From: "Ruth Piwonka" <ruthpiwonka@hotmail.com>
Date: Sun, 31 Jul 2005 23:32:24 -0400
Subject: old dog new tricks
Source: direct

Accompaniment to "Misdirected"

Questions, comments, complaints, edification, degradation: E-mail: 
ruthpiwonka@hotmail.com

Disclaimer:  Are you kidding?  I have no intention of apologizing for 
apprehending these characters--it's not like anyone officially associated 
with the series reads fan fiction.  And should I be wrong, God strike me.

Summary: How on earth can a blind man purloin four paintings right in front 
of our favorite agents?  Can Agent Scully keep her cool before she tears 
Mulder's head off for good?  And just what in the world DID happen on that 
Discovery channel?  It's all done through a little bit of misdirection in 
romantic Boston, Massachusetts.

Keywords: (i.e., genre) X-Files, Mulder and Scully UST, Mulder/other UST.

Notes: Please excuse the unfinished joke in the story.  If I receive 
feedback emails, I will gladly tell the entire joke and story to go along 
with it.  Episode takes place just after "Alpha" in the 6th season.

Spoilers: It's not necessary to have seen "Bad Blood", but there are a few 
references to that episode in "Misdirected".

Ratings: PG-13 for some language and oodles of innuendoes

"Misdirected"


Isabella Stewart Garden Museum of International Art, Boston, Massachusetts
March 30, 1999, 6:28 p.m.


"I didn't have to tell you to stop falling asleep for once," Oliver 
Nazinsky, a short, balding security officer remarked to his counterpart 
Hiram Bodniker.  Bodniker was concentrating heavily on the monitoring system 
with his mouth hanging open unnaturally wide as Nazinsky journeyed into the 
small office.  One of his hands rested on a mug of luke-warm coffee; the 
other was propping his head up on the desk.  "Hey, Bodniker, are we in the 
same universe?"

"Hmm, what?" Bodniker asked finally but did not make eye contact with 
Nazinsky, who sat down and tried to get a glimpse of what on earth was 
gluing the man's eyes to the screen.  It did not take him too long.

She was a distraction, all right--a brunette with shoulder length, layered 
hair.  The charcoal gray suit she wore highlighted a pair of lengthy and 
extensive legs fitted with black stilettos.  Her eyes were as azure as a 
perfect day without a cloud in the sky, and her lips--were resoundingly 
full.  The bronze statue she was studying was encompassing her complete 
attention despite the camera's invasive movements above her head.  "Wow.  
Nice way to end the day, huh?" Nazinsky inquired after a few silent moments.

"What time are we closing today?" Bodniker's fingers navigated the camera 
controls swiftly back to its original and proper wide establishing angle.

"7:00."  Nazinsky's eyes left the highly attractive woman and snapped over 
to another wing's collection of camera angles.  "You know what's really 
funny?  I hate saying this, but well...art is a visual expression, right?"

"Usually, yeah," Bodniker replied curtly but kept his focus on his eye 
candy.

"Well, take your eyes off of that for a just a minute and take a look at 
this."

"Come on, man.  The breaks we get on this job are just barely decent health 
benefits and a Maglite.  It's not everyday I get to look at something like 
that."

"This isn't something I can just explain to you, you have to see it for 
yourself to get the irony."  Bodniker grimaced and drew his eyes over to the 
screen where Nazinsky was pointing.  His eyes widened and a hearty snicker 
escaped his cool exterior.

A smartly dressed man with sunglasses and a white cane meandered his way 
into a temporary exhibition of Renoir and Monet paintings.  He extended the 
cane onto the floor and began to slide it across the wooden ground back and 
forth.

"Not a sight you see everyday, now, is it?" Nazinsky grinned cruelly.

"A blind art lover.  That's comedy right there.  And I thought today was 
just going to be another bore," Bodniker sighed amusingly to himself.

"You can't help but wonder...can you?" Nazinsky continued their 
conversation.

"Wonder about what?"

"The visually impaired--how they can enjoy art."

"Never gave it a thought, Mr. Politically Correct," Bodniker smirked and his 
clumsy arm knocked the coffee mug over onto the set of monitors he had been 
watching for eight hours.  "Oh, crap," he bent down to pick the container 
from where it had fallen and set it upright.  His gaze briefly shifted from 
the muddied bureau to the screens, and he took a double take.

"Nice going, Bodniker.  That monitor's probably worth a week's salary.  
What's the matter?"

"Call 911.  We've got a situation."  Nazinsky's head snapped toward the 
stained monitor to visualize the once harmlessly beautiful brunette withdraw 
a .357 Glock from a hip holster and seize an elderly woman.

"What're you going to do?" Nazinsky questioned him.

"Bring in the other wings' officers and try to resolve this without 
contacting Mr. Stewart," Bodniker removed a stun gun from its battery 
charger and attached it to his belt before disappearing from Nazinsky's 
sight.



6:35 p.m.


"Ma'am, we don't want anyone to get hurt.  Please release your hostage, and 
we'll let you walk right out of here without pressing any charges," Bodniker 
held out his left hand whilst keeping the other rested on his only defense.  
The small crowd of bystanders inched away from the be-spectacle.  He swore 
that he saw the blind man from the Impression exhibition gallery enter and 
then remain perfectly still.  Four other guards surrounded the room and 
began to close in on the two women.

"I don't plan on doing any such thing anytime soon, slick.  So keep walking 
right towards me, you stupid sons of bitches.  You're placing her right on 
the brink of meeting St. Peter in two seconds," she hissed and pressed the 
gun into her captive's throat.

"Keep your distance.  Do you really think you're going to be able to just 
waltz out of here?  The police will be here any minute now," Bodniker tried 
to patronize her, but instead, the younger woman just became more 
belligerent.

"And if you let them into the building, I'll kill her here and now.  All I 
want is to speak with the owner.  If my demands are met, I'll let her go.  
If not, you'll be scraping up human entrails from here to that wall," she 
briefly took the gun away from the hostage's neck and pointed to the 
distanced wall of about twenty paces.  "It's up to you, sport.  What's it 
gonna be?"

Bodniker's left hand reached for his radio and called to his colleague.  
"Nazinsky, come in, this is Bodniker."

"What's up?" a timid voice answered.

"Call the cops and tell them to wait outside.  The kidnapper's ordered 
this--any deviation could mean an unfortunate end for our hostage."

"I was just on the line with them.  They just got here."

"She also wants to talk to Mr. Stewart," Bodniker sighed.

"And you've got exactly thirty seconds to get him on a radio, or she'll be 
pushing up daisies faster than you can get a twenty dollar blow job," the 
brunette assured the rather shocked sentry.  "Clock's ticking as of now."

"Please don't hurt me," the silver haired woman pleaded.

"You've got ten seconds left before I pull the trigger, asshole.  What's it 
gonna be?"  The angry woman's gun suddenly flew back to the senior citizen's 
flesh.  Bodniker's face was complete paranoia; he yelled into his walkie 
talkie to his partner.  The other guards removed their stun guns, and before 
any of them could stop her, she shoved the captive to the ground and shot 
herself in the heart.

As the kidnapper collapsed in a bloody mess onto the marbled floor, the 
power in the museum suddenly blacked out.  Even the emergency floodlights 
were shut off.  "Nazinsky, get those cops in here now!"  Bodniker shouted.  
"Nazinsky?!"



I-90, Downtown Boston
March 30th, 1999, 11:18 p.m.


"So apparently, everyone understands the benefit that the pewter fish 
receives.  And then he said next, 'but no one is exactly sure of what the 
sea cucumber gets out of it'," Mulder recounted his dangerous gutter humor 
to the annoyed but ever present Scully.  When no laughter escaped her 
expression, he knew he had gone too far this time.  "In case you missed it, 
Scully, that was a joke," he reminded her and switched lanes to pass a 
slower moving semi in front of them.

"I'm well aware of that, Mulder," she yawned and buried herself back into 
the map of Boston.

"It was even a scientific joke.  I'd figure you of all people would be 
rolling over onto the floor."

"Well, I'm not in the mood for jokes right now, Mulder."

"What are you in the mood for?  How about some David Sanborn?"  His right 
hand went to reach for the radio; but her perturbed scowl told him 
otherwise.

"What would I be in the mood for?  Hmm...how about a full night's sleep?  Or 
rather, a day off from trouncing about the country looking for conspiracies, 
monsters, and UFOs for once?"

"Hey, well, don't blame me this time.  I'm wondering as to how this case 
could be warranted as an X-File.  This looks like just another rip-off from 
a museum," Mulder shrugged.  "Orders are orders from AD Skinner, you know."

"Orders that you follow so impetuously."

"I detect a slight hint of sardonic humor, Agent Scully.  I thought you 
weren't in the mood for a joke."

"Savvy and satirical one liners can be tastefully inserted into intelligent 
conversations.  Stories that last longer than two minutes and don't come to 
a point, however, are a lost cause."

"Just trying to keep you awake."

"Then maybe the music wasn't such a bad idea.  And where is this museum, 
anyway?"  Scully lamented to herself while trying to read the map with a 
flashlight.

"Oh, we're not headed there yet.  While you were buying that map at the gas 
station, I got a call from the Lieutenant.  He's got a couple of witnesses 
waiting to speak to us down at the police station first."

"And you were planning to tell me this when?  I am supposed to be navigating 
you, aren't I?"

"We got to the topic eventually, didn't we?"  Her silence was enough of a 
rebuke that he glanced over and gave her a sheepish, apologetic smile.  
"Okay, Scully, tell me your thoughts about the case.  We always go over mine 
first and how ridiculous they might possibly be, so this time, it's your 
turn."

"Well, it sounded a little bit more heinous than a 'rip-off' to me, Mulder.  
Someone stole a painting--no wait, several paintings were stolen.  4 
Impressionists from an exhibition," she double checked the X-File and 
subsequently dropped the map.

"Go on."

"And like you, I see no consequential evidence that makes this case 
paranormal whatsoever.  Wait, scratch that...-" Scully turned a few pages of 
his handwritten notes and skimmed them over.

"Oh, that's Mozart to my ears, Scully."

"Are you gonna let me finish?"

"Sorry, go on, FBI woman."

"A suicide with no body."  He made a short clicking sound with his tongue as 
if to say that she was right on the money.  "According to the reports that 
Skinner has attached, the same incident has occurred both in New York and 
Chicago."

"What works of art were stolen there?"

"Van Gogh, Picasso, Cezanne, and Manet.  These people certainly like turn of 
the century artists."

"I bet they're worth a hefty chunk of change, too."  Mulder eyed the exit 
sign marked 'Congress Ave' and pulled into the farthest right lane to do so. 
  "I think it's kind of silly to steal stuff like that, don't you?  I mean, 
as soon as they try to sell the paintings, they're busted."

