thought he
had to.  "We have to talk about this, Scully."

        "Why?"

        "In case it happens again."

        "It won't."

        "What if it does?"

        "It won't," she said, then thought about it.  "And if it
does, just... let it pass until we're finished with this case."

        "What are you saying, Scully?" he asked, a teasing smile
on his lips.

        "I'm saying that even if I throw myself at you, don't
take me up on it, OK?" she snapped.  "I took the damned drug,
after all, we can't be sure if I'm in my right mind."

        He could see how much that thought hurt her, but he had
to say it. "Maybe I should take your gun.  Just in case."

        Mulder hadn't expected her to agree.  "Maybe you're
right," she said simply and put it into his hands.

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

An Abandoned Warehouse
early the next morning


        "There's nothing wrong with the drug."

        "Then why are people killing each other after they take
it?" the man asked.

        "We ran all of the tests again.  The rats were so
overstimulated with pleasure, they kept hitting the drug until
their brains overloaded.  We gave it to a different set of human
test subjects, and they all experienced intense ecstasy with no
side effects and no threat to their health.  And there was no
crash, as with traditional drugs.  Even after it wore off, it
left them with a general sense of well-being.  This is the
perfect drug, sir."

        "Then why are people killing each other?" the man asked
again.

        "It must be something mixing with the drug.  It's nothing
inherent in the drug itself."

        "Find it and fix it." the man ordered.  "Has the FBI been
taken care of?"

        "Yes, sir."

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

Skinner residence
5:46 am



        Walter grabbed the phone on its first ring and said
"Hello," in a clear voice although he was still mostly asleep.
He woke up the rest of the way quickly.

        "This is Sergeant Kilsky, of the Fort Wayne police.  Are
you the supervisor of  FBI Agents Mulder and Scully?"

        "Yes, this is Assistant Director Skinner.  What's this
about?" Walter frowned.  What the hell had they done now?  They
were two of his favorite and best agents, but they also got
themselves into more trouble than the rest of the Bureau
combined.

        "And they were staying in rooms 39 and 41 of the Red Roof
Inn off of the State highway?"

        "That's what their reservations said when they left."
Walter suddenly had a very bad feeling about this.

        "Sir, I'm sorry to report that two bodies were found in
those rooms earlier today.  Each of the victims had been shot
point blank in the face, so we're having some trouble making the
identifications.  The bodies appear to be your Agents, but we'd
appreciate it if you could come here in person with their various
records."

        "Of course."  Walter got up quietly from the bed and
began to dress.

        "You could of course fax us their fingerprints, dental
records and service weapon information, but I know I'd prefer it
if you -"

        "Service weapon information?" Walter asked sharply.  "Why
would you need that?"

        "Didn't I tell you already?" said Sergeant Kilsky.  "I'm
sorry.  The victims had apparently shot each other."

        "I'll be there as soon as I can," said Walter, hanging up
the phone. He sat down on the bed to tie his shoes and had to
take a minute.

        Sharon sat up in bed and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Walter?  What is it?"

        "It's Scully and Mulder," he said gruffly.  "They may be
dead."  He wiped away the tears and got up.  "I have to go."

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

Motel 6
May 16  8:15AM



        Mulder stood and stretched.  He was tired of talking, of
watching late night TV; reruns of Hawaii 5-0.  He thought he
might
die if he saw another infomercial on some kind of food cutter or
diet.  He opened the door and looked back at Scully.

        "I'm going to get today's paper."

        She nodded and stood herself, putting her deck of cards
back in her suitcase.  She brought them along sometimes to play
solitaire while thinking about a case, or about some logical
explanation to Mulder's oddball theories.  Tonight they were used
to pass the time between six and eight in the morning.  She
decided she wasn't really all that good at Poker, either that or
Mulder cheated and she never noticed.

        She went into the bathroom to refresh herself and heard
the door open and the paper rustle.  Mulder wouldn't want the
sports section, he didn't follow them vary often, although he
would probably save that page for later in the day, maybe that
night, so he could pass more time.  She heard him gasp and she
opened the door to the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge
of the bed holding the front page.

        "What is it?"  Scully asked, taking a step towards him.

        "Take a look at this."  Was the only thing he said.  She
walked to the bed and sat next to him, taking the paper from him,
her mouth hanging open as she saw the picture of the Red Roof Inn
they had left and seeing the cops in front of it.  It was a
picture that had been taken the day before, in the afternoon.


        'DEATHS AT LOCAL INN SHOCK TOWN --  Ft. Wayne

                Early in the evening two bodies were
          found at the Red Roof Inn off the State Highway.
          A maid came to clean room 39 and discovered the
          two, still unidentified, bodies and quickly
          contacted the hotel manager who called the local
          police.

                Rumor has it two FBI agents, Fox Mulder and
          Dana Scully had been staying at the motel, in
          rooms 39 and 41, and may be the victims.  They
          were here investigating the resent murders in Fort
          Wayne.

                Other patrons staying at the hotel had
          complained since their arrival of screams coming
          from their rooms at night.  This was no different
than the night cops believed they pulled their
          guns on each other.

                Local police are asking if you have any
          other information that you call their tips hotline
          as soon as possible.'


        Mulder looked up at her and she looked away.  He worried,
then heard her laugh.  His eyebrows fell in confusion, 'Why the
hell was she laughing, this was serious.'  He stood and she
looked
at him, the smiled still evident on her face as she stopped
laughing,

        "Could they be so stupid?"  She asked.

        "What?"

        "I would think that if they're going to try and kill us
they would at least check the guest manifest to make sure we were
where they thought we were."  She stood as he went to pull on his
jacket.

        "I say we visit the crime scene."  He suggested.

        "Hey, Mulder."  She called as he walked to the door.  He
turned to her, "Does this make us ghosts?"  She laughed again and
he thought maybe being awake for too long was making her
delirious.

        He smiled and then motioned for her to get her own jacket
and tuck in her shirt and put on her shoes.  It suddenly occurred
to him that she got to be more comfortable than he did last
night.

        Maybe not sleeping was getting to him too.

**********

end of part 6

Comments?  email us at eponine119@att.net; nalvarez@delphi.com