From: hkmason@netscape.net
Date: Thu, 03 Jun 1999 23:59:05 GMT
Subject: NEW: Lesser Evils 1/14 by H. Mason

TITLE:  Lesser Evils
AUTHOR:  Hannah Mason
CATEGORY:  SAR
RATING:  95% R; one clearly marked NC-17 section
SUMMARY:  Mulder thought that no one could ever want Scully as much as
he did.  He was dead wrong.
ARCHIVE:  By all means! Just let me know.
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully are the collective property of Chris
Carter, 1013, and Fox; after this story they'll probably be glad of
that fact.
THANKS: To Alicia K. and Stephanie for beta services rendered with
alacrity and careful cogitation--how's that for professorish, Alicia? ;)
QUICK NOTE:  In this weird little world, it's about eight months after
the movie, but none of the events of season six have taken place.
FEEDBACK: all types welcome at hkmason.netscape.net


This one is for Alexander, who is blessed with a wit so sharp even
Mulder would be envious.  No one in the world makes me laugh quite as
hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lesser Evils, part one
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all evils."

--Sir Francis Bacon, 1635



Fox Mulder circled the block seventeen times before he finally found
the courage to stop the car in front of her apartment.  He cut the
engine with a swift jerk but made no attempt to get out.  Instead, he
drummed restless fingers against the smooth leather steering wheel and
tried to figure out exactly how he would explain himself.

"Hey, Scully.  I just dropped by at..." he checked the dash clock,
"nine-fifty four on a Friday night to...uh...well, I have this file,
here and..."

He halted his monologue with a curse and slumped over the wheel.  There
was indeed a case file sitting on the seat next to him, though he
couldn't have reported its contents.  Bee swarms in Tucson, maybe.  Or
perhaps the poltergeists in Peru. It didn't really matter.  He had
grabbed it hurriedly from a pile on his desk just in case he chickened
out at the last minute, in case he couldn't gain admittance to her
apartment on his own merits.

For he certainly had very few merits these days, at least where Dana
Scully was concerned.

He picked up the file and thumbed through it absently.  We should start
one of these on me, he thought darkly.  Supernatural phenomena might be
the best way to explain what the hell came over me that night.

In the months since it had happened, he had replayed the words in his
mind so many times that he was convinced the individual letters must
now be spelled out in neurons across his brain.  At night he would
often say them aloud and marvel at how little time it took for the
sounds to roll off his tongue.

Just three seconds.

He had calculated the precise timing of it on that first night, and had
repeatedly checked his math since then.  The total was always the
same.  Three very small seconds to utter one very big lie.  How was it
possible that he could have done so much damage in such a little amount
of time?

He glanced up the golden light streaming from her window.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this hallway, Mulder?"

Dammit.  He winced as the long ago conversation surged into his
thoughts once more.  No no no...Go AWAY, he thought desperately.  I
can't do this now.  But the whispery words pricked at him relentlessly,
ripping away each mental Band Aid until the memory gaped open wide with
fresh pain.

Recollected emotion oozed steadily through his body, subsuming his
resistance like a powerful hypnotic drug.  He sat captivated as the
scene played out in vivid detail against the back of his closed lids...

She was especially pretty that warm October night, sitting curled on
his sofa garbed in attire more appropriate for a college coed than a
forensic pathologist.  With the soft light of the floor lamp, she could
have almost passed for twenty-two in her faded denim jeans and sea-foam
green tee shirt.  He had been sneaking many sideways glances at her
during the evening, more interested in her reaction to the TV movie
than the movie itself.  Everything was more interesting when he
filtered it through Scully.

He was still floating with amazement from the fact that he had managed
to convince her to spend the evening with him.  He grew even more
astounded as they flirted and teased their way through a pizza and
Mystery Science Theater 3000.

"I don't understand how this show can be any fun for you, Mulder," she
said dryly.  "That little robot thingie seems to be stealing all your
opportunities for snide commentary."

He flashed her a smile. "Ah, that's the beauty of it, Scully.  It's pre-
heckled for my convenience."

For once she laughed.  Not a belly-laugh, not some girlie giggle, but a
delighted little chuckle that told him he had somehow, in some small
way, managed to please her.  The sound sent sparks dancing over his
nerve endings.

Why are you here tonight? he wondered.  What did I say this time that I
haven't said a million times before?  He racked his brain, but no
answer came to mind.  Later, he told himself.  Analyze it later when
she's not sitting so damn close to you.  Right now just count yourself
a lucky sonofabitch and quit staring.

"Quit staring."

"Huh?"  Shit, had he said that out loud?

She rolled her eyes at him.  "You're staring at me, Mulder.  Do I have
pizza on my face or something?"

Or something, he thought, shifting uncomfortably on his end of the
couch.  Hold it together, you idiot, or you're going to scare her away.

But then she shifted, too, and he nearly came undone.  When she leaned
over, slipped off her tennis shoes and wriggled ten perfect toes in the
open air, he almost expired right there on the fucking couch.

Scully barefoot in his apartment.  Would wonders never cease.

He was gaping openly now, he knew he was.  And if the tiny curve of her
mouth was any indication, Scully knew it too.

Somehow he returned his eyes to the TV set, but he was no longer paying
the slightest attention to his favorite program.  His heart beat
wildly, his every cell attuned to the woman sitting next to him.  This
was the Scully of his dreams.  Relaxed, open and just a bit wild, with
her usual ferocious intellect filtered though a rarely-seen mischief.
She crackled with life and it was a contagious feeling.

He wanted to lean over and take a bite out of her, she was that
tempting.

Warning bells went off in his head at the thought.  Big trouble! they
called.  He snuck another look at her, her eyes alight with amusement,
her hair tousled by the breeze flowing from the open window, and her
tiny toes peeking out from under a denim-clad thigh.  She caught him
looking again, and arched one eyebrow.

He swallowed and looked away. Yeah, this Scully was big trouble all
right.

He just hadn't guessed how much.

...From his car outside her window, Mulder scrubbed his face with
sweaty palms, trying to freeze his memory while it was still rich with
light and laughter.  But the voices and images continued undiminished
in his head...

The evening over, he was doing the chivalrous thing and walking her out
to her car. Well, it was partly chivalry anyway.  Mainly it was a good
excuse to spend five more minutes in her company.  He turned from
locking his apartment door to see her watching him, her clear blue eyes
thoughtful and questioning.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this hallway,
Mulder?"

He froze, instantly grasping the meaning of her words.  Oh shit. Not
this.  Not now.  It had been so perfect until now.  "Uh, we talk about
it all the time," he hedged, trying to sneak past her to the elevator.
How far was it to her car again?

But Scully's reflexes were too quick for him, and her hand snagged his
elbow as he made his escape attempt.  "I don't mean part about the bee
or the virus.  I mean the events immediately prior to that."

"Oh."  At that point, he developed an enormous interest in the ceiling
tiles.  "I guess I don't think there's really anything to talk about,"
he said, hoping she would leave it at that.

But Scully pressed onward.  "Nothing to talk about," she repeated,
crossing her arms over her chest and stepping just that much closer to
him.  "That's an interesting sentiment, Mulder.  Because I would have
thought that our first attempt at physical intimacy--aborted though it
was--would be grounds for some discussion."

He shook his head widely for emphasis.  "Ah, but that's precisely the
point, Scully.  It *was* aborted.  Nothing happened.  And it's always
been my personal belief that discussions about nothing are best left up
to theologians, philosophers, and maybe Regis and Kathie Lee."

"No, Mulder," she replied softly, ignoring his lame humor with her
usual equanimity. "You're not going to pull this on me now. You can't
convince me that it was nothing." She licked her lips, hesitating, but
then plunged recklessly ahead.  "I...I wanted you to kiss me that
night, and I think you wanted it, too."

God yes.  Rather desperately, in fact.  She had been leaving him, so
there was nothing left to lose.  But then she had collapsed, had
disappeared and then reappeared in his life with renewed strength and
purpose like his own personal phoenix rising.  And later, when she had
clasped his hand and vowed to stay with him, to fight with him, he had
been overcome with relief that he had not kissed her.

Because that was the surest way to drive her from his life. This was a
lesson he had learned the hard way, watching the retreating backs of
women he'd professed to love and wondering why the strength of that
love never seemed to be enough.  He was like that kid from the old
nursery rhyme...how did it go, again?  Oh yes.  Kissed the girls and
made them cry.

So he'd had to lie, if only to protect her from herself.  And from
him.  Most of all from him.

"That night was a fluke, Scully.  It never should have happened."

"But it did happen," she pointed out.  "And ever since then, I've found
myself thinking about it...wondering what it would have been like.  Can
you honestly say you haven't been wondering, too?"

He'd scratched his head and avoided her eyes.  "Honestly, no I haven't."

She shook her head slowly, the light glinting off her hair.  "I don't
believe you," she murmured after a bit.

He laughed without humor.  "Ever skeptical aren't you, Agent Scully.
What can I offer you for proof?"

She hesitated just an instant before moving to stand directly in front
of him, so close he could feel her breathing.  She touched his face,
her fingers warm on his cheek, and gently forced him to look directly
at her.  "Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about
that night.  Tell me you don't still want this."

"Scully...." He squirmed under her scrutiny.

"In the eyes, Mulder."

This is it, he thought.  Make it count.

He steeled his resolve and met her azure eyes with a carefully schooled
gaze.  "I don't want this."  He shook his head slightly.   "I never
have."

Then he held his breath while she'd searched his face for the truth,
the echo of his rejection still swirling in the air around them.

.......I don't want this.  I don't want you.......

He'd known the instant that she'd believed him.  Her eyes widened
briefly in hurt before filling with tears, and the corners of her mouth
twisted as she tightened her lips into a thin line.   But she did not
turn away.  Oh no.  She made him suffer the full impact of his stinging
words, let him watch up close as every nuance of agony played across
her expressive face.

He welcomed her pain into his own body, using it to lash himself
inwardly for the hurt he had inflicted.  I'm so sorry, Scully.  I am
so, so sorry.  If I knew any other way...

She trembled slightly, anguish radiating from her small body in silent
waves, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms.  "Okay," she
whispered at last, her voice roughened by restrained emotion.  "Okay,
Mulder, you win."

She had left then, leaving him to stand alone in the dingy hallway and
wonder why, if he was supposed to have won, all he could feel was
loss...

It was a loss that remained unabated seven months later, having been
spread wide and deep by the river of silence running between them.  He
had once tried to apologize, however awkwardly, but had quickly shut up
when he saw the stricken look on her face.  Clearly, discussing the
matter only made it worse for her.  He had ceased all attempts after
that, unwilling to cause her further pain.

From his car, he looked up again in the direction of her apartment,
where the lights still shone brightly.  It was well after ten now, and
he knew if he just sat outside a little bit longer the lights would go
out and he would be off the hook for the evening.  But instead of
inducing relief, this possibility brought him inexplicable sadness.

I miss you, he thought as he watched the window.  I miss you and I'm
sorry.

"As good an opening as anything," he murmured to the empty car.  Maybe
it wouldn't solve the problem, but at least she would know how he
really felt.  Maybe she even missed him, too.  And maybe, just maybe,
they could have the conversation over again and he could get it right
this time.

He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.  One step at a
time, he reminded himself.  If he was to convince Scully that he would
cheerfully spend the rest of his life atoning for those lost three
seconds, he first had to get out of the car. He glanced once at the
file on the seat, and then left it sitting there as he levered himself
out into the street.  No excuses tonight.

He bounded up the stairs to her building two at a time, eager to see
her now that he had a fixed plan of action. It was a plan that included
some serious kissing if all went well.  He allowed himself a brief
moment to imagine what she would look like after their kisses, with
dreamy eyes smiling up at him from a face flushed pink with passion.
It was a vision that made his heart constrict repeatedly in his chest.
What a wonderful change it would be to bring her pleasure rather than
pain.  It was a phenomenon he found himself wishing for fervently as he
tapped lightly on her door.

A minute later he heard a muted sound...laughter?..just before the door
opened with a flourish to reveal his still-chuckling partner.  She
stopped short at the sight of him, pressing the back of her hand to her
mouth as she assessed him with a puzzled look.  When she spoke, her
voice was low and breathless.  "Mulder, what are you doing here?"

He frankly couldn't remember at that moment, because all his brain
power was focused on what *she* had obviously been doing.  As he stared
at her, some small part of him acknowledged that his vision had been
startlingly precognizant.  Her cheeks were tinged high with color and
her eyes had been transformed, chameleon-like, from their usual pale
sapphire to an incredible smoky midnight blue.  Though she still wore
her work clothes, the white silk blouse was unbuttoned a bit lower than
usual, and her short copper hair appeared hand-mussed.  Yes, there was
no doubt about it.

Dana Scully had been thoroughly kissed.

"Mulder?" she repeated.  "What's going on?  Is something wrong?"

God yes.  More than you'll ever know, he thought as the initial shock
wore off and the stinging pain set in.  He fumbled around for a story
but the words slipped away from him like quicksand.  "I...uh...I
just..."