"I don't know, Mulder.  You're the one who's supposed to get into the 
criminal's head.  I just slice 'em and dice 'em.  Maybe I'm just along for 
the ride this time."

"Hey, don't talk like that.  When's the last time you did some investigative 
work instead of 'slicing and dicing'?"  Scully thought for a moment, but he 
didn't wait for a reply.  "I always welcome your approaches to a case, 
Scully.  I never know what you're going to say next.  Ah...that wasn't too 
hard to find."  The Buick Le Sabre slowed down and came to a halt half a 
block away from Boston Police Department Precinct #5.

"Get your goddamned mits off of me!" a common enough looking miscreant 
screamed at the two officers that shoved him up the granite stairs and into 
the building.  Mulder and Scully followed them from a distance, and he 
caught the door for her, gently leading her in with a hand at the small of 
her back.

"What've we got here?" an African American sergeant with a true Bostonian 
accent asked the policemen as they made their way up to the desk.  Their 
uncooperative suspect looked no older than twenty and spun around to spit on 
his arresting officers.

"Attempted robbery and resisting arrest.  When we got him, we found a nice 
big stash of this on him, too," one of the officers announced and pulled out 
a Ziploc bag packed full of marijuana from his coat pocket.

"Better get yourself a good lawyer, kid.  All right, sit him down while I 
start the paperwork," the sergeant nodded in acceptance and removed a stack 
of forms from a drawer right beneath him.  The policemen yanked the young 
criminal and flanked themselves next to him while they waited.

"Excuse me, Sgt. Cook?  We're Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI.  I believe 
Lieutenant Ashcroft has been expecting us," Mulder introduced the both of 
them and offered his identification to the surly cop.

"Yeah, what do you want, applause?  He's back in the interrogation room 
number two.  Walk all the way past these desks and down the hall.  You'll 
see a big silver coffee maker on your right.  It's just a few feet away."  
Cook moved slightly to open the hatch door camouflaged by a banister for 
them and continued on with his work as if nothing had happened.

"I've heard of this famous New England hospitality, Scully.  Guess we just 
experienced it," Mulder mumbled as they made their way toward the 
lieutenant.  Ashcroft was the classic bulky type of person Mulder would have 
picked to be a detective; his demeanor, however, was not exactly how he 
imagined it.  Seconds after Ashcroft saw his company, he stopped the tape 
recorder and swiftly made his way to exit the room.  "Lieutenant Ronald 
Ashcroft?  Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully," Mulder again took the 
initiative.

"It's a pleasure, I'm sure.  Thanks for coming up to humor me," Ashcroft 
sighed as he shook hands with both agents and unbuttoned his cuffs.  The 
coarse timbre of his voice was nearly identical to that of the infamous 
Inspector Harry Callahan.  "I'm questioning a Dominic Williams as of this 
moment, witness number six to this lovely theft.  And the worst part of it 
is that everyone thinks I'm wasting my time with him."

All three spectators took a moment away from the conversation to stare in at 
the man.  He looked about six one, was clean-shaven, dressed in a 
well-tailored brown suit, and sported a pair of sunglasses.  "Regardless of 
what my colleagues say, I think they have something extra to make up for 
what they don't have.  A sixth sense, if you will," Ashcroft continued.

"Technically, it'd be number five," Scully humored him with a smirk.  "What 
is it that this witness has to offer that's any different than say, the live 
hostage that was taken five and a half hours ago?"

"I'm not sure yet.  I just barely got his name and residence when you guys 
got here.  You're welcome to stay and listen if you'd like."

"Actually, Lieutenant, we'd like to participate," Mulder interjected.  "If 
you don't mind."

"No problem.  I did ask for some help from the feds, and I appreciate your 
willingness to come here so quickly."  Ashcroft opened the wooden door, and 
Mulder and Scully got their first true look at Williams' face.  "Mr. 
Williams, these are FBI agents Mulder and Scully."

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Williams," Mulder reached his hand toward the man, but 
he recoiled.

"Flu season's still around, sorry," Dominic stated tersely and set his hands 
back into his lap.  "I'd like to get this over with if you don't mind, 
Lieutenant."

"Of course.  Thanks for your help, by the way."  Ashcroft started the tape 
machine once again, and Mulder meandered his way into the chair across from 
Williams.

"Please describe the incident for us, Mr. Williams," Mulder began the 
interrogation.

"I believe it occurred just north of the exhibition hall...I heard yelling 
and shouting.  So I traveled into the room, completely unaware of the 
altercation betwixt a woman and what probably was security."

"And then what happened?" Lt. Ashcroft pressed.  Dominic's eyes were hidden 
behind the glasses, but Scully swore that she could have seen them peering 
right into hers.

"She demanded to speak with the owner or else she'd kill her captive.  The 
woman sounded quite disturbed, like she had been through hell in the 
previous day.  And now, thanks to her, I'm arguably experiencing the same 
emotion right now."  He fidgeted around in the seat and folded his fingers 
together.

"Could you explain this disturbance in her tone?" Mulder inquired as both 
Ashcroft and Scully gave him curious expressions.

"Are you going to hog the whole interrogation for yourself, or are you going 
to let *her* ask some questions?" Dominic motioned his head over in the 
direction of Scully, to which she was incredulous.  "No need to ask why or 
how I knew, Agents, I'll tell you.  Simply put, I know what a lady smells 
like.  Three distinct scents walked into the room just a few moments ago, 
and only one of them was pleasant.  And unfortunately, it's not right in 
front of me."

Mulder grimaced and made a fleeting glance over to Scully, who now seemed 
intent upon analyzing the features of Dominic Williams' face as he spoke 
with a soothing tone.  Her expression had flared up for a few seconds while 
he described his observations, but now it was the usual scrutinizing stare.  
He lost himself into her stormy irises and commenced to wonder to himself 
why he hadn't noticed which perfume she was wearing today until Williams 
snapped him out of his reverie.

"Yes, it's true that I can't see.  But I can see things where sighted people 
cannot."

"Can you elaborate on that, Mr. Williams?" Scully finally spoke doubtfully.

"Alas, it's never quite been something that I could...put my thumb on.  To 
be honest, I'm quite happy not to be able to see.  I'm an observer, and I 
like to assimilate pieces of the puzzle together to get a complete picture 
in order to understand that person.  That way, I won't get any nasty 
surprises along the way--and that's where being sighted can be a person's 
downfall.  To answer Agent Mulder's previous question, there was more fear 
than anything else in this woman's voice.  She was spiteful perhaps of a 
fallout with an employer.  I had a feeling that she wasn't going to execute 
her hostage from the last few sentences she spoke.  There was a desperation, 
a plea for help there."

"So could you smell this 'so-called suicide victim's' perfume, too?" 
Ashcroft sneered.

"Of course.  She was probably on the brink of bankruptcy, too--Elizabeth 
Taylor, White Diamonds.  Very strong, very striking for a woman to 
wear--shows that she's not afraid of her femininity.  Perhaps that was why 
she was wearing it today--she wanted to be noticed."

"Pardon be for being frank, Mr. Williams, but do you have a degree in 
psychology?" Mulder questioned him, to which Dominic gave a wide smile.

"Or rather, a bachelor's of fragrances?" Ashcroft joked.

"I told you before, I'm an observer.  That is why you asked for me to 
remain, Lieutenant, isn't it?  Very few police officers would take my 
testimony into consideration for some rather obvious reasons."

"Let's get back to those reasons, Mr. Williams," Scully pressed on firmly.

"I can tell you that she was wearing heels.  And that she dyed her hair 
recently.  There were a couple of other things that I can tell you about her 
voice, now that I remember.  She had a Midwestern accent, highly educated, 
and fully mature."

*Great, that only narrows down our suspect list to age 26 and up*, Scully 
thought.

"And to six states," Williams murmured to himself.

"Excuse me?" Mulder interjected.  A knock to the questioning room drew 
Ashcroft outside for a few moments while both FBI agents continued on with 
Williams.  "What were you saying, Mr. Williams?"

"Nothing, I was just...finishing up a thought," Dominic answered ruefully 
and reached for the white baton resting on the table.  He squeezed the 
bottom and whipped out a full length cane.

"Neat trick.  Do you think I could find one of those on E-bay?" Mulder 
quipped, looking to Scully for some support.  She merely rolled her eyes and 
strolled over to stop the recorder.

"If you look hard enough, I'm sure you will.  And like I said, sometimes not 
being able to see can be a blessing.  I saw some things occurring today that 
will probably take years for some people to realize.  Good day to you, Agent 
Mulder...Agent Scully."  Williams arose from his seat, felt his way for the 
door, and brushed past a very aesthetically pleasing woman.  "My apologies," 
he said curtly and continued on down the hallway.

The woman wore a black pin striped suit, and Mulder had to admit to himself 
that that wasn't the only remarkable thing about her.  Her chestnut eyes 
almost beckoned him to completely truncate himself from reality, but her 
face told him that her priorities were business before pleasure.  And the 
closed mouth beam she gave him was almost too much for him to bear.

"Agent Fox Mulder," he held out his hand quickly to the woman; she accepted 
it warmly.

"Katherine Lloyd, Chesapeake Bay Mutual.  How do you do?"  She had a rich 
and sensuous texture in her voice, that which Scully found extremely 
irritating.  She already was forming ideas in her head about this woman--but 
she shrugged them away to introduce herself.

"Agent Scully," Scully found herself neglecting to mention her first name, 
but that did not seem to bother Lloyd one bit.  Neither female moved towards 
the other for a further greeting; the primitive instinct of territoriality 
and alpha domination had begun through awkward stares.

"Nice to meet you, I'm sure.  Well, to get all the formalities out of the 
way, I'm here to investigate this third hit on a relatively profitable 
museum.  And I could actually use some assistance from the FBI, if you don't 
mind."

"No, we don't mind at all," Mulder replied hastily with a flashy but 
partially goofy smile.  "Have you been to the museum yet?"

"Uh, I just flew in from Pittsburgh.  Hence the business suit--didn't have 
time to change on the plane.  I've been following this chain of burglaries 
from Chicago.  We specialize in insurance for timeless art as well as of all 
things, vintage automobiles.  I hope we'll be able to help each other out."  
Lloyd retrieved an electronic piece of equipment about the size of a large 
paperclip from her leather attache case and let Mulder examine it.  Scully 
moved closer to the table but kept her distance.  "I'm not exactly sure of 
what it is, but all of the paintings missing had these things attached to 
the back of the frames."

"They left the frames?" Scully wondered in astonishment.

"Well, obviously, those aren't the original ones.  It's a common practice 
for a piece of art, especially if it's being shipped around the world for 
exhibitions.  It's hard enough for the original canvases to be transported.  
Sure the boxes are labeled 'handle with care' and 'fragile', but accidents 
do happen," Lloyd sighed and crossed her legs.