He turned his gaze toward the ground, wishing like hell he'd brought
the stupid file with him.  Bare feet, he noted with a pang.  Somehow
this was even worse than the kissing, and he felt grief seize him anew.
Tears clogged the back of his throat and he swallowed convulsively.  It
felt like someone had slit open his veins from the inside.

Toolatetoolatetoolate, his brain taunted him endlessly.

He was apparently beginning to worry his partner because she reached
one hand out to touch his arm.  "Mulder, are you hurt?"

He jerked away like a wounded animal before she could make contact.

"Mulder, what the...oh!"  She broke off with a soft gasp and covered
her mouth as if to hide the evidence.  Clearly, she'd finally realized
the picture she was presenting.

That's right, Scully, he thought bitterly.  Busted.

A man's voice came suddenly from the room behind her.  "Dana?  Is
everything all right?"  A shadow moved in the room, and Mulder knew any
moment he would be staring right at the man who had been kissing
Scully.

No no.  Not a face.  A face would make it real.

The face appeared anyway, and he was stunned to see that it was a
familiar one.  The two men stared at each other in a moment of mutual
surprise before Scully cleared her throat to speak.

"Mulder, I believe you know Aaron Littlefield."

"Apparently not as well as you do."  The icy words came out of his
mouth unbidden as he scowled at the assistant district attorney.

If Littlefield was perturbed by the cutting remark, he did not show
it.  "Agent Mulder," he said warmly.  "It's nice to see you again after
all this time."

"Yeah, a year now, isn't it?  The Pembroke case?"  He stopped and
looked down at Scully through narrowed eyes.  "I have to say, Scully,
when you invited him to 'drop by anytime' I always assumed you were
referring to the Hoover building."

This observation did get a rise out of Littlefield, who started toward
him with a frown.  "Hey, listen here..."

"Aaron."  Scully halted him with a murmur and one small hand.  "It's
okay.  Mulder was just leaving."

As frazzled as his senses were, Mulder did not fail to grasp the
warning in her tone.  "Yeah, I was just leaving," he echoed acidly.  He
jammed his hand into his jeans pocket and extracted his key ring.  With
two quick jerks he freed the small bronze key labeled "Scully."

"Here," he said, grabbing her wrist and thrusting the warm metal
against her palm.  "This way you know I won't be coming back."  He
glanced from her pale face to the now-livid countenance of ADA
Littlefield.  "I'm sure you all will sleep better without fear of
interruption."

"Mulder..."  Scully said, her eyes huge with shock.  "Please don't do
this."

His heart clenched the way it always did in response to her pain, but
he ferociously stomped the feelings down, steeling himself with
seething anger.  "Good night, Scully." he said, and stalked off without
a backward glance.

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

He watched with interest as the male agent strode angrily to his car
and slammed the door shut.  So, she had sent the intrepid Agent Mulder
on his way.  It was a good sign, but he knew better than to be overly
pleased.  Mulder's appearance at her door that evening was a wrinkle
that he had not anticipated.  In the weeks that he had surveiled her,
he had quickly deduced that Mulder had the ability to ruin everything
he had worked so hard to plan.  He did not want to make the same
mistakes again, but he was quickly running out of time.

He was more certain than ever that she was the one.  God knew it, he
knew it, and soon she would know it, too.

Tomorrow, he thought.

The barest of smiles touched his lips as he glanced in the direction of
Mulder's departure, watching as the twin taillights vanished into the
night.  He felt confident that his strategy could still work if he just
pushed up the timetable.  After all, the initial phases had gone
smoothly with the others.  He had no reason to expect that Dana Scully
would offer any unique resistance.

And if Agent Mulder proved to be an obstacle?

Well, he was expendable.

*********************
End Part One.  Continued in Part Two.


Lesser Evils, part two
by Hannah Mason

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

Scully blinked rapidly to clear the hot tears from her eyes as she
slowly closed her apartment door.  She tightened her fist around the
key until the sharp ridges pressed nearly to the bone.  The metal
burned in her hand.  Just when she'd thought he couldn't wound her any
more deeply, Mulder managed a rebuff so profound it robbed her of
breath.

She fought hard to control the sobs rising within her, determined not
to cry.  Aaron was still hovering in her living room, and though he was
a kind man, she was unwilling to share her tears with him.  The
intimacy was too great and the hurt was too personal.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally, regarding her with sympathetic green
eyes.

She nodded mutely, not yet trusting her voice.

He moved to stand behind her and rested two large warm hands gently on
her shoulders.  "I didn't realize that you and Mulder had such
an...intense...personal relationship."

She stiffened under his touch and pulled away.  "My relationship with
Mulder has never been anything other than professional," she told him
briskly.

Aaron cocked his head at her.  "Are you sure he knows that?

"Oh, he knows," she replied with a short, dark laugh.  "He knows better
than anyone."

"I see," said Aaron softly, his eyes flickering over her with new
understanding.  "Then he's the greatest of fools, Dana."

She raised her face to his and smiled sadly.  "One of us surely is."

Aaron reached for her then, and brought her into his arms with a gentle
tug.  Scully hesitated only a moment before relaxing against him,
allowing the warmth of his body to drive away her chills.  Eventually,
he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"I think maybe it's time for me to go."

She nodded wordlessly against his chest, took his hand and walked him
slowly to the door.  "I'm sorry about all this," she said.
"Mulder...well, he--"

"--doesn't need you to apologize for him," Aaron finished firmly,
giving her hand a squeeze.  He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear
and then leaned down to kiss her lightly on the cheek.  "I'll call you
tomorrow," he murmured.

After he'd gone, Scully leaned against the door and looked at the key
she still clutched in her hand, suddenly too exhausted to cry.  Maybe
it's for the best, she thought sadly.  Maybe this is exactly what I
needed to make the break for good.  With a shaky sigh, she placed the
key gently on her mantle and traced its outline lingeringly with one
finger before finally retiring to her bedroom.

Later, as she curled in a ball under the covers, Aaron's words echoed
back through her mind. *I didn't realize you and Mulder had such an
intense personal relationship*.  Intense hardly seemed strong enough a
description for the emotional entanglement she shared with her
partner.  It was a complicated union that allowed no room for a third
person, and therein lay the problem.

Mulder had made his feelings painfully clear on that awful night when
he'd looked her straight in the face and lied to her.

Oh yes, she had known he'd lied.

He had wanted that kiss just as much as she had, of that much she was
sure.  Standing together in the hallway that summer evening, foreheads
touching and breath coming in unison, their mutual desire had been
almost tangible.

Still, he had lied.  Yet in doing so, he had also told her an
incontrovertible truth:  He wanted her, but he didn't *want* to want
her.

And that was even worse.

After so many years, he still couldn't trust her, not completely.  He
persisted in guarding pieces of himself, hiding his most tender parts
and snarling like an angry bulldog if anyone dared get too close.  She
had tried to be patient.  She understood he'd been hurt, had seen up
close and personal some of the women who had trampled the heart of Fox
Mulder.  How can you think I would be like them? she wondered in the
darkness, hugging her pillow for comfort.  His lack of faith cut her
deeply even now.

Then Aaron Littlefield appeared in her life six weeks ago. She had been
initially wary, uninterested even, because her all her thoughts and
feelings were still bound up with Mulder and the night he had pushed
her away for good.  But Aaron moved slowly.  She had met him in the
courthouse elevator twice before he had asked her out for coffee.
Coffee had led to dinner. Four dates later, she was amazed to find how
much she was looking forward to seeing him each evening.  His emotional
availability was a welcome change, and she warmed to his charming
banter.   He had a quick mind and easy smile, and conversed with her on
everything from casefiles to chardonnay.  She liked the person she
became when she was with him.  She was happier, lighter.

But still not completely free.

To give herself completely to Aaron, or to any man, she knew she would
first have to extract Mulder from her heart. Was Aaron worth it the
struggle?  She didn't know.  But it was a ugly chore that would have to
be performed eventually, or she was damned to be alone forever.  Mulder
himself had shown her that.

She curled tighter against the pillow, the tears beginning to fall at
last.

Loosening her emotional ties with Mulder was a daunting prospect that
left her feeling drained and lonely every time she contemplated it.  It
would be a messy and difficult excision, with bloodshed and heartache
on both sides.  She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his
ashen face at her door.  There was no pleasure in hurting him, only
more pain.

She wondered if she could ever be truly free of him, or if she would
always feel his presence, like an amputee with a phantom limb.

It was many hours before she slept.

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

The city morgue at eight p.m. on a Saturday night would not be
considered a sanctuary to most people, but Scully felt overwhelming
solace as she set about performing her first autopsy, a young woman
found dead in her home for no obvious reason the local coroner could
detect.  The woman's husband had also died inside the house, his demise
apparently due to the same mysterious cause.

The lateness of the hour afforded Scully a luxurious solitude as she
prepared to tackle the puzzle before her.  Scissors and tongs in hand,
she began the ritual investigation of death that she practiced with
such skill.  Minutes blurred to hours as she retraced the efforts of
Silas Tewksbury, the coroner who had performed the initial autopsy.
The familiar sounds and rhythms offered both comfort and escape,
allowing her mind something to focus on besides the emotional roller
coaster ride she had endured over the past twenty-four hours.

The wall clock read ten-oh-eight when she finished labeling the blood
and tissue samples for laboratory analysis.  She stifled a yawn on the
sleeve of her blue scrub apron. One down, one to go, she thought,
rolling her head to relieve the ache that had begun to throb at the
base of her neck.  She let out a small sigh as the vertebrae shifted
into place with a satisfying pop.

"Late night, Agent Scully?"

Mulder's chilly words caused her to jump in surprise.

"Jesus, Mulder," she said, whirling on him with hands on her hips.
"Don't creep up on me like that!"

He stood leaning against the door frame.  "Just out of curiosity...when
exactly were you going to tell me?  When the wedding invitation arrived
in the mail?"

Scully wearily rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Mulder,
could we please not do this now?  It's late, and I still have one more
body to examine tonight."

"Really, would that be living or deceased?" he asked, one finger placed
at the corner of his mouth in a look of exaggerated puzzlement.

She felt her cheeks warm with growing anger.  Damn him for doing this.
"Mulder, if you value our friendship at all, you will stop this line of
conversation immediately."

But Mulder was on a roll now. "Oh, are we still friends?" he asked in
surprise.  "I wasn't clear.  I thought friends were people who talked
to each other about important stuff in their lives, kept each other
apprised of any new developments, that sort of thing."

Head down, she braced her arms on the autopsy bay and ignored him,
hoping he would stop if she didn't rise to his baiting remarks.

"Or maybe," he continued, walking fully into the room.  "Maybe I've hit
upon the answer.  You didn't tell me, your supposed friend, about your
relationship with Aaron Littlefield because it wasn't *important*.  Is
that it Scully?  He's not Mr. Right, just a handy lay..."

"That is enough!" she broke in angrily, whirling on him.  "Enough! You
are so far over the line here, Mulder, that one more word and you might
never be able to cross back.  I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry you
had to find out the way you did, but that is not an excuse for your
present despicable behavior. I don't owe you any explanation about what
I do with my personal life or who I do it with.  You gave up any right
to have a say seven months ago."  She paused and took a deep,
shuddering breath.  "And Mulder, you *never* had the right to speak to
me the way you just did.  Never."

"Are you finished?" he asked after she was done speaking.

"Are you?" she retorted.

"Actually no.  Surprising at it might seem, I didn't really come here
to discuss your social calendar.  We've got a case out in Wyoming that
needs immediate attention."  He waved a file folder at her.  "Our
flight leaves tomorrow at 7 am."

"Let me see that," she said, peeling off her gloves with a snap and
reaching for the brown folder.  She rapidly scanned the enclosed pages
and photos.  "You can't be serious," she told him when she'd finished.

"I'm always serious about the files, Scully.  You should know that by
now."

She ignored the jab and flipped through the folder once more.  "Missing
cows?" she asked incredulously.  "A few dozen cows go missing from
farms in Airsdale, Wyoming, and you think this is deserving of federal
investigation?  Cattle rustling is hardly an unexplained phenomenon,
Mulder."

"It is when it's accompanied by two UFO sightings within the last
month."

Scully rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.  "C'mon Mulder, alien
cattle thieves?  That's a bit too extreme, even for you."

"We can argue about it on the plane, Scully," he said curtly.  "Because
it's my call and I say we're going to Wyoming.  This is a legitimate X-
file, and we have a duty to investigate."  He stalked around the room,
sulking like a small child, and suddenly the true motive behind the
trip became clear to Scully.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she said evenly.  "You can take your lost cattle and go
straight to hell.  Or Wyoming, or whatever.  But I am *not* going with
you."

"Scully, I don't know what your problem is here..."

"What *my* problem is?" she interrupted in disbelief.  She crossed the
room to stand in front of him, shoving the folder roughly against his
chest.  "This isn't X-file, Mulder, it's a goddamm fidelity test and I
won't stand for it."

He held her gaze with dark, angry eyes as the air crackled between
them.  "You tell yourself that if you need to," he replied with
deliberate softness.  "You can tell yourself whatever the hell you
want, Scully, but you had better be at that airport by seven a.m.
tomorrow morning."

He moved to leave and she called to him as she reached the door.  "And
if I do go with you on this fool's errand, Mulder?  What exactly will
that solve?  Aaron will still be here when I get back, you know."

His froze in the doorway, his back going rigid at her words.  "This is
not about your precious Aaron Littlefield," he said without turning
around.  "It's about disappearing cattle and unidentified lights in the
sky over Airsdale, Wyoming."

"Yeah right," she answered.  "You tell yourself that if you need to,
Mulder."

Strange, she realized as she watched him leave, that she was becoming
extraordinarily proficient in catching Fox Mulder's lies.

Even the ones he told himself.

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

She checked the wall clock to jot the time on her completed notes.
Twelve thirty-seven.  With a suppressed groan, she printed out in neat
letters what she considered the cause of death:  carbon monoxide
poisoning.  It would have been a more obvious choice if the deceased
couple had inhabited a building with gas powered heat or appliances.
However, their modest home had been run exclusively on electricity, and
thus while the cause of death might have been uncovered, the source of
the toxin remained a mystery.

One that will not be solved tonight, thought Scully as she scrawled her
initials across the bottom of the form.  I have to get at least a few
hours rest if I'm going to be at the airport before seven a.m.

Somewhere around midnight she had resolved to go along with his
ridiculous charade, if only to see just how far he was willing to carry
it.  She bent her head in her hands.  Admit the real reason, she
admonished herself sternly.  You just can't let go.  He's like a drug,
and you're hooked but good.  A Mulderholic, that's what you are.

Pulling off her glasses, she laid her head down on the desk and closed
her eyes.  The argument had left her shaky and drained of energy.  One
more case, she thought.  Just this one more case and then I'll go cold
turkey.

"Dr. Scully?  Are you okay?"

She jerked her head up, startled to find that she was not alone in the
dimly lit office.  "Oh, hi Raymond."  She forced a tired smile for the
young man who kept the morgue well-stocked and spotlessly clean.  They
had developed something of a camaraderie over her tenure in the morgue,
for he liked to pepper her with questions about forensic pathology in
exchange for free candy bars from the vending machine.  Recently, she
had learned they shared another connection-his mother was a regular
attendee at her church.  "I'm fine, thanks.  Just a little tired."

"It's pretty late," he told her earnestly.  "You shouldn't be working
so hard."

"Tell me about it," she muttered, and he laughed.

"Are you gonna be in church tomorrow?" he asked shyly, leaning his chin
on the end of the broomstick.

"Seems unlikely," she answered with a sigh, thinking of Wyoming.  "More
work."  She tilted her head at him.  "How's your mom doing?"

"So-so," he said with shrug.  "The doctor's are going to operate on the
tumor next week."

"I hope it goes well," she murmured, standing and gathering her coat.
"Please tell her I said hello, and that you'll both be in my prayers."

He nodded slowly, watching her walk toward the door.  "And you'll be in
mine," he whispered after her.

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

At last, she was finally leaving.  He had been hanging around the
morgue for several hours now, waiting with evaporating patience for her
to finish.  He watched her walk down the long corridor toward the
exit.  Another instant and she would be gone.  Wait!  He called to her
just as she reached the door, and she turned round slowly, her
expression questioning.

Then she smiled as she recognized him in the murky hallway light.

Yes, he thought.  It's me.  I've come for you.

He smiled back and waved her over.  She hesitated for a moment,
checking her watch with a frown.  But then she was walking toward him
and his heart beat faster in anticipation.

Yes, yes,  Just a little closer.

"What's going on?" she asked as she reached him, a puzzled look
crossing her features when she saw the device in his left hand. It
could have been an electric shaver, with its compact size and rounded
curves.  But then he switched it on, and when it crackled to life Agent
Dana Scully's eyes grew wide with fear as she recognized its purpose at
last.

A second later he was grinning as she lay crumpled on the floor at his
feet.

Perfect.
**********************

End part two.  Continued in part three.

Lesser Evils, part three
by Hannah Mason

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

Mulder shook his head tightly in response to the flight attendant's
offer for beverage service.

The plane was virtually deserted due to the early hour, and under
normal circumstances this would have been a blessing.  He and Scully
would have usurped several seats across the aisle from one another, the
added room allowing him to stretch out his long legs and read, her to
curl up length-wise and doze.

Scully could sleep just about anywhere.

He turned his cheek against the scratchy fabric of the seat and
regarded the empty row across from him.  If he closed his eyes he could
replace the ugly green and navy cushions with the image of his sleeping
partner, one arm tucked beneath her head and her face half-hidden among
a disarray of auburn tendrils.

He massaged his temples between his forefinger and thumb, seeking to
relieve the dull throbbing pain behind his eyes.  His gripping anger
had dissipated sometime after take-off, leaving him feeling spent and
rubbery like a deflated party balloon.

You've pulled some stupid-assed stunts before, he chided himself. But
this one deserves a fucking special commendation.  Yessir, the Grand
Prize Asshole, that's what you are; go ahead and tell the man what he's
won, Johnny...

Mulder rubbed his head again.  "A round trip ticket for one to
Shitdale, Wyoming," he muttered under his breath.  "Yee-ha."

It's your own damn fault, the voice in his head taunted.  This piece of
chicken-shit is your "legitimate case", remember?  Your brilliant plan
to lure her away from Aaron Littlefield.  Just what exactly did you
think was going to happen on this trip?  That she would look at you
over a cow-pie, realize her mistake and fall into your arms like some
movie heroine?

No. He closed his eyes and banged his head repeatedly against the back
of the seat.  No no no.

I didn't lie, he thought viciously.  This isn't about HIM.  Don't you
get it, Scully?  I don't want you away from him, I want you with ME...
he sighed glumly and shook his head...even if I have to order you
around like a fucking a Captain Commando to accomplish it.

He fiddled absently with the flight magazine sticking out of the
elastic band in front of him and tried to ignore the feel of the empty
seat at his elbow.  It didn't work.  Melancholy seeped steadily through
his pores and took root deep inside, twisting like barbed wire in his
gut.

You wanted proof of her feelings?  Well, you sure got it.  Message
received loud and clear.  Fox Mulder and the X-Files can go straight to
hell.

He blinked back sudden tears.  Stupid.  He had really thought she would
come. Stupidstupidstupid.

Despite his horrible words, he had thought she would come with him.
Right up until the attendant had closed the heavy door, he had hoped,
had expected, that she would appear on the plane wearing her trademark
dark suit and exasperated expression.  She would have come to call his
bluff, to show him up.  She would have come to prove that she could
handle any shit he threw her way.  She would have come because deep
down she knew that he was terrified and needed her reassurance.

Because when all was said and done, they belonged only to each other.

Or so he'd thought.

He slowly traced the stripes on the seat cushion next to him.

It had been a test, all right.  However childish, however unfair, it
had definitely been a test.

And she had failed.  Or maybe he had.

At this point it didn't really matter anymore.

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

He almost did not go to Sunday morning mass.  What if she woke up while
he was away?

In the end, however, he gave into the urgings of his nagging
conscience.  God has been gracious with you, he lectured himself
sternly in the mirror as he fastened his clip-on tie.  You asked Him
for His help and He has provided you with a fine woman.  The least you
can do is show Him the proper respect in return.

At nine a.m. sharp, he slid into his normal seat in the sixth pew,
looking astonishingly ordinary among the rows of worshippers.  Heavenly
Father, he prayed silently.  Thank you for this most precious gift you
have given me.  I realize now that I was terribly wrong about the
others.  I believed they were my destiny, but thanks to your guidance I
was able to recognize them for the harlots that they were.  You were
right to see them punished, Father.  I know I questioned you at first,
but I understand now that it was the only true way.  Forgive me for my
insolence and my arrogance.  I will make sure to get it right this
time.

He left church immediately after mass, not stopping to chat with the
other parishioners as he usually did.  She would be waking up soon, and
though he wasn't worried that she could escape, he wanted to be present
when she opened her eyes, to be the first sight that greeted her when
she awoke.  He tried to keep his pace to a slow, deliberate walk, but
it was hard when he knew that she was waiting.

"Watch yourself," he warned with a mutter. The Father has done his
part, don't you screw up your end now.

He smiled and allowed himself a small increase in speed.  Just three
more blocks.

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

She awoke with a start, squinting and twisting away from the full
morning sun that painted bright ribbons of light across her face.  The
terrible dream still hovered ghost-like in her brain.  With a groan,
she pulled a pillow over her pounding head as waves of nausea rolled
over her.

"I'm never going to understand why you do this."  His voice came from
above her, muffled by the intervening pillow.  "Tequila does this to
you every time, yet you go right ahead and drink it  This is exactly
why I don't go with you."

She pulled the pillow from her face and spoke to him through thick
strands of brown hair.  "Don't give me that shit, David," she said
without animosity, her voice scratchy and tired.  "You don't go because
you can't stand Ramona."

"Ellie, dear, *no one* can stand Ramona," he answered with a grin.
"They just can't get her to shut up long enough to tell her."

"You shut up.  She's my best friend."  She was lying very still, hoping
that her lurching stomach would settle down.  The bed bounced lightly
as he plopped himself next to her, and she moaned and clutched her
middle.  "Ugh..don't do that..."

He smoothed the hair from her face.  "Poor baby," he teased
affectionately.  "I brought some water. Wanna try?"

She took the water, sampled it with a few small, experimental sips, and
then lay back down on the bed with her eyes closed.  His face leaped
instantly back into her brain.  "Oh god, it was real..." Her eyes
snapped back open.

"Yeah, babe.  Imaginary tequila somehow just doesn't have the same
affect."

"No no," she said, struggling to sit up.  "Last night, coming home...I
saw this man carrying a dead body out of the morgue."

"What, like on a stretcher?"

"Huh-uh.  Like this, in his arms," she demonstrated with the pillow.
"It was a woman with red hair."  Her hand flew suddenly to her mouth.
"God, David, do you think he stole her body from the morgue?"

"Whoa, hold on a second," he said, patting her leg.  "You didn't say
anything about a dead body when you collapsed into bed last night.  Are
you sure you didn't just dream this whole thing?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure," she answered, tugging impatiently on his sleeve.
"I passed out last night before I could tell you, but I know what I
saw.  It was a big man, coming out of the side door of the morgue, you
know the one off of Cedar Street?  Anyway, he was walking out of the
morgue, and he had a dead woman with him,...and...god, David, he was
*smiling*!  He was smiling and then he put her in a car and drove away."

"Ellie..."  His tone was filled with disbelief.

"It's true, David.  I saw it!"

"Why would he steal her body from the morgue?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't know, experiments maybe.  I think I should
call the police."

"Experiments?" he echoed with a chortling laugh.  "Ellie, the police
would laugh their asses off!"

She thumped him with the pillow.  "I'm glad you think this is so funny."

"Ellie, come on.  This story is a little ridiculous, don't you think?
A man walks out of the morgue in the middle of the night with a naked,
red-haired dead woman?"

"She wasn't naked."

"Huh?  I thought you said it was a dead body."

"I did!  But she wasn't naked."

"Ellie, bodies in morgues tend to be naked.  They can't do the
autopsies otherwise."

"Well, maybe they hadn't gotten to this one yet...maybe that's why he
was taking her away...maybe he KILLED her, David!  Maybe he killed her
and then stole the body so no one would find the evidence!"

"And maybe you've been watching too many Lifetime movies," he told her
with an eye-roll.

"I'm completely serious."

"Yeah, seriously hung over."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"You wanna know what I think happened?" he said finally.

"If you say I dreamed it again..." she warned threateningly.

"No, no."  He held up his palms.  "I think that you just *thought* they
were coming out of the morgue.  I think that they were probably from La
Casa and just using the morgue parking lot like other people do on
weekends."

"David, they weren't dressed for clubbing."

"And you had how many drinks last night?" he shot back.  She crossed
her arms over her chest and glowered at him.

"Anyway, I think they were at La Casa, and she probably had too much to
drink, passed out, and then he carried her to the car."

Ellie sat silently for a moment, trying to gel her memory with David's
story.  "It could have happened that way, I guess..."  She was still
unconvinced.

"Of course it happened that way," he insisted.  Then he grinned at
her.  "But if you want, we could always call the morgue and ask them to
count the stiffs for us."

"Ooo, you're gonna pay for that one." She pounced on him, and there was
no more discussion of the red-haired woman from the morgue.

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

He entered the small house through the back door and went immediately
to the kitchen. Humming tunelessly to himself, he set about fixing her
breakfast.  Ten weeks of careful study had paid off, and he knew from
memory exactly how to prepare it to her liking.  One seven-grain bagel,
sliced perfectly in half and lightly toasted, then slathered with a
generous coating of cream.  Peach yogurt and black coffee.  The fresh
squeezed orange juice was his addition, as was the lilac sprig he had
plucked from a neighbor's yard on the way home.

"Voila," he murmured with a pleased smile as he fussed over the tray.
He hoped she would be pleased as well, but he also knew that the first
day was the hardest.  Best just to get it over with.

Still humming, he carried the tray through the basement door, down the
rickety steps and past the clanking of the old water heater.  He
flicked a wall switch with his elbow so that the room below his feet
would be illuminated for his arrival.  "Time to wake up," he chuckled,
even though he knew she couldn't yet hear him.