"I know where I can have this checked out, but I'd need to have it for a 
couple of days.  Is that okay?" Mulder held up the little device while still 
musing over it.

"Not a problem, Agent Mulder.  Now, I'm not exactly a detective, but never 
the less, I have a theory about how these miraculous robberies 
occur...during daylight hours even.  It's all done through misdirection."

"These thieves were able to pull the wool over the security guards and even 
the police.  All right, I'll buy that.  How do they do it?" Mulder's digits 
went to the telltale sign that he was honestly thinking; he started to 
stroke his upper lip with his middle and index fingers.

"I haven't been able to take a look at the security footage because, well, 
I'm not an official investigator.  Even though both of those museums are our 
biggest clients, they claim that I'm not authorized.  Oh, those were some 
really nasty phone calls."  She glanced away from the agents and bit her 
lip.  "But they certainly couldn't refuse the FBI, could they?"  Lloyd 
turned and gave Mulder another inside melting grin.  His partner closed her 
eyes and pursed her lips with disdain.  The peevish stare was back again as 
her arms folded across her white blouse.

"I'm still waiting to hear this theory, Ms. Lloyd," Scully nearly spat those 
words out and caught control of herself...to behave like a lady should.

"Well, obviously, this last time, it was a kidnapping and a suicide.  In New 
York, it was a bomb threat.  In Chicago, a seizure and the fire alarm.  
They're getting better.  And our clients have threatened to report us 
against the Better Business Bureaus if we don't pay up immediately.  Well, 
time's running out for me; I have forty eight hours to find out who did 
this."

"We weren't previously on a time constraint, Ms. Lloyd.  But we'll do 
everything in our power that we can, and as humanly fast as possible," 
Mulder assured her.

"Not to be rude, Agent Mulder, but Assistant Director Skinner's waiting for 
our progress field report.  A *private* report," Scully cut in just when 
things were about to become interesting for Mulder.  "And we do need to 
check into our hotel before it's too late."

"Can we offer you a lift to yours?" Mulder arose and walked over to the 
door.  He opened it and held it as Lloyd stood.  She collected a white 
trench coat from a rack nearby and began to slide it on when Mulder took 
hold of the coat to help her.

"Oh, how kind, Agent Mulder.  No, I've got a rental, but thank you just the 
same.  Good evening to you both," Lloyd picked up her attache case and 
nearly collided with Scully on the way out.  "Oh, excuse me."

"Excuse *me*," Scully mumbled harshly and backed out of her way into the 
door.




The Regency Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts
March 30th, 1999, 11:59 p.m.



"You were awfully quiet in the car.  Is there something wrong?" Mulder asked 
Scully as they entered an elevator and set down their baggage.

"I lied when I said that AD Skinner was waiting to speak to us."  She dug 
her cell phone out of a coat pocket and bent down to stuff it into her bag.

"Is that what's bothering you?  Don't worry about it.  After six years, I 
can read you like a book, Dana Scully.  You're tired, and you need some 
rest."

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

"Well, I'd figure we'd start off with hitting that museum with Katherine.  
It opens at about eight thirty, so I'd like to get there at that time, if 
not earlier."  The doors opened, and each agent picked up their bag.  "And 
Scully?  Next time that you're tired, say so."

"What about the Lone Gunmen?  I know that's who you're planning on checking 
that gizmo out."  They unlocked their rooms, but Mulder followed Scully into 
hers.

"Actually, I was thinking that maybe you'd drop me off at the museum and 
drive back to Washington."  Scully shed her coat and her hands went straight 
to her hips.  "Well, I didn't think you liked her very much from the way you 
treated her."

"You're right, I don't.  But it's a logical instinct, considering how she 
could, if given the opportunity, manipulate you."  Her hands left her hips 
and went to dismantle the gun holster from her belt.

"Scully, are you worried about me?"

"I just think you need to be very cautious about your next course of action, 
if it does involve this woman."  She placed the holster and gun onto a table 
by the bed while he sat himself into a chair to listen.  "Inasmuch as I 
would *love* working with her, I'd feel more comfortable if you were the one 
to drop me off at the museum tomorrow and see the Gunmen in Washington."

"After the countless times that you've said this to me, Scully, I find it 
oddly ironic that I'm asking this of you," he chuckled, "but why should I 
believe you?"

"If you can truly read me like a book by now, Mulder, you should know that I 
don't take things like this lightly.  And I wouldn't be pleading with you to 
go back to Washington without a good reason."  Scully unzipped her boots and 
placed them on the floor next to his chair.

"I really wanted to see that crime scene for myself--but I do trust your 
judgment, Scully."  An inward sigh of relief hit her like a ton of bricks, 
and she disappeared into the bathroom.  He paused to glance at his watch and 
arose.  "Just out of curiosity, Scully, what were you imagining?" Mulder 
inquired and strolled over to the open doorway and leaned against it.

"A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste, Mulder."

"Enlighten me."  She was apparently uncomfortable with the situation; she 
stepped out to bring in her makeup kit.  "You owe me at least this much.  
And who said anything about getting dirty?"

"Well, for starters, you're already calling her by her first name."

"So what?  Do you want me to start calling you Dana now?"

"I'm enlightening you, Mulder," she chided him as she came into the bathroom 
again.  "Sorry,
please continue...--Dana."

"It's not like I have a degree in seduction, Mulder, but let's just say 
there are many ways in which a woman can manifest her charms on you besides 
outside beauty."

"Hmm, guess you're right.  Reminds me of something that happened earlier 
today."

"What's that?" She removed her earrings and set them onto a ledge near a bar 
of soap.

"Dominic Williams' observations about his sense of smell.  He didn't mention 
what you were wearing--but he had that woman's description with all his 'i's 
dotted and 't's crossed."

"Yeah, that *is* odd.  He couldn't have been closer to her than I was to him 
in that room.  But then again, he just might not have known."  He had that 
tranced look on his face--the same one that he had given not so long ago at 
the police station.  "And something else bothers me about this case."

"And that is?"

"Well, what in the hell would make a blind man want to visit of all 
places...an art museum?  What are you thinking, Mulder?  I see the wheels 
turning already."

"At a first impression, I agree with Katherine.  This is a case of 
deliberate deceit.  And so the question I must ask myself is 'what would I 
do to point everyone's attention in another direction'?  They made their 
move; they faked a death and an emergency situation.  That we're positive 
of--and that's what they wanted.  Enter the auspicious blind guy; his 
unexpected presence could very well have been a form of misdirection, too.  
I'm willing to bet that the other thief or thieves were present during the 
hostage scenario, and therefore, would not deny that fact to the 
authorities.  His or her motivation for cooperation warrants little 
suspicion from the police department."

"Okay, I'm following you.  So would these suspects tell the truth or lie to 
the police?"

"Well, a bold faced lie would again draw the focus to that person or 
persons.  He or she would tell the truth, but only enough to give the 
authorities what they want to hear.  In other words, most of the truth, not 
the whole truth."

"In that respect, they're already ahead of us."

"Ahh, but they underestimate our arsenal.  They automatically think that my 
mind operates on an upper plane of refined morals like yours, Scully.  And 
that's their downfall."

"An upper plane of refined morals?"  The skeptical eyebrow that usually gave 
Mulder a stomach full of butterflies reappeared on Scully's face. "I don't 
know if this has ever occurred to you, but do you know just how many times 
I've lied to our superiors about our cases?  More than I can even count, 
Mulder."

"And you do it so well," he grinned roguishly enough to break her sincerity 
into a genuine smile.  "So, what are you wearing?"

"Mulder, I think it's time for you to go to your room and get some rest.  
You've got a long day of driving ahead of you."  He shrugged and retrieved 
his bag.

"I've already been denied two pleasures to a man's life for one day.  What's 
one more?"  Mulder complained and trudged over to his adjoining room.



Isabella Stewart Garden Museum of International Art
March 31st, 1999, 8:45 a.m.



"Agent Scully, Agent Mulder," Lieutenant Ashcroft greeted them as Mulder 
pulled the Le Sabre up to the museum entrance curb.  "You got caught in our 
lovely morning rush, too, didn't you?"

"Nothing can be compared to a day in D.C.," Scully mumbled and exited the 
vehicle.  "Parking's gonna be a bitch--today being Monday and all," Ashcroft 
noted.  "I did happen to see a few spots three blocks from here, Agent 
Mulder."

"Oh, that's not going to be a problem, Lieutenant.  I'm just dropping Agent 
Scully off; I have a few errands to run back home.  Have a wonderful day at 
work, pookie," Mulder flashed Scully with a debonair smile before pulling 
the car back into the flow of traffic.

"Here I thought he'd be the one ditching you," Ashcroft sneered while 
entering the building.

Scully chose to ignore his impolite wisecrack; he didn't even bother to hold 
the door or wait for her.  She had forgotten how good she had it with 
Mulder.  Such gestures of chivalry between male and female officials of the 
law were virtually extinct, unless there was a furtive agenda.

The two south exhibition wings had been closed off to the public, however, 
amidst the gaggle of police and a few curious members of the media, the 
museum remained open.  After she passed through the yellow tape and 
identified herself, Scully found Katherine Lloyd to be at the complete 
center of everyone's attention.

"Apparently everyone understands the benefit that the pewter fish receives.  
And then he said next, 'but no one is exactly sure of what the sea cucumber 
gets out of it'," she recounted.

Numerous eruptions of volcanic laughter shocked Scully a few steps backward. 
  At first, she was unclear about how to approach the situation, but for 
once in her life, Scully made a rash decision and shoved her way through the 
male assembly.  "Oh, there you are, Agent Scully," Lloyd civilly 
acknowledged her, "I was expecting Agent Mulder to be with you."

"In the hopes of expediting your case, Ms. Lloyd, Agent Mulder went to have 
that piece of equipment you gave him analyzed.  What kind of 
fingerprinting's been done here, Lieutenant?"  Scully inquired.

"The kind that gives us nonexistent traces of evidence, Agent Scully," 
Ashcroft remarked snidely and led her over to an empty frame.  "I thought 
you said that that asshole was supposed to meet us here in fifteen minutes," 
he directed his belligerent tone towards Lloyd.  In some way, Scully was 
relieved to hear that retort and remembered that she was not the only woman 
in the boys' clubhouse.

"He had to go issue a statement to the media.  Sorry if he doesn't fit into 
your convenient schedule," Lloyd returned.  "I seem to recall a certain lag 
of time before I was permitted to visit the FBI agents and you last night."

"Do you want to be included in this investigation or not?  The police 
department isn't obligated to share information with insurance institutions, 
you know."

"Fine, I'll go see what's keeping him," Lloyd acquiesced and excused 
herself.

"You mentioned yesterday that Dominic Williams was questioned for a reason.  
Now I heard what Mr. Williams thought of himself, but how do you regard 
him?" Scully asked and exchanged her leather gloves for a pair of 
prophylactics.