The room was purposefully sound-proof.  I really hope she isn't a
screamer, he thought grimly as he set the breakfast tray on the dank
basement floor.  That would be so unfortunate.

He fumbled with his key ring, located the one he wanted, and then
slipped the padlock open with ease.  He displaced the round cover and
climbed several rungs down into the hole, pausing to grab the tray with
one hand before continuing his descent.

She hadn't moved at all that he could tell.  She lay motionless on top
of the bedspread, limp and pale, with her hands and feet bound tightly
behind her back.   Her eyes were still closed.

He set the tray on the small round table that stood next to the bed and
studied with concern the petite woman spread prostrate before him.  She
should have been coming out of it by now.  Too much drugs? he wondered,
feeling for a pulse.

She moaned softly at his touch, her eyes fluttering open and her limbs
twitching slightly against their restraints.

He smiled broadly in relief.  "Good morning, sunshine."

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

Hurts, Scully thought sleepily as she tried to shake the heavy chains
that attempted to yank her back into unconsciousness.  She blinked
rapidly as the room spun around several times, finally slowing to a
halt and coming into full focus.  Bare white concrete walls walls.  No
windows.  The scent of dust and mildew permeated the air.

Where am I? she wanted to ask, but her tongue was thick and swollen
inside her dry mouth and she could not form the words.  Her head was
throbbing and her body ached all over. I've been drugged, she realized
slowly.  Can't move...  Behind her back, she flexed her fingers
experimentally and groaned when pins and needles shot through the
length of her arms.  Shit.  Tied up.  Arms, legs, too...what the hell
is going on?

"I trust you slept well."

She froze momentarily at the sound of his voice.  Then she slowly
twisted on the bed so she could look up at the man standing over her.
Him again.  Oh my God, she thought, her heart beginning to pound.  It
was true, not a dream.  Trust no one, Mulder had told her, and he'd
been right.

Scully stared at him wide-eyed.  "Why...?" she broke off with a wince,
her voice like harsh sandpaper over her parched throat.

He ignored her question, fretting over her like she was a sick child.
"How rude of me," he chided himself. "You must be very thirsty.  The
chloral hydrate will do that.  Here, have some juice."  He reached
behind her head to push her slightly up right and brought the glass to
her lips.

Scully turned away.

"Come on now," he said.  "I know you must want it."

She still refused, and he sighed.  "Are you worried about more drugs?
Don't be.  Those were just a precaution to get you here.  See, it's
perfectly fine.  Tasty, even."  He demonstrated by drinking a long sip
of the orange liquid.

She eyed him warily, swallowing reflexively as she watched him drink,
licking her cracked lips as the tiny drops of condensation wended their
way down the side glass.  So thirsty...

"Here, try again," he offered, and this time she allowed herself a few
small sips.  The sweet citrus tang flooded her mouth, easing away the
tight pain in her throat.  A few  sticky drops dribbled down her chin
and he wiped them away as she settled back against the pillows.  Her
head was beginning to clear, and the renewed awareness brought
frightening questions.

"I'm sorry about the cords," he said in a tone one might use to
apologize for not having the dry-cleaning ready on time.  "I realize
they're uncomfortable, but you being a trained FBI woman and all, I had
to be extra careful."

"I don't understand.  Why are you doing this?" she asked softly.  Who
the hell was this man she thought she knew?  How long had he been
planning this?  Days?  Weeks, maybe even years?  She shuddered. "What
do you want with me?" she demanded with a more determined tone.

"What do I want with you?" he repeated, moving to sit close to her on
the bed.  He ran his fingertips lightly over her face and she tensed,
eyes squeezed shut.  "I want everything with you, Dana.  Everything
there is."

Scully gulped a mouthful of air.  This is not happening, she thought
desperately.  This cannot possibly be happening.

He continued to touch her.  "Your skin is so soft," he murmured as much
to himself as to her.  "It's so much softer than the others..."

Her eyes flew open as she fought a gag.  "Others?" she choked between
shallow breaths.

"Yes, well...let's not worry about them, okay?  They don't matter any
more."  He kept on petting her, his hands firmer as they stroked the
column of her throat.  Then he squeezed her gently around the neck, and
she realized abruptly the extent of her helplessness.

"Please don't do that..." she said thinly, arching her head back into
the pillow.

Her words did not seem to register, and his large hands persisted in
their invasion.  He slipped open the top button on her cardigan
sweater.  Then another.  "So soft..." he repeated to himself, his eyes
on her chest.

Oh shit. Oh, please not this, she thought frantically, trying to
wriggle away from his hands.  Her mind started to flash stark images of
autopsies past, all dead naked women with their bodies battered and
bloodied from sexual assault.

Please, God, no...  Scully panted and struggled harder, pushing at him
with her knees and feet as her terror grew.

"Stop it," he commanded sharply, halting her squirming with a painful
wrench that left her lower body pinned tight under his knees.  He
grasped her chin roughly with his right hand and tilted her face up
toward his.  "I don't want to have to hurt you, Dana, but I will if
necessary. Remember that."

He gripped her chin a bit harder.  "Now, then, are you ready to be a
good girl?" he asked softly.

Scully nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his.  She knew, suddenly and
certainly, that she would die in the stuffy, windowless room if she did
not play her cards exactly right.

"Good." He smiled and abruptly released her chin to smooth back her
hair.  "I knew you would cooperate."

His hands went again to her sweater and Scully swallowed convulsively,
fighting the rising tide of nausea.  But she did not move.  Whatever it
takes to stay alive, she told herself as her breathing quickened
progressively.  Don't think about what he's doing.  Think about getting
the hell out of here.

But she couldn't shake the feel of his hands roaming her body,
squeezing and caressing at will.  She blinked her eyes against the
silent tears that slipped down the sides of her face into the pillow.
He seemed oblivious to her distress, as if hypnotized by the act of
touching her. Please God, just let it be over quickly, she prayed.

He halted the process of undressing her.  Instead, he slid one hand up
her breast bone, feeling around until his fingers found the delicate
gold chain that encircled her neck.

Scully's eyes snapped open.  Had she been praying out loud?  She sucked
in her breath in preparation for the POP when he yanked the chain off.

But he didn't wrench the necklace from her; instead, he touched the
tiny cross gently, then hooked it with one finger and pulled it along
the chain toward him until it dangled between them in the air.  They
both stared at the pendant, he bemused and she panting lightly with
residual fear.

"He said He would mark you for me," he told her, his eyes still on the
miniature cross.  "I knew when I saw this that you were the one, my own
perfect angel sent by the Lord Himself."  He fingered the cross
thoughtfully one more time and then replaced it carefully on her
chest.  He brushed his fingers through her hair.  "Welcome to your new
home, Angel," he whispered, his eyes gleaming down at her.

His smile sent waves of fresh horror through Scully as it finally
dawned on her that this man had no plans to let her go.

Ever.

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

End part three.  Continued in part four.



Lesser Evils, part four
by Hannah Mason

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

Mulder was driving through the backroads of Airsdale when his cell
phone trilled softly from his coat pocket.  Scully. His heart
accelerated, and he groped with one hand until he located the slender
black phone.

"Hello," he said quickly, hoping against hope to hear her voice on the
other end.

Instead, Skinner's gruff greeting crackled through the phone.  "Agent
Mulder.  Is Agent Scully with you?"

Mulder sighed. Apparently he wasn't the only one with Scully on the
brain that morning,  "No sir," he answered ruefully.  "Agent Scully is
most definitely not with me."

Probably never would be again, he finished silently.

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"  Skinner's tone was
urgent.

He checked his watch.  "Two p.m. on a Monday?  She could be at lunch I
suppose.  Why, did she miss a meeting or something?"

"Or something," Skinner answered grimly.  Then he sighed.  "Just think
hard, Agent Mulder.  Are you absolutely certain you don't know where
your partner is right now?"

"I'm telling you I don't..."  He halted as images from Friday night
spun through his mind.  "Uh, have you tried ADA Aaron Littlefield?" he
said.  "She might be with him."  When Skinner did not immediately
answer, Mulder frowned, suddenly realizing that this conversation was
not about Scully being a few hours late to work.  "Sir, what's with all
the questions about Scully?  Is something wrong?  Did something happen
to her?"

He heard a deep breath from the other end of the phone.  "I don't know
what the hell is going on, Mulder," he said finally.  "But I'm pretty
certain Littlefield doesn't know where Scully is.  He reported her
missing at ten a.m. this morning."

"What?" Mulder barked into the phone, bringing the Taurus to a
screeching halt in the middle of the country road. "What the hell are
you talking about, missing?"

"Missing," Skinner replied in a clipped tone.  "As in no one has seen
or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, her car was found in the
parking lot of the city morgue, and nobody can seem to account for her
present whereabouts."

"I don't understand." Mulder closed his eyes and shook his head in
denial.  This is not happening, he thought desperately.  Notnotnotnot.

"Agent Mulder..."  Skinner's voice dropped to a tight whisper.
"Consider this your fair warning.  There have been some unpleasant
reports surfacing about a few...heated discussions...between you and
Agent Scully during the last few days.  Detective Ripley of the six-oh-
three was in here looking for you not ten minutes ago.  I strongly
suggest that catch a plane back to D.C. immediately."

Mulder felt the bile rise in his throat.  "Sir, you can't possibly
think..."

"Immediately, Agent Mulder." And the line went dead.

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

Pulse pounding and adrenaline rushing, Mulder crashed through the
swinging doors of police precinct six-oh-three with the force of a F4
tornado.

"Where's Detective Ripley?" he demanded as he hurtled past the desk
sergeant at top speed.

"Hey, wait!  You can't just go back there!" protested the young
uniformed man, trailing after him into the stationhouse.

"Detective Jack Ripley," Mulder repeated to the crowded room.  Cops and
criminals alike stopped their business to openly stare at him as he
starting weaving unsteadily through the rows of desks.  "I need to
speak to Jack Ripley," he said with rising intensity.  "Now where the
hell is he?"  He halted in the middle of the room and cast his gaze
wildly over the sea of faces in search of the man in question.  The
desk sergeant caught up with him and placed one beefy hand firmly
around his elbow, intent on dragging him back toward the door.

"You're going to have to wait out here."

"Get the hell off me," Mulder growled, twisting free with a sharp
jerk.  Another officer, older and dark-skinned but with a shock of
graying hair, rose to join the argument.

"Hey, pal, just cool down."

Mulder held out one arm in warning.  "I will not 'cool down'!  I will
not cool down until somebody gets me Detective Jack Ripley."

"Agent Mulder."  A tall, lanky man with pale eyes and short-cropped,
black hair that sprung from his head at odd angles materialized in the
doorway at the far end of the room.

"Finally," Mulder muttered, glaring at the two officers who flanked
him.  "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" he asked tightly as he pushed
past them.  He stalked across the room and came to a stop in front of
Jack Ripley, shaking his proffered hand roughly.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Ripley said mildly.  His disheveled
appearance always reminded Mulder of Columbo, right down to the
omnipresent rumpled trench coat.  But Ripley's deliberate and precise
style of police work was a direct counterpoint to the TV detective's
bumbling, rambling interrogations.  In fact, there were rumors that he
had gone to law school before joining the force eighteen years ago.
Some said NYU, others laid their bets on Harvard.  No Jack Ripley had
ever registered at either institution, but that didn't stop the
arguments.  Ripley himself never weighed in on the dispute, content
instead to season his conversation with terms like "heretofore" and
"habeas corpus" and watch with a smile as the debate took fire once
more. In the half-dozen times Mulder and Scully had crossed paths with
Jack Ripley during a local investigation, he had impressed them both as
a serious, no bullshit kind of guy.

Mulder was relying on this candor now to get him a straight answer.

"Just what the fuck is going on here, Ripley?  What happened to Scully?"

Pale blue eyes assessed him neutrally.  "I was hoping you could tell
me."  He gestured to the room behind him.  "Come on inside while we try
to sort this thing out, okay?"

Momentarily placated, Mulder followed him into the conference room and
was surprised to find both Skinner and Littlefield pacing the floor on
opposite sides of the long table.  All three men froze simultaneously,
and tension-filled silence gripped the room for long moments.

"Why don't we all have a seat," said Ripley finally, but no one moved.

"I don't want a seat," Mulder bit out, moving across the room to stand
inches from Littlefield.  "What I want are some answers."

"What, from me?" mocked Littlefield, pointing at his chest.  "I'd say
you have some answering to do yourself, Agent Mulder.  I understand you
were one of the last people to see her."

Mulder clenched his fists but somehow held himself in check.  "Fuck
you, Littlefield.  I had nothing to do with this, and you damn well
know it."  He regarded the other man through slitted eyes.  "But
you...you puzzle me, Counselor.  Scully misses a lunch date and you
immediately call in the cavalry?   A little sudden, don't you think?
I'm wondering if maybe you know more than you're saying, if maybe you
called in the cops so fast because you had good reason to worry about
her."