"Sorry to use the pun, but I think there's more to him than meets the eye.  
I don't know if you felt it or not, but my gut tells me that he's a 
paranormal freak of nature."  He withdrew a notepad from his coat pocket and 
slid a pen behind his ear.  "My captain ordered me to bring in a police 
psychic to deal with this guy, but I'm not too thrilled with those kinds of 
people.  Call me an orthodox prick and all, but I just don't agree with 
using vibrations or whatever the hell else they call it to solve cases.  So 
I phoned the Bureau's branch here in Boston, and they informed me that the 
case had bent sent to Washington to Agent Mulder."

"If your instincts do prove you to be right, I believe you did a very wise 
thing by contacting Mulder."  Scully ran her finger across the front and 
back corners of the frame.  "Are the security measures still connected to 
this?"

"Yes, but they've been nullified," a voice behind her answered.  Both 
Ashcroft and Scully whirled around to the skyscraper of a man approaching 
them with Lloyd wrapped around his elbow.  "Bernard Stewart.  I apologize 
for my tardiness, Lieutenant.  I had to feed the wolves."  Stewart's sepia 
hair had flecks of gray just beginning to show and his eyes were a true 
dominant brown.  "Please, do whatever you need."

Ashcroft immediately figured out what Scully wanted and assisted her to lift 
the frame off of its mount and to the floor.  She pulled out a Leatherman 
multi-tool from her coat pocket and swiveled it into its needle nose pliers 
position.  As she reached closer to the wires, Ashcroft bent down and 
touched her arm.  "Hold it.  What do you think you're doing?" he 
interrogated.

"Making it easier to be put under a microscope," Scully barked and sharply 
withdrew herself from his touch.

"Wait a minute, Agent Scully.  If you're trying to find out how the canvas 
was taken, I can tell you that by looking at it myself," Lloyd detached 
herself from Stewart and crouched down next to Scully.  "It's been cut by a 
scalpel or maybe an Exacto knife."

"Even so, the forensics team in Boston should be able to differentiate if 
given the opportunity.  You said it yourself; the most valuable parts were 
already stolen."

"Go ahead, Agent Scully.  But I think I might have some better evidence for 
you.  I didn't tell you about this, Katherine, because I didn't absolutely 
need to--withholding evidence is somewhat more forgivable with an insurance 
company than the authorities.  Please follow me."  He ushered his company 
back through the museum to an elevator.

"What's going on here?" Ashcroft demanded.

"We recovered some security footage of the event," Stewart replied 
sincerely.

"Odd that a group of professionals like this would be so careful as to not 
leave any traces of evidence but leave a surveillance system completely 
alone," Scully observed.

"Oh, they didn't, I assure you.  But there was a fluke in the process, and 
hopefully, it'll give you a place to branch out all your theories," the 
curator remarked.  Once they stepped into the lift, Stewart inserted his 
identification card into a slot and pressed the third level button.  
"Identity accepted," a synthesized female voice stated.  "Please remove 
card."  An awkward silence passed between the passengers for a few moments, 
and it soon disappeared as they arrived at their destination.

Oliver Nazinsky and another security officer spun around as Stewart and his 
entourage journeyed inside the 'Authorized Personnel Only' office.  "Good 
morning, sir," Nazinsky meekly welcomed his employer.

"How're you doing today, Oliver?"  Stewart acknowledged the officer and 
motioned for Ashcroft to shut the door behind him.

"As well as can be expected, sir.  Anybody want some coffee?" He nervously 
stood and walked over to the drip pot not ten feet away from the desk of 
camera monitors.

"Yeah, I'll take some," Ashcroft volunteered and Nazinsky cringed.  He had 
purposefully made the offer to accommodate his superior, but he dutifully 
fulfilled the task and retreated to hand the mug to Ashcroft.  "Thanks.  You 
were working here yesterday when it happened, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir, I was," Nazinsky nodded in reply and lowered his eyes.  His 
colleague took the opportunity to grab his jacket and dash out the door.  
"Cigarette break--be back in ten minutes," the guard announced.

"How could you tell?" Nazinsky fidgeted in his swiveling chair and his 
fingers began to drum lightly on the desk.

"I can smell fear," Ashcroft responded perniciously and drank some coffee.

Scully already knew what the review with this witness would entail should 
Ashcroft be able to keep him struggling like a piece of live bait under his 
thumb and assertively spoke her mind.  "But we're not here to blame you for 
that which occurred yesterday, Mr. Nazinsky.  Why don't you tell us how it 
happened, through your eyes?"

"Okay.  Well, we close early on Sunday nights, and I got back from my dinner 
break at about six thirty.  I found Hiram here, hard at work.  He'd been 
drinking some coffee, from that mug as a matter of fact," Nazinsky pointed 
to Ashcroft, "when he spilled it.  And uh, that explains why you see the 
stain here, sir.  I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Oliver.  Go on, finish your story," Stewart assured 
him and disappeared into another room next to the coffee maker.

"The accident was kind of a good thing, actually.  Hiram probably wouldn't 
have noticed otherwise.  As soon as he bent over to mop up the mess, a woman 
on number eight, which is here," Nazinsky wheeled the chair to his left and 
signaled to a stained monitor, "pulled a gun.  Then she took a hostage and 
things got ugly.  Real ugly."

"You should be a narrator for the Discovery Channel," Ashcroft cut in 
sharply.  "You wanna cut to the chase, here?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bore anybody.  Anyhow, Hiram went to deal with the 
situation and told me through the radio that she was demanding to see Mr. 
Stewart.  I called the cops like I was supposed to, and just when they got 
here, I had to call them off...to give her what she wanted.  Hiram seemed 
pretty shaken up through the radio, so I figured that she definitely wasn't 
bluffing.  I dialed Mr. Stewart's extension, and nobody was picking up; so 
then I tried his home phone number.  We're not really supposed to do that, 
but, it was an emergency.  The kidnapper got impatient, and I was trying to 
tell what I'd done to Hiram over the radio, but he just kept yelling and 
screaming orders.   Then she shot herself and the power went out.  At that 
point, I wasn't really sure of what to do...guess I kind of chickened out," 
he muttered and set his head into his hands.

"I believe this disc will give you what you need," Stewart came back from 
the archiving room and gave it to Scully.  She accepted it graciously and 
slipped it into her pocket.  She thought for a few moments and placed one 
hand onto her hip.  The other leaned on the bureau next to Nazinsky.

"Where were you during the robbery?" she inquired.

"On my way here, of course.  Before that, I was cooking dinner for myself 
and my wife."  Stewart's eyes locked with Scully's.  "That disc that I gave 
you is a compilation of what went on in that room.  Four different angles, 
right, Oliver?"

"That's correct, sir," Nazinsky responded and watched Ashcroft drain the 
rest of the coffee from the maker into his mug.  "I believe that Hiram-"

A distinctive chirping interrupted the conversation, and Lloyd sheepishly 
retrieved her cell phone from her attache case.  "Excuse me, I apologize," 
she said and exited the office to take the call.
"Well, if it's okay with you, I'd still like to have that frame examined," 
Scully urged him persistently.  It seemed more like a statement than asking 
for permission, but Stewart knew that she was just being polite.

"It's really up to the insurance company...Katherine's say-so.  But so far 
as I'm concerned, I'm all for it."

"Good, then it's settled.  Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stewart.  
You've been very helpful," Scully reached out and shook his hand.

"What do you mean 'it's settled'?  Didn't you just hear the man?" Ashcroft 
jeered.  "This is my case, too, you know.  I don't think that there's 
anything more you can learn from that antique other than the type of wood 
it's made out of."

"Mmhmm, and I plan on finding out what kind of varnish was utilized on it 
too.  Don't make me remind you that you called us.  And if you don't like 
how I work, then you can just get the hell out of my way."  She brushed 
against him on her way out, and Stewart gave Ashcroft a nod of approval.



Lone Gunmen Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
March 31st, 1999, 4:20 p.m.



"Ah...goddamn this thing," Frohike's eyes were glued to the computer screen 
as he fiddled around with the mouse on its pad.

"What's the matter?" Byers questioned him and stepped behind Frohike.

"I tell ya, it's a love/hate relationship I have with this thing.  I mean, I 
love technology and using it as a dance partner, whirling it up and around 
the government's deepest and darkest secrets.  But when I can't get the damn 
newsletter's graphic layers and text together, I just want to throw this 
thing out the window and into the basurero," Frohike vented.

"The what?"

"Garbage can," Langly translated and walked back over to the Foreman grill 
on the kitchen counter.  "Burgers are almost ready, guys."  A series of 
light raps, followed by impatient banging roused Byers' attention away from 
the newsletter and to undo the excessive amount of locks impeding Mulder 
from his destination.  As Byers opened the door, Mulder just about mowed him 
over and sat down at their set table.

"I need to get you guys a door club," he muttered bitterly and rubbed his 
eyes.

"Hello to you, too, Mulder," Byers approached his friend tentatively and 
joined him.  "What kind of government conspiracy have you brought us this 
time?"

"Yes, and where is the exotic but divine Agent Scully?" Frohike inquired.

"In Boston.  I just drove straight from there without stopping.  Sorry, 
boys, no government conspiracy this time.  I just need to figure out what 
this do-hickey is."  Mulder fished the electronic object out of his trench 
coat pocket and tossed it over to Langly.  "I really don't feel like dealing 
with paperwork and the usual Quantico 'rush' that I have to go through, so 
here I am.  I dig the apron, Langly."  He pointed to Langly's "Sit down, 
shut up, and eat" stencil that covered his front.

"Hmm...never seen anything like it before," Langly confessed and turned over 
the hamburgers with a spatula.  "Care for a burger, Mulder?  I've got some 
extra meat."

"Actually, I *am* kind of hungry, now that you mention it," Mulder admitted. 
  "Frohike, what's your take?"

"Be with you in a moment," Frohike held up his finger and kept his eyes on 
his project.  "Oh shit."

"Let me have a look at it, Langly," Byers dipped his palm out for the 
object.  "Wow.  I didn't know these were out on the free market now."

"Jesus H. Christ!"

"What's up with him?"  Mulder pointed to Frohike and Langley shrugged.

"We just got some new software to make our newsletter.  It lets us print and 
distribute these all over the web," he explained.  "Unfortunately, Frohike 
was the one that lost the last character in our RPG, and it sounds like 
there are a few more bugs in the program than he anticipated."

"Goddamn this bastard to hell!"

"So what is it, Byers?" Mulder asked.

"Well, I only know this because of my time with the FCC...-"

"Narc," Langly coughed and Byers gave him a nasty glare as he cleared his 
throat.

"But this 'do-hickey' as you call it was the very thing that caused the 
blackouts of 1982 in Phoenix, Arizona.  I can't believe how small it's 
gotten, too."

"I'm all ears, Byers."  Mulder interlaced his fingers behind his head and 
leaned back in the chair.

"Well, I only read about these things theoretically; running into a blizzard 
isn't an everyday occurrence."

"Say that again?"

"It's called a blizzard.  A blizzard, like its name, wipes out all and any 
direct and alternate current supplied to electrical components.  It 
literally provides a break in the circuitry, and now that I see it for my 
own eyes, it looks like you can switch between voltages.  Let me see."  
Byers stood and traveled over to a magnifying glass.  He switched on the 
fluorescent light and placed the 'blizzard' just beneath it.  "Mmhmm, I was 
right.  Oh, there are several dip switches.  Well...uh, where'd you get 
this?"

"It was attached to the back of a painting before it was stolen from a 
museum."

"Hmm...that gives me a little bit more to work with.  You see, when the 
blizzards were discussed back with the FCC...-"

"Narc," Frohike grunted and buried his face back into his work before Byers 
could rebuke him.

"Anyway, they were about the size of your fist.  From what I see here, this 
object could very well knock out the data lines to a surveillance system.  
There are 3 different types of systems used nowadays: 24, 12, and 5--all dc, 
of course.  That's what I observe from these three dips.  24 is the most 
commonly used type on modern non-specialized security camera systems, like 
at ATMs, factories, and stores.  Now since this was a museum heist, it's 
more likely that they have more sophisticated equipment there--maybe an 
infrared or gamma system.  So 12 volts dc down the line is split to 
distinguish the separate spectrum's wavelengths, whichever they might be.    
5 volts dc, well, this is only a guess, but it could be part of a fiber 
optic alarm measure."

"And what does that do?"

"Well, it's there just in case someone cuts the hard lines, as an extra 
precaution.  Since I have no idea what kind of system is being used at your 
museum, I couldn't even begin to elucidate as to the possibilities any 
further.  But I can tell you that for sure, the dip switch was set to 220 
volts AC and 50 cycles per second.  That just happens to be what they use in 
Europe, and therefore, no current of any sort would be able to pass through 
this baby in America since we use 120 and 60."

"That's very interesting, Byers.  Now where does one get a blizzard?  
Certainly not from Dairy Queen, I hope?"  Mulder joked.

"Well, I know of a few places on the Net where I could begin to look, but 
that'll take quite a bit of time.  Time that I'm sure you can't spend here.  
How long is that drive, anyway?"

"Seven hours," Mulder grumbled.  "Don't remind me."

"Couldn't you have flown?" Langly wondered.

"This is unofficial FBI business, Langly.  What do you think Skinner would 
say when he looks at my expenses report and sees this trip?"

"You son of a bitch, I hate you!!"  Frohike shouted at the top of his lungs 
and slammed his fist on top of the monitor.

"Well, maybe not in those exact words..."  Mulder lowered his gaze and 
released a wrist to glance at his watch.  "Oh, listen, it's getting late, 
and I have a feeling that I'm going to hit rush hour traffic, so I gotta 
run.  Sorry I didn't get to taste your cooking, Langly.  Maybe some other 
time."

"Can we keep this, Mulder, for now?" Byers questioned him as he arose.

"As long as you promise not to break into any museums with it..."  The FBI 
agent's eyebrows arched, and he reached into his pocket for the car keys.  
"Keep in touch, fellas.  Let me know what you find out."

"All right, I'm about ready to take a sledgehammer to this piece of shit you 
call a computer, Langly," Frohike emerged off of his stool and jabbed his 
finger into Langly's chest.

"Frohike, I think your mouth is dirtier than a Martin Scorsese film.  What 
would Scully think?"  Mulder made a clicking sound with his tongue against 
his teeth and shut the door behind him before Frohike could respond.



Provincetown, Rhode Island
March 31st, 1999, 8:30 p.m.



"It's never good business to keep your customers waiting more than fifteen 
minutes.  Where in God's name can they be?"  a mid-sized elderly man eyed 
his pocket watch and glanced upward at Dominic Williams.

"Be patient.  I can hear them now," Williams answered and gestured a finger 
towards the door of the conference room they were sitting in.

"Yeah, and I can feel my ulcer creeping up on me any day now.  If they don't 
walk through that door in one minute, I'm calling it off.  You can cash me 
out," he swept his arm across the mahogany table and pocketed his watch.

"Actually, you're more concerned about your Lexus being stolen from the 
parking lot right now more than anything else.  And remembering to take your 
blood pressure medicine."

"How in the hell could you possibly...-"

"Read your mind?  But you don't actually believe in anything like that, Mr. 
Chauvret.  So forget the fact that I mentioned it and worry about where your 
next batch of priceless works will go."

"That has yet to be settled," Chauvret returned and began to tap his pen 
restlessly against the table.

The three visitors entered shortly thereafter; two women filed into the room 
and the man let the door close behind.  "Would you mind telling me why 
you're late, Stewart?" Chauvret charged.

"A few complications have arisen since we last spoke, Lionel," Stewart 
replied and sat across from him.  Katherine Lloyd joined him at his side, 
and the other woman settled beside Williams.  "The FBI was brought in on 
this as we planned, but I believe a few more cons will be required before we 
can move the paintings."

"Why's that?"

"We didn't expect any agents from Washington, let alone from a paranormal 
background to be assigned to the case," Lloyd elucidated.  "If they're from 
a special department within the FBI, then that means they've both got to 
have IQs that go off the charts."

"Dominic, as per your suggestion, our contact has begun to undermine Agent 
Scully's confidence.  I believe that should he be able to continue, she'll 
be completely discouraged enough to lose her focus," Stewart reported.

"Good.  But this can only happen if another ploy takes place at the same 
time--to keep them separated.  They have a strong partnership, and they rely 
on one another very much.  Therefore, Katherine, if you wouldn't mind 
prioritizing pleasure before business, I should think that would fabricate a 
rift between them," Williams told her.  "I'll leave you and Sarah to discuss 
further details regarding your surveillance."

"I hope this scheme of yours is buying time, Williams.  My friends from 
Croatia keep asking me for a pickup window, and I'm running out of excuses," 
Chauvret said.

"As we speak, they're being transferred on some reliable transportation down 
to Jersey.  Atlantic City is a low key port of call...and security is lax 
enough there for your Croatian friends' business," Sarah Macintosh spoke and 
tossed a card across the table to Chauvret.  "Here's the address and dock 
number.  I've been told that the port agent's very fond of Johnny Walker 
Black Label should you run into any complications."

"Right.  How much commission do I owe Chesapeake for their troubles?"

"Fifteen percent," Katherine replied.

"Fifteen?!  It was twelve for him.  Where in God's name did you get those 
figures?"  Chauvret motioned to Stewart, who shrugged emotionlessly.

"Lionel chose to go with a Canadian buyer."

"It costs a little bit less in fuel to go across the Great Lakes than the 
Atlantic Ocean, just to let you know," Stewart smirked.  "You could've 
fronted Sanchez's shipment to L.A., you know."

"Yes, I know.  How much time do we have left in Canada?"

"A week...tops," Sarah responded.  "Would you be willing to front it to 
Vancouver?"

"The west side is generally *not* my territory, but where is it now?"

"Ottawa, Ontario.  Dominic will be leaving in three days for that 
destination."

"What did Sanchez say?"

"I didn't make the offer to him.  This is your opportunity here and now."

"What's the dealer's bid, and how do we know him?"

"Forty-five.  He's Dominic's brother."

"Chesapeake's commission?"

"I'll have to speak with my superiors about it, but I imagine that we'll be 
settling around twelve point five percent," Katherine removed a stapled 
stack of papers from her attache case and pushed them towards Chauvret.  
"This is our current contract from the Boston to Atlantic City shipment.  
Twelve hours from now, we expect a wire transfer to take place between you 
and us."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Chauvret muttered and flourished a signature on 
each sheet.  "I need time to finish up with the Croatians before I make my 
decision about the Vancouver venture."

*And frankly, I don't trust any of you farther than I could throw you.*

"We could call off our partnership if that's the case, Mr. Chauvret," 
Dominic stated.

"Goddamnit, you're annoying the hell out of me.  Stop it."

"Stop thinking so loudly then.  Ladies, shall we go back to Boston?"

"By all means," Katherine agreed.  "I wouldn't want to keep Agent Mulder 
waiting."



Boston Police Forensics Department, Boston, Massachusetts
March 31st, 1999, 10:18 p.m.



"Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Agent Scully," a female technician 
stepped into the hallway where Scully had been patiently sitting.  "We just 
kept getting backed up."

"No, no, that's fine, I understand.  It's just that I wish that someone had 
told me...I would've gone out for a bite to eat," she mumbled her last 
comment and arose.  "What'd you find?"

"Come into the lab with me."  The woman was in her late forties and as 
Scully pursued her into the laboratory, she donned a pair of reading glasses 
onto the bridge of her nose.  "This frame has been varnished several times 
over, which leads me to believe that this frame was not original.  Do you 
know to which specific painting this frame occupied?"

"Uh, I don't recall this at the moment, but I believe that it was a Renoir.  
I was under the impression that this was a touring exhibition of 
paintings--that they would not risk damage to the original frameworks to 
which the paintings belonged."

"Who's they?"

"The insurance company--that's what an agent I've met assured me."

"That's a complete falsehood.  If the transportation company alters a piece 
of artwork in any matter, by U.S. Custom regulations, they are subject to a 
substantial fine, depending on the port of entry, of course."

"Let's say you're right about this, then.  Why would someone deface a 
painting like that?"

"My only theory at this point would be to invalidate serial or tracking 
numbers.  You see, when artwork comes over international borders or waters, 
it's marked on the frame with an electronic stamp...here."  The woman led 
Scully over to her working table and let her examine the marking on the 
bottom right corner joint.

"So the port of entry for this frame was Boston.  Could you pull up any kind 
of records that might tell me where it came from?" Scully inquired and 
withdrew a notebook from a suit coat pocket.

"I...only got to this about half an hour ago.  Local docks close at eight 
p.m.  I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  Maybe you might be able to find the 
information out on their website.  I'd do it myself for you if we weren't so 
busy.  Look, I have three detectives waiting for all separate PCR 
results...you'll have to excuse me."

"Wait a minute.  What about that disc I brought in?"  Scully briefly touched 
the woman's arm.

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

"I had a digital mini-disc that was a recording of the robbery, and I wanted 
that footage to be studied by your photography department."

"Do you remember whom you gave it to?"

"Well, not off hand..."  Scully sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.  "In 
fact, I'm even wondering what the hell I did with it after I submitted this 
frame to you.  Let me think for a minute."

"I *really* don't have the time, Agent Scully.  I'm sure that the FBI's labs 
have plenty of technicians to handle all of your cases, but we're 
shorthanded here.  Excuse me."  She left in a huff while Scully started to 
search through her pockets.