"I'd say I had reason, yeah." Littlefield held up his hand and ticked
off fingers as he spoke.  "First, she didn't show up for Sunday
brunch.  No call, no explanation, no nothing.  She just didn't show.
Then I can't get her on the phone--not at work, at home or at her
mother's place.  Finally, I drove past the morgue just to see if, for
some unknown reason, she was still there.  I found her car, but no sign
of Dana. So, yes, Agent Mulder, when she did not turn up at home or at
work this morning, I damn well reported her missing."

"Well, pardon me if I don't trust the word of a convicted felon,"
sneered Mulder.

"What?" Littlefield blanched visibly.  "That was...you're not supposed
to...those records were sealed!" he sputtered.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" demanded Skinner. Ripley
also shot Mulder an inquiring look, arms crossed over his chest.

Mulder's eyes remained focused on Littlefield. "I made some calls on my
way over," he said evenly.  "Called in a few favors and found that Mr.
Littlefield's relationship with the court system did not begin in law
school.  Turns out that the good Counselor has a juvenile assault
record from 1979. Get your jollies knocking women around, do you
Littlefield?"

"One time," the ADA said through grit teeth.  "It was one time, and it
was an accident, dammit!  I was sixteen and drunk and she was supposed
to have been my girlfriend, but she was sleeping with my best friend
and..."

"Asked for it, did she?" Mulder broke in derisively.

"Yes!" blurted Littlefield.  "No!  I mean, yes, I was angry but I never
meant to shove her so hard..."

"You god damn son-of-a-bitch," Mulder breathed as he lunged for the
other man.  He grabbed him swiftly by the shirt collar and pushed him
back up against the wall.  "Where is she?" he shouted, shaking him
hard.  "Tell me where she is!  TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"

"Mulder!"  Skinner's large hands closed around his shoulders and yanked
him off the ADA with one hard pull.  Mulder still struggled
ferociously, waving his arms wildly and continuing to rail at
Littlefield.

"You better look out.  You better watch yourself, 'cause  I'm gonna hit
you so hard they're gonna have to scrape the pieces off the wall with a
spatula!"

"That's enough!" ordered Skinner, shoving him roughly in Ripley's
direction.  "Get him the hell out of here, will you?"

Ripley nodded and began to pull Mulder toward the door.  "Don't
bother," Mulder muttered, angrily shaking him off.  "I can see myself
out."

Once they had gone, Littlefield rolled his head around gingerly and
began straightening his suitcoat.  He glanced across the table where
Skinner stood watching him.  "Thanks," he said grimly.  "I thought for
sure he was going to snap my neck."

Skinner raked his eyes swiftly over the other man.  "Save your thanks,"
he said.  "I did it for him, not for you."

The ADA frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Skinner held up a
hand to stop him.  "Look, Mr. Littlefield, I don't know if you had
anything to do with Scully's disappearance or not, but I can promise
you this..."

Littlefield lifted his eyebrows slightly.  Yes?

"If you so much as gave her a paper cut, I will personally guarantee
you some quality alone time with Agent Mulder."  He paused
meaningfully.  "And then your ass will be all mine."

With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.

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

Ripley scraped a chair along the floor until it was even with his desk,
gesturing with an open hand for Mulder to have a seat.  Mulder glared
angrily at the wooden chair for a moment, then abruptly the fight
drained from him and he slumped down with a ragged sigh.

After a moment, Ripley spoke calmly. "You care to explain that bit of
business back there?"

Mulder jerked a shrug. "He *does* have a record," he pointed out,
jabbing one finger on the edge of Ripley's desk for emphasis.  "And he
was in an awful goddamn hurry to report her missing.  Tell me you don't
think that's weird."

"I think it's weird," Ripley conceded.  "But not as weird as it might
seem."

Mulder looked at him sharply.  "What do mean?"

"In a minute.  First I want to ask you about the arguments you and
Scully had," he stopped to check his notes, "Friday and Saturday night."

Mulder's glare darkened. "I did NOT do anything to Scully, if that is
what you're getting at," he informed him stonily.  "And if that bastard
said-"

"Hey, leave him out of it for a moment, will you?  After all, he's
right about one thing-you were one of the last people to talk to her
before she disappeared.  I'd like to know what you talked about."

Mulder sighed, then ducked his head and pinched the bridge of his nose
between two fingers. *You can tell yourself anything you want, Scully,
but you'd better be at that airport by 7 a.m.*  His cheeks flushed hot
with the memory.

"We...uh...we were talking about a case," he said finally, his voice
sounding lame even to his own ears.

"Is that so," murmured Ripley.  "You two often holler at each other
when discussing your work?"

Mulder almost smiled.  "More often than you might think," he answered
dryly.  "I'm, um, kind of...passionate about some of my views, and
Scully...well, she can hold her own in the temper department."

"Somehow I have no trouble imagining that," Ripley replied with a near-
smile of his own.  "But I have to tell you, Agent Mulder, that the man
who overheard your argument with Agent Scully on the night she
disappeared-Raymond Valente, I think his name is?  He seemed to think
that your disagreement was personal, not professional.  More
specifically, you were," he glanced down to quote from his notes,
"'totally pissed off because she had a boyfriend'.  And judging from
Aaron Littlefield's story about your behavior at Scully's apartment on
Friday night, I'm inclined to believe Valente's reading of the
situation."

"Which is what, exactly?" Mulder asked, annoyed.

"That you were jealous of her relationship with Aaron Littlefield.
Maybe even threatened by it."

"Raymond Valente should keep his day job.  Psychology is not a science
for amateurs."

Ripley said nothing, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded
over his stomach, apparently awaiting a real answer.  Mulder fidgeted
in his seat and toyed with a nearby pencil as he studiously avoided the
detective's probing gaze.  His feelings for Scully were something he
kept under lock and key, relishing them in the privacy of his own mind
and nurturing them every night with a new day's worth of memory.  There
was no way he was going to wax poetic about his partner while some
detective jotted notes.  He hadn't even told Scully how he felt. and
now he was being asked to spill his guts in a run-down squad room amid
ringing phones and urine-drenched vagrants?  Not a chance.

He leaned forward in his chair. "She's my partner, okay?   And yeah, we
disagreed sometimes.  But you and I both know I didn't have a damn
thing to do with her disappearance.  So while we can sit here, sing kum-
by-yah and talk about my feelings all fucking day, I personally think
it would be a big waste of time."

"Take it easy," Ripley said.  "These questions have to be asked, and
you know it."

"Yeah, well, who's asking Littlefield questions?" Mulder demanded
belligerently.

"I promise no one has forgotten about him.  We're checking his story
very thoroughly.  But let's put him aside for another minute, okay?
Just to make sure we've covered all the avenues.  What about work-
related stuff, like recent cases you two have worked on.  Can you think
of someone with a grudge, someone who might want to hurt her?"

Yes.  Too many someones.  All shadowmen with no names, no faces, and no
mercy.  Men who made Aaron Littlefield seem like the tooth fairy.
Mulder rubbed his eyes, hunched over with his elbows on his knees.  If
Scully had been taken by one of them...

"No one you're going to be able to haul in here for a line-up," he said
at last.  "I still say we need to go after Littlefield."

You hope, the voice inside his head sneered.  You'd just better hope
it's him.

"And we will," Ripley assured him.  He paused and scratched his head,
causing the angles of his hair to shift, kaleidoscope-like, into a new
bizarre arrangement.  "Agent Mulder..."

Mulder raised his head up, his eyes narrowing when he read the obvious
hesitation on the detective's face.  "What?  What are you not telling
me?"

Ripley took a deep breath.  "Agent Mulder, did you ever ask yourself
how I got this case?  The city morgue is not exactly in six-oh-three's
jurisdiction."

Mulder blinked in surprise.  "I hadn't thought of that; I just assumed
that since you knew Scully..."

"A fortunate coincidence," Ripley broke in.  He paused again, and then
shuffled some papers on his desk.  "Just over two years ago, a woman
named Lisa Marino disappeared."  He handed over a manila folder for
Mulder's inspection.

Mulder flipped open the cover with one hand, peering over the contents
as Ripley began to recite the facts of the case.  "Twenty-nine years
old, single, and a junior architect at Nernst, Townsend and Young," he
said grimly.   "She vanished in the middle of the night in April of
1997.  Her roommate, Stephanie Stevens, reported her missing when she
didn't come home from work one Wednesday evening.  The local boys from
the 'oh-eight investigated and found no trace of Ms. Marino, but did
turn up her car still parked in the lot outside the office building."

Mulder's heart skipped a beat.  "Sounds...familiar," he managed.  "What
happened?  Did she ever show up?"  He turned abruptly to the last
report, fearing the end of the story but needing to know all the same.

No autopsy photos.  Thank God.

He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Nope, we never found her," Ripley was saying.  "The officers who
caught the case followed every possible lead, but this girl had no
enemies, no vices or any of the usual signs of trouble.  She worked
hard, stayed in most nights, and went to church on Sundays." He
shrugged.  "Everyone liked her, and no one believed that she would have
run off on her own, especially without taking any of her stuff along
with her."

"The case is still open?" Mulder asked, flipping back through the
pages.  He stopped when he found a black and white 8 x 10 photo of what
was obviously Lisa Marino.  It had been professionally done, showing
her smiling slightly, dressed a well-tailored suit with a wall of books
in the background.  Office picture, Mulder's mind supplied as he took
in her wide dark eyes and Mona-Lisa smile.

"Her case was tossed in the missing person bin and everyone just sat
around waiting for her body to turn up." Ripley scratched his head
again.

"I gather it never did."

"Nope," replied Ripley with a frown.  "But a funny thing happened.
Eight months ago we had another woman go missing, this time right in
the neighborhood."  He stretched out another file folder in Mulder's
direction. "Rebecca Seeton.  Age 31.  Worked full-time as manager of a
day-care center downtown.  Her fiance Robert Glaser reported her
missing when she didn't show up to meet him and his parents for dinner.
I caught the case, and it's been a thorn in my side ever since."

"Her car was found but Rebecca is still missing."  Mulder quickly
scanned the typed reports spread across his lap.

Ripley nodded, sipping tepid coffee from a chipped gray mug.  "You got
it."

Mulder lifted a candid shot of a pretty blond woman, laughing as she
wrestled with a large, black dog on the grass.  "So you think the cases
are related," he said.  "That the same person is responsible for both
disappearances."

"I don't know anything for sure," Ripley replied.  "But yeah, I think
the similarity between the two stories suggests that we're looking for
one perp.  I sent out a teletype to all local divisions asking that any
other cases like this be routed through me, so when Littlefield went to
the 'oh-nine this morning, they directed him over here."

"He knew about the others?"

Ripley slugged the rest of his coffee in one gulp.  "Yeah.  The Seeton
woman's fiance, Glaser, he went to see Littlefield when we told him
that there wasn't anything else we could do for him.  Littlefield tried
to explain to him that you can't prosecute without a defendant."  He
shook his head.  "Poor bastard.  I talked to him a dozen times, and
every blessed time he told me their wedding date.  November eleventh.
He was so damn sure she would be back in time."

He fell abruptly silent, but Mulder filled in the ugly blanks for
himself.  There wasn't going to be a wedding.  Not on November
eleventh, not ever.

Finally Mulder cleared his throat, twitching uncomfortably in his
chair.  "Do you...do you think that Scully..." he broke off, unable to
finish the thought.  It had been bad enough when he thought Littlefield
was responsible, when he had a solid lead and a target for his anger.
But this...this was a nightmare of epic proportions.  Even the Smoker
would be preferable to a psychopathic stranger.  At least then he would
have some sense of where to start the search.

Ripley was saved from a reply by the appearance of Skinner, who flipped
his cell phone closed with a deep frown as he approached the desk.
"I'll have a list of every one who was at the morgue on Saturday within
the hour," he said.  Then he glanced from Mulder to Ripley.  "Have you
shown him the tape yet?"

Mulder sat up with a start, his heart lurching into his throat.  "What
tape?"

Ripley was silent for a moment.  Then he rose, chair squeaking in
protest, and palmed video cassette from his desk.
"Come with me," he said.

Mulder went.

*********************
End part four.  Continued in part five.



Lesser Evils, part five
by Hannah Mason

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

He had left her a few battered paperback mysteries to read, but Scully
ignored them, lost in thought as she paced the concrete floor of her
prison.  The last thing he had said to her was that he would be back,
and she wanted to be ready for him.  He had finally untied her that
morning, indicating that he was beginning to let down his guard.  Good.
Soon he would make other mistakes, and she knew she would have to be
prepared to strike instantly.  Choose carefully, she told herself.  You
may only get one chance.

In the hours since he had gone, she had examined every inch of her cell
for anything that might be used as a weapon. The results of her search
were disappointing, for the tiny room had been stripped bare of
anything remotely dangerous, containing just a narrow single bed, small
round end-table and the oak chair he sat in to watch her eat.  The
minuscule bathroom equally spartan, with only a toilet and small sink.
Certainly there was nothing that would be effective against him and the
gun he wore tucked in the waistband of his pants.

She halted her pacing to climb again the eight rungs that led up to the
circular portal in the ceiling.  Just as before, the solid metal cover
did not budge at all when she pushed against it. "Locked from the
outside," she murmured, tracing the edges with her fingers. "That must
mean that he leaves it unlocked when he's down here."

Filing that bit of information away, she climbed back down and went to
sit cross-legged on the bed, her back to the concrete wall.  She
absently traced the ugly fuchsia flower pattern on the bedspread,
mentally reviewing her limited options.  He was big, perhaps too big
for her to overpower without help.  If she tried and failed...

Scully shivered and moved so she hugged her knees close against her
chest.  Think, she willed herself.  There's got to be a way out of
here.  Her eyes went to the ceiling where air hummed softly through a
small vent.

Maybe...?  She stood up on the bed for a closer look.  No, it only
eighteen inches wide and less than a foot long.  Far too tiny for her
to fit through.  Where's Tooms when you need him? she wondered with a
sigh, and then suppressed a giddy laugh at her sudden longing for the
heinous mutant.

She plopped back down on the lumpy mattress, curling into a ball and
closing her eyes.  Mulder.  He had shown up in the nick of time that
night, when Tooms had oozed into her home intent on making her his
latest snack.  Somehow, he had known even before she had that she was
in trouble.  Does he sense that now? she wondered.  Does he even know
I'm gone?

He's not coming for you this time.

Her eyes snapped open in surprise, but there was no one in the room.
The words had come from within, and she accepted their truth with a
heavy heart.  There was not going to be any eleventh hour rescue.  Not
this time.  Even if Mulder still possessed the desire to traipse around
looking for her, he would never think to search here, he would never
suspect...

She blinked back the welling tears and scooted off the bed with fresh
resolve.  He would be back at any moment.

Thinkthinkthink.  What has he overlooked?

She walked around the room slowly and finally halted in front of the
heavy oak chair, inspecting it with a critical eye. She turned it
upside down and twisted around to hold the bottom closer to the lone
light bulb that hung from the ceiling.  With one fingernail, she
prodded the tiny screws that held the legs in place, and a plan began
to take shape in her mind.

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

The three men stood in a close semi-circle within the darkened AV room,
hovering around the TV screen like campers around a fire.  "This is
from the security camera posted at the doorway," Ripley said as he
slipped the cassette into the VCR.  "I had it pulled this morning."

The screen flickered once, then displayed a crisp black-and-white image
of the dimly-lit entryway and double glass doors that marked the front
entrance to the city morgue.  The running time stamp in the lower right
corner read twelve-forty six a.m.  A few seconds later, Mulder watched
riveted as Scully slowly crossed the screen and paused, her arm against
the bar on the door as if poised to push it open.  Her shoulders
drooped with a tired sag, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt,
remembering again the harsh words he'd left her with that night.

"Watch this here," murmured Ripley.  It was needless comment, for
Mulder couldn't have torn his eyes away.

Scully turned suddenly from the door, her features set in a puzzled
expression.  She raised a hand to her hairline, squinting in the
direction from which she had come.  Then she smiled, checked her watch,
and retraced her steps across the screen until she was out of range of
the camera.

"That's all there is," Ripley said quietly.  "We've played the tape
until the end.  If she left the morgue that night, it wasn't through
the front door."

"Again. I want to see it again."  Mulder fell to his knees in front of
the TV, his eyes wild and unfocused as he dragged the TV cart forward
until it was level with his face.

"Of course."  Ripley hit the rewind button and Scully swiftly
reappeared on screen, moving jerkily in reverse.  Mulder pressed even
closer to the screen as the scene began to play once more.

"Wait, stop it there!" he called sharply when Scully first turned
around from the door.  Her image froze abruptly and Mulder tapped a
finger against the far left of the screen.  "Look at that.  See that
shadow on the floor?  There's someone there in the hallway, just off
camera."

"We figured as much," said Skinner.  "It seems like someone stopped her
from leaving."

"Someone she knew..." Mulder breathed, his face millimeters from the
screen as he gazed at the frozen profile of his partner.  He traced the
curve of her face gently before finally rising to his feet.  "I don't
understand," he said, turning on Ripley.  "I thought you were pushing a
link between Scully and those other cases, that you said there was one
person responsible."

Skinner looked away.  Ripley scuffed the floor with his shoe.  "Yes,
well," he hesitated.  "We don't know for sure that it isn't the same
person."

"Oh, that's just great.  Terrific," Mulder ground out, his anger
returning full force.  "So what the hell DO we know for sure?"

"We're doing everything we can," said Ripley.

Not good ENOUGH! Mulder screamed inside, but he held his tongue.  He
turned back where Scully was still captured, silent and unmoving on the
screen.  "She's alive," he blurted suddenly, his eyes widening with the
knowledge.  "She's alive, I know it."  He whirled on Skinner and
Ripley, as if challenging them to contradict him.

Neither dared.

Ripley cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper off the top of
the TV set.  "I sent the A.P.B. out personally this morning," he said
quietly.  "Every cop in the city is on the alert.  If she's out there,
we'll find her."

Mulder grabbed the paper but did not immediately read it.  Four years
melted into four seconds, and he was suddenly back in another tiny,
gray room surrounded by law enforcement personnel as he read the sparse
lines that reduced his most trusted confidante into a series of dry
statistics.  Not again, he thought desperately.  How can this possibly
be happening again?  He closed his eyes briefly, the sheet crinkling in
his too-tight grasp.  Finally, he took a deep breath and forced his
gaze to the paper in his hand.  The bold print screamed out at him from
the stark white background.

NAME:  DANA KATHERINE SCULLY
DOB: 02/23/64
HAIR/EYES: RED/BLUE
HEIGHT:  5'2''
WEIGHT:  102 lb.
LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS:  4/24/99 IN WASHINGTON, D.C. CITY MORGUE AT
APPROX. 1 a.m.  DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, PINK SWEATER AND WHITE TENNIS
SHOES.

The words blurred on the page, and Mulder crumpled the paper with one
hand.  "This isn't going to work," he said bitingly.  "She's not going
to be wandering the street like some lost puppy.  We need this sort of
information on HIM, not her."  He jerked a nod at the shadow on the
screen, and then stalked past the other two men and out of the room.

"I can't fault his logic," Ripley remarked to Skinner a moment later.
"But I don't see what he can do that isn't already being done."

Skinner glanced once at the gray smudge cast along the morgue floor.
"I expect Mulder will have new insight soon," he answered cryptically,
striding toward the door.

Ripley's words stopped him at the threshold.  "How?  By investigating
our phantom shadow?"

Skinner turned around slowly. "No," he said, his soft tone an odd blend
of respect and fear.  "By becoming him."

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

The sky was streaked with wide crimson and gold bands when Mulder
pulled his car into the city morgue parking lot. The scene of the
crime.  It was an obvious place to start, but somehow he could not make
himself get out of the car.  Precious seconds ticked by as he sat
staring out the windshield at the setting sun.  It had seemed like such
a good idea a short while ago, to try to climb inside the head of the
monster who kidnapped his partner, to try to imagine what he was
thinking when he had grabbed her, what he was planning to do with her,
what he might have ALREADY done with her...

Mulder swallowed back a dry heave.  Focusfocusfocus.  He repeated the
words to himself in a silent litany.  You're gonna get her back.  Just
concentrate.  You're gonna get her back.

He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally recalled the first rule of
behavioral profiling:  start with what you know for sure, the facts of
the case.  It was simple logic that had been drilled into him
relentlessly at the Academy.  Every action has a cause.  Every crime
scene tells a story.  Read the perpetrator's actions, and you can
determine the motivation behind them.  Find the motivation and you will
find the killer.

The killer.  Mulder's eyes flew open.  Not yet, he thought. But soon.
With new determination, he finally pushed his way out of the car and
hurried up the steps into the morgue.

The heavy glass door closed slowly behind him while he stood rooted to
the floor just inside the building, approximating Scully's position on
the tape.  Though deserted, the hallway was better lit than it had been
that night.  He walked back and forth a few times, casting his eyes
about for any trace of Scully or the man who had abducted her.

Eventually, he stopped back in front of the doors and turned his head
to squint up the ceiling, fixing his gaze on the large black eye of the
security camera.  He took a tentative step in its direction, his mouth
parted as if to speak, then halted.  His neck was craned all the way
back as he studied the camera, and finally he shook his head.
"Something's not..." He waved a finger weakly at the lens, turning back
around to study the empty hallway.  "Something's not right about that
tape."  He crossed back over to stand by the door and gazed down the
length of the vacant corridor.

"Who was it, Scully?" he murmured under his breath.  "Who did you see
here?  Who was that smile for?"

At that moment a door opened and a tall young man in blue coveralls
stepped out into the hall carrying a large sack of garbage.  Busy in
his work, he did not immediately notice Mulder's presence.

"Hey, I know you."  Mulder moved in a flash, reaching the other man in
a few quick strides.  "You're Raymond Valente, right?  Amateur
psychologist extraordinaire."

"Yeah, that's right."  His answered sullenly as his eyes raked Mulder
from top to bottom.  "And I know you, too."

"You seem to know a lot of things," Mulder said, stepping a bit
closer.  The young man lifted his chin defiantly and did not back away.

"I know what I know," he countered, eyes narrowed.  "What I heard."

Mulder did not back down either, matching the other man's intense gaze
with one of his own.  "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's impolite
to eavesdrop, Raymond?"

Raymond snorted.  "Who was eavesdropping?  I could have heard you a
mile away, you were yelling at her so loud."  His tone dripped with
disapproval.

Mulder winced reflexively at the rebuke, and Raymond caught it, his
eyes gleaming black with triumph. It was a short-lived victory,
however, because Mulder regained his footing quickly.  "If you're so
well-informed then you must have also heard me leave long before 1
a.m.," he said. He paused and circled the janitor slowly.  "But you,
Raymond," he murmured. "You were actually in the building when she
disappeared, isn't that right?"

Gotcha now, he thought as Raymond looked away, squirming
uncomfortably.

"You like to hang around here, don't you?," Mulder continued softly.
"Especially when she's working.  You like to watch her, talk to her.  I
understand you also ask her all sorts of questions about the dead
bodies."  He pushed his face right up into Raymond's, his tone icy
cold.  "You have a thing for stiffs, Raymond?"

The young man's mouth tightened into a white line but he did not reply.

"Or maybe," Mulder said backing off to circle him once more, "maybe you
just have a thing for my partner.  Is that it?"

"No, that's you." Raymond spat, suddenly finding his voice.

Mulder ignored him.  "Hey, I can see why you would like her, Raymond.
She *is* quite pretty.  And smart, too."  He advanced a bit closer.
"And She's nice to you, isn't she?  Talks to you, acts like she's
really interested in what you're saying.  Yeah, Scully's like that.
Always taking pity on people."

"We're friends," said Raymond through gritted teeth.

"C'mon, Raymond, you don't actually believe that!" Mulder scoffed.  "A
woman like that chooses you as a friend?"  He shook his head.  "I don't
think so."

"Better me than someone who screams at her..."  Raymond tried, but the
jab fell short.  He was breathing hard, shifting his weight nervously
from one foot to the other.

"What happened that night, Raymond?" Mulder asked softly, his faced
pressed so oppressively close that he could smell the younger man's
sweat.  "Did you ask her out and she said no?  Did you finally realize
that she was never gonna like you back, not the way you wanted her to?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do.  I think you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about."

Raymond swallowed hard.  "I don't," he whined.  "I didn't do anything
to her, I swear."

"You swear," Mulder taunted back.  "Well, I guess I should believe you
then."  He reached out one finger and hooked the crucifix that hung
around the custodian's neck.  "You a religious man, Raymond?  Lying's a
sin.  You could go to hell."

"You go to hell!"  His voice was harder and he jerked from Mulder's
grasp.  "You're crazy, man," he waved a shaky hand at Mulder.  "You
really are nuts.  I told the cops what I heard, but I didn't really
think you would..."

He was cut off by Mulder slamming him up against the wall.

"You think that was crazy?" he demanded.  "I'll show you crazy.  How's
this?"  he shook the man roughly, rattling his teeth.  "I have a
reputation to uphold here.  Don't want to disappoint you."

"Sss...sstttop...plll..leeease."

Mulder released him abruptly and Raymond sank against the wall to the
floor.  "Where is she?"  Mulder said, looming over him.

Raymond shook his head weakly, cowering under his hands.  "I don't
know," he replied hoarsely.  "I swear to God I don't know."

Mulder watched him coughing and sputtering for a moment longer.  "You
better pray that's true," he said at last.  "You better pray hard,
Raymond, 'cause if you did something to Scully, not even the Almighty
himself will be enough to protect you from me."

**************************
End part five.  Continued in part six.


Lesser Evils, part six
by Hannah Mason

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

"Not only is she a complete motor-mouth, but she can never be anywhere
on time," David complained in annoyance as they sat on a plush bench in
the waiting area of Allegra, the popular, newly-opened sea-food
restaurant.

"She'll be here soon," Ellie soothed, fussing with his tie.

He lightly slapped her hand away.  "It's fine already," He muttered.
She smiled sweetly at him.

"You look terribly handsome this evening," she said.  "I'm sure I am
going to be the envy of every woman in the room."