"Damn," she muttered and the moment she palmed her cell phone, it began to 
ring.  "Scully."

"Hey, Scully, I'm on my way back from Washington.  I would've called 
earlier, but I had to deal with a lot of nasty traffic on I-95.  I should be 
back in Boston in a couple of hours or so...hopefully one if I don't get 
pulled over," Mulder's voice filled her with an odd amount of satisfaction, 
as though they had been separated for months.

"And what'd our crazed three stooges find?"

"The 'gizmo' as you so aptly named it, has a far less technical term than I 
expected.  Nonetheless, Byers seemed to know all about this blizzard."

"Blizzard?  Mulder, you're not driving in the middle of a-"

"No, no, Scully.  The do-hickey that Katherine gave me is called a blizzard. 
  The best way I can explain it to you is by saying that it's an electronic 
current barrier."

"Mulder, there's something you should know about that woman."

"Anyway, he's checking out where it could have been purchased and/or 
manufactured.  Have you eaten yet?"

"No, I'm starving.  Mulder-"

"Good.  What do you say we order room service since we're actually at a 
place we can do it for once and discuss the case from there?"

"I need to tell you something.   It's about Katherine Lloyd from Chesapeake 
Bay Mutual...--"

"Scully, you're breaking up.  I can't...I think my battery's dying.  I'm 
going to have to let you go."  With that, Scully turned the power off to her 
phone and bumped swiftly into Ashcroft on her way out of the lab.

"Nora just told me that you've got something about that frame," he grabbed 
her arm firmly as she attempted to pass him.  "She didn't have time to 
explain, but she said that you could."

"Let go of me," Scully ordered him calmly and his eyes bored through hers 
with frustration.

"I hope you're not trying to hide something from me, Miss Scully.  I should 
be able to know what in the blazes is going on in my own police department 
without having the FBI tracking mud all over me like I'm some dead animal."

"I *said* to let me go," the tone raised in her voice, but his grip only 
tightened.

"I don't like where this investigation's going, Miss Scully, and if I have 
to be unpleasant about my further methods of inquiry, I'll do it--be you a 
woman or not."

"Where is that disc?"  Not an ounce of fear was crossing Scully's gait.

"I'm sorry?"

"Where is that disc?  I know you've got it."

"That's likely.  It's also very likely that I have someone making copies of 
it for you and me to watch."  Her expression relaxed a bit, and he released 
his grip on her.

"Why take it?  You could've just asked."

"Because I needed insurance for myself for something that's happening just 
like this."

"What do you mean?"

"This is my case, Miss Scully.  You're right, I did ask for your help.  But 
I'll be damned to Hell before I see it usurped out from underneath my ass, 
and I will not be made to look like a fool in front of my colleagues."

"That was not my intent at all.  I merely asked for the crime lab to 
expedite the results, and it's a good thing that I did."

"Why?"

"Katherine Lloyd lied to us when she told us about the frame not being the 
original.  Although I have no conclusive proof of it yet, I believe that she 
may be indirectly involved in these thefts."

"She's not on that disc, I know that.  I think while we're waiting for those 
copies, I'll do a background check on her.  Want a coffee or something?"

"No.  No thank you.  I'll come back in the morning and pick one up with 
Agent Mulder.  I'm exhausted and I'm hungry--two very good reasons for me to 
be finished for the day."

"Just as you'd like.  I'll have a copy waiting for you at the front desk; 
I'm not sure of when I'll be coming in tomorrow."

"That'll be fine, thank you."  She started to head toward the door as 
Ashcroft's cell phone rang.

"Yes?  They're done already?"  He snapped his fingers at her, and she 
whirled around in surprise.  "That's the best news I've heard all day, 
great.  Thanks."

"What is it?" Scully raised her arm slightly and let it drop down to her 
side.

"Tape copies are ready.  If you'll just follow me..."



The English Rose Pub, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999, 12:10 a.m.



"That'll be $4.50, mister.  Is this going to be all for you tonight?"  a 
female bartender questioned Mulder, who was draining the remainder of his 
Budweiser, and he nodded.

"Yeah, I gotta get back to my hotel.  Shoulda gone there first, but uh...-"

"You needed a quick one?"  A somewhat familiar velvety and throaty voice 
came from behind him.  Katherine Lloyd was just what he did not need right 
now; the very essence of her presence here was a temptation to stay.  But 
maybe she had some news for him; news that was a lot easier within his 
current situation.  And he suddenly began to dread having to go back to the 
hotel to face Scully.

"Something like that," Mulder finally said as he gave Lloyd a quick sizing 
up.

"Mind if I join you for one, then?"

"Actually, I should be going."  He made a move to reach for his wallet and 
get up from the stool, but she delicately placed a hand onto his left 
shoulder.  That gesture further sent goose-bumps down his skin as her hand 
traveled down to his arm and squeezed it gently.

"It's on me...if you'll stay."  His eyes tried to read through her confusing 
body language, and she removed her hand so as not to make his insides squirm 
any longer.  "I have some information for you."

"That's a relief.  Here I thought you were trying to pick me up," Mulder 
loosened his collar and patted the stool next to him.  Seconds later, she 
was by his side and laying a twenty on the counter.

"Gin and tonic, please."  The server acknowledged the order and picked up 
the currency.  "I was trying to reach you earlier on your cell phone."

"I forgot to charge it last night.  Couldn't even finish talking to my 
partner on the road back from Washington."

"Is that where you were?  I was wondering why only Agent Scully was present 
at the museum."

"Yeah--I had that thing you gave me analyzed.  It turned out to be something 
called a blizzard.  In short, since I'm not a technical person, all I 
understood about it was that it upsets the flow of electricity," Mulder 
explained.

"I find that astounding--something so small like that could cause such a 
disruption to knock out an entire building's power.  He'll have another one, 
please."  Lloyd tapped the counter as her drink arrived and pointed to him.

"No thanks, I've got to drive back to the hotel."  He waived his hand, and 
she briefly covered his with her own with a shake of her head.

"Haven't you ever heard of a cab?  My intentions are entirely honorable, I 
assure you."  Lloyd released her hold on him and slipped a hand into her 
white trench coat pocket.  "Agent Scully removed the Renoir frame from the 
museum to study it, and while I was with her, I found out a few things 
myself from my company's records."

"Yeah, how'd that go?"

"Excuse me?"

"Scully can come off a little abrasively towards other women.  I'm not sure 
if that offended you or not, but I just wanted to apologize for her if that 
was the case."

"It wasn't.  Anyhow, this Renoir was previously shown in New York and 
Chicago--at the two burgled museums.  I haven't checked any of the others to 
see if they link back as well, but it's my theory that these paintings are 
being smuggled illegally between these museums."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, for instance, look at this policy.  It was originally bought at a 
price of $25 million in New York one year ago.  But then just before the 
Renoir was first stolen, the policy got mysteriously canceled.  Three months 
later, the same painting reappeared in Chicago.  But the price changed to 
$30 million.  That policy was revoked two weeks later."


"Isn't that normal for insurance companies to jack up the price like 
that...especially after they've been hit?"

"Who said that my company got hit?"  Mulder admitted to himself that she was 
correct and took a swig of his freshly opened bottle.  "I plan on doing some 
major auditing in the next twelve hours and find out what kind of a paper 
trail there is to help us."

"You think there's some kind of mole in your company that's helping to 
switch and bait these art works while collecting on something just after 
they disappear to the next ring?"

"No, Agent Mulder.  I think the money's collected before the merchandise 
disappears.  I'm carrying what the books officially say; not what was 
clandestinely arranged.  That's what the pieces of the puzzle tell me.  What 
do you think?"

"You might be onto something," he shrugged and set the bottle back onto the 
counter.  "But to me, that idea sounds way too contrived.  Sure insurance 
companies are out to make a buck, that's great American capitalism for ya; 
but I just can't see a conspiracy in this case.  I think that some thieves 
with some pretty damn good tricks up their sleeves and the miracles of 
modern technology performed the ultimate abracadabra, i.e., David 
Copperfield."

The corners of her mouth enveloped her glass as she drank conservatively and 
set her glass next to his bottle.  She pulled the plastic stirrer out of the 
drink and gently bit down on it.  "I'm usually out there reaching for the 
conspiracy theory--that's funny.  I'm finding myself in role reversal with 
my partner," Mulder chuckled to himself.  "She always has her feet firmly 
planted in the plaster while I'm chipping away at the mould."

"Ashcroft told me that you and your partner work in a specialized FBI 
department.  Why'd you get pulled into this insurance fraud case?"

"Well, we just recently got back into our department after going through an 
enormous amount of scrutiny and embarrassment.  And again, though it's not 
my tendency to be dominated and jerked around by the seat of my pants, I'm 
just happy to be working with a challenge, be it paranormal or not."

"Fair enough.  What's a day in the life like in the...what was it that he 
called it...the X-files?  And why would you be embarrassed?"  It was nearly 
too much for Mulder to take--here was someone actually willing to listen to 
his anecdotes, wild theories, and bad puns.  He was enthralled beyond belief 
and completely forgot about returning back to Scully.

"I was working with the Violent Crimes Unit when I came across a row of 
dusty and oxidized file cabinets one day, back in 1991.  After talking with 
a former FBI agent, I came to know that the Bureau called these the 
'unexplained files'."  He reached into a suit coat pocket and pulled out a 
handful of sunflower seeds.  After cracking one open and sliding his tongue 
inside, he dropped the shell carelessly onto the floor.  "Each case has 
something to do with a weird or unusual event having occurred or being 
sighted."

"Oh, you mean like UFOs?"

"Yeah, a lot of them have to do with the appearance of extraterrestrial 
biological entities.  Some deal with what some skeptics call local folklore. 
  So, I bet you can now guess why the X-Files office is located in the 
basement and is the laughing stock of the FBI.  Seed?"  he offered her one 
and she accepted it.

"Oops, sorry," she mumbled as it dropped to the ground, and he bent over to 
pick up the fallen seed.  While he was momentarily distracted, her fingers 
slipped briefly around the top of the bottle and down the neck as he 
regained his composure.  	"No, I had no idea you work in a basement.  That 
must be kind of nice...I just got my own office away from the maze of 
cubicles and throng of cramped bodies.  I'm absolutely thrilled."

"I don't mind having my own office, mind you.  While I was a youngster in 
school, my teachers' comments were frequently 'does not work well with 
others'.  It's just embarrassing to have to take an elevator down to work 
everyday whilst everyone else is above you."  This time, Mulder dumped the 
seeds onto the counter and into a clean ashtray so both of them could reach.

"While I've never seen one myself, I can't say that I don't believe in the 
existence of aliens.  But on the other hand, they might not be out there.  
Until I see them, then I'll definitely be a believer.  I find it amazing 
that our government takes the time to care about them or about well...your 
folklore tales that you were mentioning."