"Yeah, yeah..." he answered with an eye roll, but she could tell his
black mood was lifting.  He took laced their fingers together and set
their joined hands on his knee.  "Who is it I'm being dressed up for
this time?  Stockbroker, congressman...?"  She laughed and he
shrugged.  "Sorry, babe. I just can't keep up with the revolving love
life of Ramona Jones."

"Well, you better have dressed up for *me*," she teased with mock
indignation.  "But Ramona's bringing Brad Somebodyorother.  He's a DC
cop."

"So, she's slumming with us working class boys for a change?" David
answered dryly.  "How 'au courant'..."

"David!  Be nice."

He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Honey, I'm aaaalways nice," he
drawled.  "You should know that by now."

Ellie's cheeks turned pink as she remembered how nice he had been just
one hour earlier.  And how naked.  He was apparently remembering the
same thing, because he pressed his lips to the side of her neck in an
echo of the gesture that had begun an intense bout of lovemaking.
"Mmmm," he breathed into her hair.  "Let's blow this joint and order in
Chinese.  They'll never miss us."

Oooo, so tempting.  But no.  "David...I promised Ramona that we'd be
here to meet Brad."

He sighed, pulling away from her.  "Right.  Brad the cop."

Ellie giggled suddenly.  "You know, I understand from Ramona that he
packs, um...shall we say, a pretty big gun," She laughed again.  "Long
arm of the law and all that."

"Okay, that's information overload right there," he informed her,
shaking his head.  "Now I won't be able to look the guy in the face."

"I wasn't talking about his *face*..."

"Enough!" David cried, rising as if deeply offended.  "I will not be
party to this crude conversation any longer."

Ellie laughingly tugged him back down.  "Sorry, couldn't resist," she
murmured, and snuggled against him in apology.

He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed a warning.  "Well, you
better be on your best behavior this evening, missy, or I'll tell Brad
the Cop about your sighting Dr. Frankenstein at the local morgue.  He
and Ramona would sure get a kick out of that story."

She pinched him.  "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"David, you know how I rescued you from that awful bachelor pad with
the cracks in the walls and the rusty water coming out of the sink?"

He nodded, his eyes alight with merriment.

"Good.  Remember that every time you get the urge to open your mouth
this evening, 'cause you can always move back."

They were still laughing and trading threats of divorce when Ramona and
Brad arrived--only forty-three minutes late--for dinner.

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

He was agitated when he descended into the basement with her latest
meal.  Then he stood over her imperiously until she began to eat.
"That's a good girl," he praised, but his tone was still marked with
irritation.  He began to pace the floor in front of her.

"They're looking for you," he informed her with a frown.  "I knew this
would happen, of course.  It's nothing new. I'm sure they'll hunt
around for a good while before they finally give up."  He stopped
suddenly, and leaned over to stroke her hair.  "And they always give up
eventually."

Scully remained silent as she struggled not to spit out the partially-
chewed carrots in her mouth.

He resumed his pacing, with one hand clutching the gun tucked in his
pants.  "I bet I know what you're thinking," he said bitterly.  "You're
thinking that HE'S going to come find you."

"He?"  Scully echoed softly, putting down her fork and avoiding his
eyes in an effort not to appear challenging.

"You know.  HIM.  Mulder." The last word he ground out with such hatred
that her eyes flew to his face in startled horror.

"Yeah, that's right," he told her with a sneer.  "He's looking for you,
too.  Running all over the place like a fucking madman."

Scully fought a shudder, surprised that she wasn't more pleased to
learn he was searching for her.  Instead she was afraid for him.
Careful, Mulder, she begged silently.  Please be careful.  You don't
know what you're dealing with here.

"He thinks he's pretty hot shit, doesn't he?  Mr. FBI man with the
fancy Oxford education.  Well, he doesn't have a clue now."  His voice
was filled with triumph.  "He's just spinning his wheels in the mud,
and I intend to see that he stays good and stuck there."  He moved to
sit close next to her on the bed, his breath on her face.  "I know you
care about him."

Scully ducked her head instinctively.  Don't let him see how much, she
thought wildly.

He began stroking her hair again, and she went rigid, holding back a
flinch.  "It'll pass in time," he murmured in her ear.  "Ultimately
you'll understand that he's no good for you.  You'll see that you are
the chosen one. I'm a patient man, I can wait...for a while."  The
stroking stopped abruptly and he stood once more.  "But your partner
better back off soon," he warned.  "I'll let him run circles for now,
but eventually I will find a more...permanent...solution to his
interference."

He smiled then, and she stared at him mutely in response.  Time was
running out faster that she had realized.

"You should eat more," he scolded gently as he cleared away her tray.
"I like a woman with a little meat on her bones."  He leered openly and
Scully shivered. "Wish I could stay longer," he continued as he eyed
her chest with appreciation.  "But I have some work left to do.  Maybe
tomorrow night we can...get to know each other a little more
intimately, huh?"

Over my dead body, she thought automatically, and then winced when she
realized the expression might actually be prophetic.  "Uh...yeah.  I'd,
uh, like that."  She forced a tight smile.  With any luck, she would be
long gone by the next evening.

He nodded with a goofy grin, turning to leave, and Scully's eyes slid
to the oak chair in the corner.  Thank God that he had not noticed
anything was amiss.

Tomorrow morning, she thought.  I'll show you the true meaning of
intimate contact, you bastard.

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

Mulder felt a twinge of guilt as the lock sprung free with a slight
twist of the tiny tools.  He realized that he had no right to be
invading her space this way, not after the tirade he had performed the
other night, but he simply couldn't help himself.  He pushed the door
of her apartment open and stepped slowly inside.

It was silent as the grave; not even a ticking clock disturbed the
impressive quiet.  He moved soundlessly through the room, touching as
he went:  her bureau, her lamp, her stereo, her ridiculously large
floor plant that he always liked to tease her about. He stroked each
object in turn, observing the strange, personal ritual he had
established the last time she had vanished.  Touching her things had
grounded him then, given him proof that she had actually existed. That
she wasn't just some imaginary friend he'd dreamed up in a moment of
complete lunacy.  It had given him hope that she would return one day
to listen again to the Brahms CD, open  [The Physician's Desk
Reference}, and water the goddamn plant.

Now seeing her things just made him ache.  Whoever had Scully this time
had no intention of returning her, this he knew for certain.  This
latest threat was not the work of the conspiracy artists, the powerful
men who so often jerked her life around like a yo-yo.  She was not
being dangled carrot-like in front of him, a pawn used callously to
keep him in line.  No, for once, this was not all about him.

And yet it was.
In the way it always was where Scully was concerned.

He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers lightly over her bookcase.  When
at last he had made contact with virtually all her possessions, he sat
down on the sofa with his head in his hands.  He had never told her
that he'd done this before, when she had vanished into the night
without a trace, leaving him to weave through life like a boat with no
rudder.  Not that the subject of her abduction came up in routine
conversation.  Scully did not seem to want to discuss it, and he
generally followed her lead.  When they did speak of it, he kept the
conversation trained fully on her and what she had endured during those
missing months.  Partially it was to push her to remember, to glean
further information from her that might aide them in their efforts to
unravel the conspiracy swirling around them.

But mainly it was out of fear that he had refrained from sharing his
side of the story.  He didn't want her to know lost he had been without
her, didn't want to scare her with the strength of his need.  And he
hadn't wanted to tempt fate into stealing her again, punishing him for
his love and leaving Scully to suffer the consequences.

But fate won out anyway, having devised a more exacting kind of
torture.  He had thought that the worst thing would be for her to know
how much he cared, how pathetically grateful he was for her presence in
his life.

He had been very wrong.  The not knowing was much, much worse.

"Fuck," he muttered into his hands.

He rose from the couch to wander once more around the apartment,
mentally chastising himself for the bout of self-pity.  This isn't
giving you jack shit in the way of information.  Think harder.  Who the
hell is this animal?  Where does he have her?

His trip to the morgue had not given him much insight into who had
grabbed Scully or why.  He knew only that it was not a spur-of-the-
moment job; whoever it was had been planning it for quite some time.

He patted around until he found his coat pocket and reached in to pull
out a copy of the security camera video.  There was still something
about the sequence that bothered him, but he could not verbalize what
it was.  He ventured into her bedroom and punched the power button on
the TV.  There's got to be something more to this.  What the hell am I
missing? he wondered.

The question kept niggling at him as he slipped the cassette into the
VCR, watching again as it played his own personal silent horror film.
The short scene appeared just as it always had, with Scully turning
around each time and walking off screen with a smile.

"NO!" he wanted to shout at her.  "Keep going, don't turn around!"  But
Scully's image always ignored his advice and crossed the screen to meet
the shadow.
********************************************************

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrestling with the oak chair
once more.  It was a struggle, and sweat had begun to gather between
her shoulder blades, trickling in rivulets down her back.  "Come on,
come on..." she coaxed in annoyance. Her efforts were hampered by the
pitch black darkness that he had left her in after dinner.

At least he left, she thought grimly as she worked.

Finally, she heard a tiny tinkling sound as the small screws slipped
from their confines to land on the floor near her feet.  "Ha-ha!" she
cried with a grin, delighting in her momentary triumph.  She had broken
three nails in the process, but the damn things were free at last.

"Now for the moment of truth," she muttered, and with a sharp twist,
yanked one heavy leg off the bottom of the seat. She tested its weight
in her hands. "Perfect.".

Then she grabbed the end of the wrought iron bed frame and dragged it
into the center of the room.  She set one foot on the mattress and
hoisted herself, still standing, until she was as close to the ceiling
as possible.  Next, she swung the chair leg like a bat.  It took
several tries, but at last the leg connected with the light bulb,
shattering it into many pieces.

Scully shielded her eyes as glass shards rained from above, then hopped
down and moved the bed back into its original position.  Next, she felt
her way across the room until she found the metal rungs in the wall.
Setting the chair leg at her feet, she climbed the make-shift ladder
until she reached the portal at the top.

Not fast enough, she thought, and tried it again.

And again.
And again.

She practiced until she had the rhythm down flawlessly.  There would be
no time for fumbling mistakes.

Breathless, she finally picked up the leg again and returned to the
bed, where she sat down to wait.

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

The chirping of his cell phone woke Mulder from his doze. He lay half-
sprawled across her bed, coat still on and feet planted on the floor,
where he had nodded off in front of the TV somewhere around 3 am. He
blinked against the harsh white light of the screen and felt around on
the bedspread for his phone.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Agent Mulder.  Where are you?"  To his addled-brain, Skinner sounded
both irritated and concerned.

"I'm at Scully's.  Why, did something happen?"  He sat up quickly, all
traces of sleep evaporating instantly.

"No, there's no news yet."  He paused.  "Mulder, Detective Ripley
informed me that you had a run-in with a janitor down at the morgue.
Raymond Valente actually lodged a complaint."

"Uh, we had a talk, yeah."

"Yes, well...It would seem the conversation was rather similar to the
one you had with ADA Littlefield yesterday afternoon."

Mulder did not answer.

Skinner sighed deeply.  "You can't keep doing this, Agent Mulder. I
realize this is a difficult situation, but you've got to keep control
or I'll be forced to pull you off this case."

"I'd like to see you try," Mulder shot back.

It was Skinner's turn to fall silent.  A few tense moments passed
before he spoke again.

"This Valente guy," he ventured finally.  "You get anything from him?"

Mulder rubbed his eyes with one hand.  "Other than he thinks *I'm* the
one behind Scully's disappearance?  Not really.  He's definitely
strange.  A quiet religious type-shy, even. But he's also got a temper.
Probably has a major crush on Scully, too.  I don't know that he has
the balls to pull off a stunt like this, but I can't rule him out.  Not
when he was the only one we know for sure was there when she was
attacked."

"About that..."

"What?"

"The police found a jimmied window in the basement.  No one seems to
know when it happened or how long it's been there, but it's possible
that's how the guy got in."

Mulder closed his eyes.  "So his face wouldn't be on any of the video
tapes."

"Exactly."

There was a moment of silence as the two men digested this latest piece
of bad news.  Mulder picked up the VCR remote and played the tape
again. Nothing new jumped out at him.

"I'm going to lean on Littlefield some more," he said as he watched
Scully smile for the shadow.  "This asshole is somebody she knew and
trusted."

"Fine."  Skinner hesitated.  "Agent Mulder..."

Mulder braced himself for another warning.

"Lean hard."

He smiled.  "Yes, Sir."
**********************
End part six.  Continued in part seven.

Lesser Evils, part seven
by Hannah Mason

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

Her arms and legs ached from the unrelenting tension.  It felt like she
had been crouched on the bed waiting for days rather than hours.
Finally, she heard the scrape of the heavy metal lid being pulled
away.  It was time.

A funnel of light shone through from the ceiling and she squinted, her
eyes stinging with the sudden brightness.

"Dana?" he called, sounding puzzled.  "What's going on with the light?"

Her heart rate accelerated to an almost painful pace.  It was now or
never.  "Bulb's burnt out," she answered loudly from the bed.  Then she
slipped silently along the wall until she stood, clutching the chair
leg in hand, on the far side of the metal rungs.