"They only seem to actually care about aliens when I find out something they 
don't want me to know.  That's what I was alluding to when I was speaking of 
embarrassment and scrutiny.  Part of my reason for being is to know the 
truth about what's out there.  I'm known for being persistent in that 
pursuit...and Agent Scully has been by my side nearly the whole time."

"Is she devoted to you or the truth?"

Mulder paused in the midst of his thoughtful chewing and this time discarded 
the shell onto the counter.  "We've had a six year partnership so far, so 
I'd like to say both.  It hasn't been easy, I'll admit...she's a skeptic at 
heart.  She demands a lot of evidence to my theories, keeps me in check, and 
frankly, I don't think that I'd be able to function properly at work without 
her."  He made sure to add the phrase 'at work', but knew very well that he 
wasn't telling Lloyd the complete truth.  He quickly finished the remainder 
of food in his mouth and washed it down nervously with a swig of beer.

"You don't get separation anxiety, do you?"

"What, why?"  Mulder suddenly felt his speech become slurred and his vision 
began to blur.

"You're probably not going to see her for a while.  See, you did have too 
much to drink," she leaned in closer towards his face to whisper this and 
then backed away as he started to sway.

"What...what's going on?"  His last words were just barely discernible as 
his eyes rolled back, and he keeled over his stool onto the floor face 
first.

"Hey, should I call an ambulance or something?  He doesn't look too well," 
the bartender peered over the counter at Mulder.  "That's odd.  I've never 
seen a guy who's had three beers take a dive like that before."

"No.  He'll be fine.  I'll get him back home where he belongs.  Sorry about 
the mess," Lloyd brushed the trash from the counter into a cupped hand and 
strode over to a garbage can to wipe her hands off.



The Regency Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999 1:04 a.m.



He was only supposed to be a few more hours.  Where in the hell was he?

Scully once again checked her watch and held it up to her ear to make sure 
it was working correctly.  As soon as the mundane click of the second hand 
reached her ear drum, she freed it from her wrist and dumped it onto the 
bedside table.  The room service cart was only a few feet away.  She had 
wanted to wait for Mulder half an hour ago when it had been brought in.  But 
he was late--too late for the rumbling in her stomach to subside.

She lifted the lid from one of the plates and revealed duckling with orange 
sauce and wild grained rice.  It was too much for her to resist the call of 
hunger and besides, it was only a matter of time before this would get too 
cold to eat.  Well, maybe he had stopped for a bite to eat on the way.

The surveillance videotapes were six hours long--she had gotten through two 
hours before the hunger overpowered her.  As she poured herself over the 
table to savor the meal before her, she felt a wave of uncertainty come over 
herself.  Did his car stall?  His cell phone batteries were low, yes, but he 
should have tried to call her back after the fifth voicemail message she'd 
left him.  Just to tell her that he was okay.

"Damnit, Mulder, we've been together for six years!  You owe me better than 
this," she shook her fork at her invisible partner and then shoved it into 
her mouth.  She barely got two mouthfuls of the dinner when suddenly, the 
room telephone rang.  Scully quickly covered the dish back up and rushed 
over to the bedside to answer it.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's me," Skinner's baritone voice announced from the other 
end.  "I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but Agent Mulder was 
supposed to check in with me five hours ago for a progress report."

"I'm sorry, sir, had I known, I would've given you a call to do so.  Mulder 
and I were separated for the day--we've barely had any contact."

"I see.  And where *is* Agent Mulder?"

"Uh, he's in the shower right now.  I can go get him, if you'd like," Scully 
lied and inwardly huffed a sigh of frustration of again having to stretch 
the truth again for Mulder.  By the pause on the line, she began to wonder 
if Skinner knew that she was not being truthful.  Her fears were quenched 
when Skinner parted his lips with a smacking sound.

"Not necessary, Agent Scully.  Well, since I have you on the line, you can 
certainly inform me of your half of the investigation."

"Well, sir, I went to the museum and took one of the frames to the Boston PD 
forensics.  The technician informed me that it was not an original, and 
therefore she suspects that the painting was defaced for smuggling purposes. 
  I think that the insurance company is in on these robberies."

"I'm intrigued.  Go on, Agent."

"One of its employees is here, and she told me a bold faced lie.  Of course, 
at the time, I had no idea about her mendacity until later."

"Was it about the painting?"

"Yes sir, the frame.  And the owner gave me a disc, which I had transferred 
onto two surveillance tapes.  I'm watching them as of now.  He claims that 
they caught the larceny on tape.  I have yet to see it, but I'm not all the 
way through yet."

"Was there any evidence of this suicide that occurred?"

"The trace evidence technicians informed me that there was indeed blood on 
the ground, but they only found it after spraying the floor with 
phenothylene.  Someone tried to clean it up."

"Good work, Agent Scully.  How's your local police department working out 
for you?"

"A little put out, actually.  I think I'm going to start relying upon the 
district field office for any further assistance.  The case originally was 
called in by Lieutenant Ashcroft here."  She hesitated for a few seconds and 
tucked the receiver under her chin while guiding the phone over to the room 
service cart.  "Sir, might I inquire as to the reason why this case was 
classified as an X-File?"

"Check in with the Boston office in the morning, Agent.  I'm afraid you're 
going to find the same confirmations on the pictures I've faxed over to them 
as you will on that video."

"You've already seen the tapes?"

"Not the exact same ones that you've been watching--videos from the New York 
and Chicago robberies.  The images are rather startling."

"In that case, sir, would you mind telling me who it is so I can save myself 
and Agent Mulder the trouble of wasting another four hours?"

"You won't be wasting another four hours, trust me.  I'm not absolutely 
positive of the perpetrator's identity, but all of the images contain one 
common denominator: a white guidance cane."

"Have the field offices even bothered to run the usual checks in the NCIC 
and Bureau databases?" Scully suspired and ran her fingers through her hair.

"They were too grainy--perhaps since you were able to get a disc of the 
event, the Boston field office might be able to pull something up.  Then you 
can run your search."

"As you have mentioned, Agent Scully, there is quite a bit more to this 
robbery than meets the eye.  It has an abnormal taste--one that I just don't 
think would be handled quite as efficiently by any other department we have 
currently in the FBI.  Don't let anyone convince you into thinking that it 
was just a junk case file folder that ended up on my desk after cleaning it. 
  Are we clear, Agent?"  Skinner's voice grew a tad edgy, which told Scully 
that he was tired, and that she would do best to hang up and obey orders.

"Like the Caribbean blue, sir."  Scully put the phone back into its cradle 
and glanced at the cart full of food.  After turning the TV back on and 
rolling the cart over to the bed, she once again began her prolonged chore 
while eating.

*Damn the fact that it's now cold.  You deserve it, Dana.*

Half an hour later after the meal was gone, there was nothing on the tapes.  
Except for a woman gawking at a bronze statue--and the camera was zooming in 
on her to study her exquisite features.  "Figures.  All that's missing is 
the strip tease number," she muttered and pushed fast forward on the remote. 
  The camera then cut to another angle of her pulling out a hidden automatic 
gun, and Scully stopped the tape to go back and rewind.    As she watched 
the drama unfold, she noticed a familiar figure standing in the background 
with a white cane.

"Wait a minute.  That's right, he said he was there," Scully mused and put 
the tape into slow motion.

Dominic Williams stood in the doorway about ten feet away from the action.  
He appeared to be watching what was going on, but Scully knew that of course 
that was impossible.  Or was it?

Williams bumped into one of the guards and was subsequently shoved into the 
wall just as the kidnapper threw the captive onto the floor and shot 
herself.  After the power loss, Scully noticed the infrared sensors kick in 
and the cane on the ground.  The next angle went to Bodniker and the other 
sentries as they surrounded the body to check for life.  Another cut took 
her into the display of Impressionists' room.  Scully's jaw dropped with 
incredulity, and she gasped as she clearly witnessed Williams stroll across 
the tile to one of the paintings.  She instantly recognized the decorated 
borders to be the Renoir frame she had analyzed in the Boston police 
forensics department.  He deftly slid a gloved right hand behind it and then 
repeated the same action to three other paintings.

Williams next removed from a pocket what Scully could best describe as an 
Exacto knife and began to delicately slice the canvas away from its corners. 
  He next proceeded to roll up the canvas and lifted the frame slightly off 
of the wall.  The camera image disappeared and left Scully with white noise. 
  "I don't believe it," she covered her mouth and rewound the tape to view 
it again.

Minutes later after her second look at the robbery, she picked up her cell 
phone from the night stand and speed dialed the Boston police.  "You've 
reached the Boston Police Department.  Press 1 to report an emergency, press 
2 for the switchboard operator.  Para continuar en Espagnol, marque-" Scully 
growled at the automated menu; she did not need any further impediments for 
the day's frustration.  "This is Special Agent Dana Scully.  Is Lieutenant 
Ronald Ashcroft still in his office?"

"No ma'am, he's left for the day.  Would you like for me to transfer you to 
his voicemail box?" a polite operator inquired of Scully.

"No.  Can you get me someone that works in his department?"

"What do you need, Agent Scully?"

"No offense intended, I want to talk with someone with a brain."

"Well, I can put you through to his voicemail..."

"Argh...no...I'll try the goddamned FBI field office."

"I doubt they'd be open either, Miss Scully."

"Thanks for the advice," she snapped and hung up.  "Welcome to the Boston 
FBI field office.  Our hours are regularly from 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday 
through Saturday.  To report a missing person, press 1.  To listen to the 
most wanted top ten list, press 2.  If this is an emergency, please hang up 
and dial 911.  For further assistance, please remain on the line and our 
automated system will try to guide you...-"

"Good grief, no wonder we're constantly being audited.  Jesus, your tax 
dollars at work.  Yeah, hello?  Is this a human being?"  Scully miffed.

"Yes, ma'am.  This is the FBI hotline.  Are you in danger?"

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully.  My badge number is-"

"Hold on, ma'am.  The automated system should have taken you to a voicemail 
box."

"No, you hold on.  A robbery with paranormal idiosyncrasies was reported to 
this branch and sent to D.C.    I need to know who your SAC is and which 
agent divulged this information.  I want answers, and I want them *now*."

"Lucas Pendleton is the SAC, Agent Scully.  I unfortunately cannot get you 
any more answers, but I will be happy to make an appointment for you to meet 
him in the morning."

"Fine.  Tell him I need to make an APB, too, for a Dominic Williams.  I'll 
explain my reasons tomorrow morning at 9 with my partner.  Charges are 
simply as follows: grand larceny."

"Yes, ma'am."



Mulder's Room, The Regency Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999, 8:00 a.m.