"I just changed it a week ago..." his voice was laced with suspicion
and he made no move to climb down into the room.

Ohpleaseohplease...Scully waited barely breathing.

"I guess I'll have to get another one," he said finally.  "Be right
back."  The lid clamped down once more.

Scully licked her lips and tightened her hold on the chair leg.  "Just
a few more minutes," she assured herself in a whisper.  "He's gonna
come down here in a minute, so just be ready."

No sooner had she spoken when the ray of light appeared from above once
more.  "Okay, I've got one," he announced, and she saw his foot come
down on the first rung.  "But I'm warning you, Dana, this had better
not be some kind of trick on your part.  I would hate to have to punish
you."

She heard the deliberate cock of the trigger on his gun and her mouth
went dry.  She raised the leg in the air.

"Here we..."

She whacked him as hard as she could across the back of the neck.  He
cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the gun and stumbling away
from her.

But he did not fall down.

Scully barely had time to register this fact as she scrambled up the
ladder.  The eight rungs seemed to take forever, but at last she poked
her head up into the basement.  Freedom!
She placed her palms on the dank ground, prepared to hoist herself
clear of the hole, when a hand clenched a fistful of her hair.

He yanked hard, and tears of pain sprang up automatically in her eyes.
She jerked from left to right but couldn't break free.

"That was very bad."  He joined her on the ladder, pressing close
against her as he continued to pull her head back so far she feared her
neck would snap.  Then he wrenched her left arm behind her back and
tugged her sharply down the ladder into the cell.

"Very bad indeed," he growled, his breath hot in her ear.  "I hope you
enjoyed that little prank, Dana, because now you have to face the
consequences."

Tears fell from her eyes in earnest now, both from the pain and the
realization that she had failed.  He shoved her roughly down on the
bed, pinning her with his knees as he produced the nylon cords from the
back of his pants.  She struggled as best she could, but he easily
trapped her hands above her head with one arm.  "Very bad," he
repeated, more to himself than her.

He flipped her over suddenly and she arched in pain, her breath caught
in her throat.  She coughed and sputtered into the pillow as he tightly
bound her wrists to the iron bar at the head of the bed.  The bed
lifted abruptly when he moved off her, and for a second she thought he
might be leaving.  Then the light came back on as he replaced the bulb,
and she heard him retrieve the gun from the floor.

I'm sorry, Mom, she thought wildly, thinking of the woman of the woman
who would have to bury her one remaining daughter.  And Mulder...hot
tears seeped from beneath her lids as she pictured him alone again.
I'm so sorry, she thought once more

And she began to pray.

He loomed over her, using the barrel of the gun to brush the hair from
her eyes.  "I could kill you right now, you know that?" he asked
tightly.  "Just one pull of the trigger and it would be all over. You
could join the others lying in Potter's Field.  Would you like that?
Huh?"

Scully shook her head against the pillow.  Please God, no.

"Me either," he said with a disgusted sigh.  "I would hate to see all
my hard work wasted in just two days.  Besides, the Lord rewards those
who are patient.  Jesus Himself had to endure forty days and forty
nights of trials."  He ran the edge of the gun over her cheek.  "So
I'll tell you what, Angel.  If you promise to be a good girl from now
on, I'll overlook this little transgression, okay?"

Okayokayokay.  She nodded as vigorously as she could.

"Say thank you," he commanded.

"Thank you," she whispered obediently.

"Very good."  Eyes closed, she felt him set the gun down on the bed and
move to straddle her backside, his knee pressing painfully against her
leg.

She stiffened and stifled a cry.

"You didn't think you were going to get off without your punishment,
did you, Angel?" He reached under her to undo the snap on her jeans.

Oh, please no.  Scully twisted her head into the pillow, hot tears of
shame trickling down her cheeks.  This was almost worse than death.

The sound of him lowering the zipper on her jeans stung her ears, and
she flinched as moved his hands from under her stomach to push up the
back of her sweater.  He froze.

"Well, well, well," he murmured.  "What have we here?"

He traced her tattoo with one cold finger, and Scully shivered.  "This
explains a lot," he muttered at length.  "You've got the devil in you,
Angel.  That's why we're having such a rough time together."  He
reached under her again and refastened her pants.  "But don't worry,"
he finished softly, patting her head.  "I know just the thing to get
him out. It will hardly hurt at all."

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

It hurt so much.  Hours later, she lay alone in the dark, face down on
the bed dressed in only a bra and jeans.  Her sweater was on the floor
somewhere, but she could summon the energy to look for it.  She moaned
softly into the pillow, the metallic taste of blood lingering in her
mouth .

Everything hurt.

Her neck and arms ached unbearably from her struggles against the
restraints, and he had done something to her left knee during their
original tussle on the bed.  She could feel it swollen and throbbing
under her jeans.  But all of these injuries, painful as they were,
paled in comparison to the blinding agony of the fiery burn on her
lower back, where he had tried to rid her of the devil by searing the
serpent tattoo off her body.

The room still stunk of hot wax and singed flesh.

Scully began to shake.  So cold, she thought dimly.  Should be hot, why
cold...?  She trembled for several long minutes before it occurred to
her that she was probably in shock.  Her teeth chattered as she made a
feeble effort to crawl under the blankets, but in her weakened state
she couldn't lift herself enough to pull the covers free.  Instead, she
clenched one side of the bedspread, rolling over gingerly until she was
cocooned on top of the bed.

Was it like this for the others? she wondered, shivering with pain and
trying to picture the women who had come before her.  Had they, too,
struggled against their fate only to realize the futility of their
actions?  When had they known that they were going to die?  Had they
screamed?  Begged?  Prayed for loved ones left behind?

Stop it! a voice in her head commanded.  You're giving up, and that's
*exactly* what he wants.

Don't have a choice, she answered back, knowing it was true.  If she
had been outmatched before, her new injuries rendered her an even less
formidable opponent.  There was no way she could win a fight now.

Use your head, the voice urged.  Keep alert.  He's beginning to lose
it, can't you see?  He's going to make mistakes, you just have to wait
and pick your chance!

I had my chance, she thought glumly.  So tired now.  Can't think.  Just
want to sleep.

And the voice faded away.

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

Wednesday morning dawned in shades of gray, and by seven a.m. a light
rain had begun to fall over most of D.C.  Mulder killed the rhythmic
squeaking of windshield wipers as he came to a stop two blocks from St.
Mary's Church.  Three cars down he spotted Riggs and Delacourt, the two
blues who had been assigned to tail Littlefield for the night.  Mulder
himself had shadowed the attorney for most of the previous day,
abandoning the project only when it became apparent he had settled in
for the night.  At that point, Mulder had returned the job to the local
cops while he spent long hours at the FBI computer lab, forcing a young
technician to analyze the security tape from the morgue frame by frame.

Still nothing.

With a sigh, he slammed his door shut and jogged amid the spring
raindrops until he came to the green Chevy that housed Riggs and
Delacourt.  He opened the left rear door and slid behind Delacourt, who
was driving.  "Anything?" he asked tersely.

"Naw," said Riggs with disgust, twisting in his seat to look at
Mulder.  "He left the house about twenty minutes ago, came straight
here.  What's up with that, I'm asking you.  Church at seven a.m?  This
cat's a regular choirboy."

"That's police code for 'loser'," quipped Delacourt, and the two
partners dissolved into chuckles at their own wit.

"There was no movement at all last night?"  asked Mulder flatly.  He
did not share their merriment.

"Nope."  Delacourt checked his notes.  "It was lights out at twenty-
three hundred hours and then nothing 'til he left the house a few
minutes ago."

"Dammit," Mulder sat back in his seat with a huff.  He glanced out the
rain-streaked window in the direction of the church.  "I'm going in
there," he announced at last.  "I want to talk to him again, face to
face."

"You think that's such a good idea?" Riggs asked, but his eyes belied
his excitement.  Finally, there was going to be some action.  "If he is
the perp, you could spook him."

"Good," Mulder answered shortly as he moved to exit the car.  "I hope I
do spook him.  Maybe then he'll lead us to Scully."

A few minutes later he was brushing raindrops from his overcoat inside
the Church foyer.  He entered the large main hall cautiously and was
surprised to find there was no service in progress.  His eyes adjusted
to the dim light as he took his surroundings.  A large organ sat silent
at the front of the hall and the pews were sprinkled with an occasional
worshipper, but there was not a priest in sight.

Neither did he see Littlefield.

Mulder strode quickly up the center aisle, his head swaying like a
pendulum from left to right as he searched out Littlefield. "C'mon,
c'mon," he muttered under his breath.  "Where are you?"

He reached the front and stared out at the questioning faces in the
rows before him.  No Littlefield.

"Shit," he said, starting back down the aisle once more.
"Shitshitshit."  He was about to send up the flare to Riggs and
Delacourt when he spotted a small alcove at the back of the church that
glowed with candles.

Standing solemnly in front of the candles was Aaron Littlefield.

Mulder stood frozen for a moment, then glanced once at the rest of the
worshippers.  They had apparently returned to their private reveries.
Mulder slowly approached the alcove and stepped inside the incense
laden room.

Littlefield tensed with his arrival, his shoulders set resolutely as he
turned to face Mulder.  "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a
controlled whisper.

Mulder gave a purposefully casual shrug. "Oh you know, I thought I'd
drop by, say a few Hail Marys...see if you were finally gonna tell me
the truth about what happened with Scully."

Littlefield was quiet for a long moment.  "Do you believe in God, Agent
Mulder?" he asked finally.

"No," Mulder answered shortly.  "But I believe in evil."

"Ah, that's half the battle won, then."  Littlefield smiled and walked
over to gaze out of a small round window.  "What about redemption?" he
asked without turning around.  "Do you believe a man, once plagued with
darkness, could somehow be reborn?"

Mulder felt his chest tighten.  "I...yes."  He had proven that one
himself six years ago.

"Me, too."  Littlefield nodded slowly.  He turned around.  "Karen
Kittering, the girl I...assaulted..." he barely forced the word out,
"she and I are friends, now, did you know that?"

Mulder shook his head.  No, he hadn't known.

"Her parents were actually the ones who pressed the charges.  Karen
knew I hadn't meant to hurt her; that's why I got off so lightly."  He
paced the room with measured steps.  "Don't get me wrong, I was plenty
horrified by what I did, how I'd hurt her.  I promised Karen that I'd
spend the rest of my days making up for it, and sweet girl that she is,
she let me."  He gave Mulder a half-smile.  "We still exchange
Christmas cards every year."

"That's a truly touching story.  Let me get out my violin." Mulder
folded his arms over his chest, still suspicious.

"Look, I told you in the hopes that you would understand," Littlefield
said with a sigh.  "I'm not the monster that you seem to think I am."
He cocked his head at Mulder.  "Or that maybe you want me to be."

"All I want is my partner back."

"And I wish I could help you, I really do.  But Agent Mulder..."  He
waited until he had Mulder's full attention.  "I'm telling you this now
in front of God...I didn't have anything to do with Dana's
disappearance.  I would *never* have hurt her.  And I don't know where
she is."

Mulder held his eyes for a long time, deciding whether to believe him.
Then at last he saw the truth.  "Son of a bitch," he murmured.  "You
didn't do it, did you?"

"No," said Littlefield again, his voice tinged with relief.

Mulder sank down weakly on the wooden bench.  "I was so sure..."

"Yes, I gathered that much," Littlefield huffed a small, humorless
laugh .  "The police car parked outside my home last night was a pretty
strong tip off."

"But..." Mulder was still struggling to wrap his brain around this new
information.  "But if it wasn't you, then who..?"

Littlefield joined him on the bench.  "I have my theory, but I don't
think you're going to like it very much."

"The kidnapper," Mulder said immediately.  "The one who took those
other women."

"Exactly.  The pattern fits perfectly.  It's got to be him."

"But Scully knew this guy...you can see it on the tape."  The tape
again.  Always back to the tape.  What the fuck am I not seeing? he
wondered angrily.

"...don't know that he was a stranger to the others, either,"
Littlefield was saying.  "That has been the most frustrating part of
this case.  We don't know how he chose them, why he took them or what
he did with them."

"They're dead," Mulder interjected with flat certainty.

"Yes.  Yes, I believe you're right."

They were silent for a moment, each staring at the flickering candles
as if hypnotized.  Mulder closed his eyes and visualized Scully as she
walked down the hallway of the morgue, trying to see her as the killer
might.  Almost gets away, he thought.  Almost...but then I stop her.  I
call to her.  "Scully!"... no-Dana... "Dana, wait!"  She turns around
and recognizes me.  She smiles and I'm glad.  Yes, that's right.  I'm
glad because I've been thinking about this moment for so long,
anticipating it with such pleasure, and now it's here and I'm happy and
she's happy...

Thank you, God.

Mulder's eyes snapped open.  He stood, very slowly, and walked over to
the wooden cross that hung on the wall over the rows of candles.  He
stared at it for a long moment.

"I think...I think I know why he chose them."

Littlefield sucked in his breath.  "How?"

"No, not yet.  I have to see the photos of the others again.  If I'm
right, we may still have a little time left."

***********************
End part seven.  Continued in part eight.