"Mulder, are you awake?  Mulder?"  Scully gently rapped on his door twice.  
A distant groan immediately informed her of his presence and seconds later, 
he opened his door dressed in little more than a pair of boxers and a robe 
hanging wide open.  "Hey, what happened to you last night?" She started to 
close his robe for him but winced once she smelled the stench of alcohol on 
his breath.  "Never mind," she sighed and backed away.

"Scully, wait.  Don't go, wait."  He glanced downward, covered himself, and 
ushered her inside.  Scully warily trudged in and swept her eyes around the 
room.

"Your bed's made.  Where were you last night?"

"I can't remember, that's the problem.  I mean, I remember driving and going 
to a pub, but until this morning, my memory's full of holes."

"Yeah, alcohol under a large consumption rate can do that," she replied 
tartly.  "Where's your gun?"

"Um..." He staggered around the bedroom for a moment until he located his 
overcoat and let her inspect it until she was satisfied.  Mulder's gaze went 
from her examination to his bedside table.  "I'm sorry that I chickened out 
on you."

"Mulder, Skinner called...last night.  I lied to him--again--for you.  I 
can't believe you'd be foolish enough to do something this irresponsible."  
*Or this selfish*, she thought.

"I had every intention of coming back to you, Scully.  Honestly, I did.  I 
went for just one drink, or at least, I thought I did."  Her righteous 
skepticism grew by the volumes as he frantically searched for some kind of 
proof to placate his guilt.  "Look, if I were truly that drunk last night, 
do you think I'd have remembered how to plug my phone in and charge it last 
night?"  He picked up the cell phone and shook it in her direction.

"Well, you have me there."  Just as she was about to sit down, he held the 
phone up to his ear.

"You have a new voice message.  Press 1 to listen," the computerized voice 
instructed him.

As soon as he heard the caller's voice, he cringed and swallowed a lump the 
size of a tangerine down his throat.  "Mulder, what's the matter?"  Scully 
inquired with a cautious eyebrow.

"You called me six times last night.  I'm sorry, Scully, I...-hang on a 
second."  His left hand began to scrape his cheek nervously, and as soon as 
one fingernail crept into his mouth, she knew something was not right.  "Oh, 
no, I didn't..." he murmured in denial as he listened to the message.  "I 
would've remembered *that*..."

"What the hell is going on, Mulder?"  He padded over to the couch and 
plopped down onto it while rubbing his hand onto the leg.  Scully pursued 
him and gave him a suspicious, icy glare.  "Mulder?"  Her tongue forked 
itself over her top lip with indignation as she waited for him to finish.

"Okay...now...ah...this is hard," he stammered and plugged the phone back 
into the power adapter.  "Scully, you're a doctor, what's the best cure for 
a hangover?"

"Are you looking for a quick fix or something to actually help your health?"

"Well, for now, a quickie."

"All right.  Just wait right there."  She plowed her way through Mulder's 
mess of clothes strewn about the room to the phone and ordered a few items 
from room service.  "While we're waiting, you can now inform me of what you 
were trying to avoid discussing before you changed the topic."

"Ah...let's just say that I found out where I was between now and the pub 
last night.  And it wasn't detrimental to my health."

"Not detrimental...-" she repeated the words, perplexed, and bent over to 
pick up his dress shirt.  As soon as she brought the article of clothing to 
her nose, her jaw began to quiver back and forth.  Silence was one of the 
worst terrors he feared coming from Scully--and he was experiencing it in 
full thrust as she let the shirt drop to the floor with disgust.

"Now, please, Scully...please...it was hard enough trying to remember it, 
let alone tell you," he pleaded as she began to stride towards his door and 
opened it.  The attendant was frozen in place as he was just about to knock 
and then came inside to set the tray of ingredients onto the coffee table.  
"I'll...just come back later for your signature, sir," he mumbled 
embarrassingly and shut the door quickly behind him.

"I know who it was, so don't even bother," she barked and commenced to 
combine the black pepper, egg yolk, cayenne pepper, brandy, and water 
together.  "Drink this all the way down, and I'll meet you in the car in 
twenty minutes.  We have an appointment with SAC Lucas Pendleton at nine."

"You're being irrational, Scully.  Now just hang on, let's think this 
situation through."

"We'll discuss your character flaws later, Mulder.  For now, just drink the 
goddamned drink and get dressed," Scully commanded him and slammed the door 
shut on her way out.



FBI Field Office, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999, 9:05 a.m.



"Special Agents Scully and Mulder.  I believe there's a fax here for us care 
of AD Skinner from D.C."  The executive assistant arose from his chair after 
Scully showed him her badge and nodded.  As he returned to his seat and 
handed her the papers, she held up her hand.  "I...we also are here to see 
SAC Pendleton."

"He's on the phone right now, Agents.  Please sit.  He'll be right with 
you," the man responded coolly, and Mulder took his suggestion while Scully 
stood studying the photos.

"Of course *today* you'd wear my favorite suit," Mulder muttered and as her 
head snapped around with a bitter stare, he let his head sink into his 
hands.  Any further comments he made were ignored since they were 
unintelligible and considered probably to be mind numbing prattle.

"So I hear the Red Sox are doing a bang up job in their pre-season," Mulder 
broke the uneasy silence that had blanketed the room in a black gloom.

"Wouldn't know.  I don't watch baseball.  Would you like some coffee while 
you're waiting?"  The man arose and smiled flirtatiously in his direction.  
But once he noticed Scully's gaze lift from the photos to him for the once 
over *don't even think about it* look, his expression toned down a bit.

"You the guys here for my nine o'clock?" a nearly bald headed man stuck his 
head suddenly out of his door and asked.  "I'm expecting a Mulder and a 
Scully."

"That's us," Mulder answered, and they adjourned into Pendleton's office.  
But on the way in, Mulder could swear that the secretary gave him another 
run down.

"So, you're the ones that get stuck with the weird shit going through the 
plumbing," Pendleton coarsely commented and retreated behind his desk.  
"Well, the call from your Lieutenant Ashcroft came directly into my office, 
ma'am, since you were wanting to know.  I'm the liaison between local law 
enforcement and government agency as SAC."

"Has the warrant for Dominic Williams come through yet?" Scully questioned 
him while folding her hands into her lap.

"I was actually kind of wondering why in the hell you'd want to have a blind 
guy arrested first.  I did have a background check done on him last night," 
Pendleton stated and donned a pair of reading glasses from the middle of his 
bureau.

"Because I clearly saw him on a surveillance disc committing the felony, and 
I'm having trouble coming to terms with how he did it, but he was there."

"Right.  And I suppose he slid the canvas into a secret compartment in his 
cane on the way out."

"Actually, from what I saw, he left the cane in the other room," Scully 
replied.

"Uh-huh.  And what do you have to say about this, Agent Mulder?  Did you see 
these tapes?"

"I was...uh...occupied last night."  He nervously fidgeted in his seat, 
which made Scully clear her throat, and he gave her an apologetic pout.  
"But I'll definitely be the first person to support Agent Scully's 
conclusions."

"All right, then.  What's your theory--how does he do it?"

"My first thought contains extra sensory perception in the works."

"And pray tell, what in god's name does that involve?"

"He uses one of his functioning senses to home in on the object he's 
concentrating on.  It would be like the Daredevil, maybe, in a sense."

"Refresh me--it's been quite a few years since I last picked up a comic 
book," Pendleton's glasses slid down his nose.

"Well, for instance, he might be able to smell your assistant's after shave 
lotion from here, and therefore, he could use the scent to guide his actions 
to his desk."

"Would he do that with his nose in the air or to the ground?"

"You said you wanted to hear a reason why I think Agent Scully's right," 
Mulder shrugged.  "Feel free to come up with a better scenario, sir."

"I just might do that," Pendleton became defensive.  "Obviously, he couldn't 
have done this alone.  Maybe he did it with radio earpieces.  You know, 
someone told him where to go."

"Yeah, maybe someone also guided his hand as he sliced and diced it, too.  
Have you ever tried walking through a pitch black room with just a person's 
voice helping you through it?  It's kind of a clumsy ordeal, isn't it?  You 
end up with your arms outstretched like a zombie wanting dinner, and you 
bump into things.  Was that the case on the surveillance, Scully?"

"No.  He made his movements as swiftly and gracefully as a cat.  That's what 
struck me as being so odd.  So at this point, I'm more willing to give 
credence to Agent Mulder."

"I'll tell you what, agents.  I sent the paperwork to the D.A. with your 
names on it.  But he's only going to be brought in for questioning.  Any 
more than that, and I could get laughed out of the FBI," Pendleton announced 
hesitantly.

"Welcome to my world," Mulder quipped.

"I think we're done here, unless you have something more to offer me.  And 
right now, unless it's a single malt scotch, I don't want to hear about it," 
Pendleton withdrew a few papers from his desk and banged it shut.

On their way out of the field office, Mulder held the door open for Scully, 
and they silently climbed into the Le Sabre without another word.  Finally, 
after a few more minutes of pure agony, he pulled over into a side 
street	and took the keys out of the ignition.  "What are you doing?" she 
asked indignantly.

"We have to talk...now.  I'm not letting this come between us."

"Fine."  Scully crossed her arms and made eye contact with the dashboard.

"I see it already has, so I'll start.  I remember driving to a Rose pub, and 
I had a couple of beers.  Then Katherine walked in and offered me another.  
From there, it's kind of foggy.  But from what I can recall of our 
conversation, it was strictly business."

"We've discussed this before, Mulder.  What you do with your personal life 
is your own.  I was simply upset because you didn't return any of my calls.  
I was worried."

"I can see it was more than that.  You're too damn stubborn to admit it, 
though."

"All right.  All right, I will.  You'd be upset, too, if you knew that your 
partner was sleeping with the enemy."

"Sleeping with the enemy?  Did we just bump into an interlude from 'Days of 
Our Lives'?"

"What I was trying so desperately to tell you last night on the phone was 
that Katherine Lloyd was lying to us about that painting.  She's in on that 
smuggling ring."

"Oh, Scully, don't tell me you're jealous..."

"Have you heard a word that I've said in the last few minutes?!  She's a con 
artist, Mulder, and she's reeling you in like a mackerel!"

"All right, assuming for the moment that that's true, how does she fit into 
the picture?"

"I think that...somehow, maybe through ESP or whatever, Dominic Williams 
stole those paintings.  And then, the museum reported its loss to the 
insurance company.  They sent out a field agent, Lloyd, to 'assess' the 
damage.  But what she's really doing is arranging for the next shipment to 
go out or come in--I'm not sure of which yet.  And while it's occurring, 
she's also doing her damn well best to throw us off the scent!"

"Scully, I hate to prove you wrong, but she showed me this list of figures 
last night in the pub.  Why would she give me this information if she 
weren't trying to do her job?"  Mulder dug the paper out of his coat pocket 
and offered it to her impatient hands.  Scully peered closely at the paper 
and scoffed.

"Because you'd already *had* a couple of beers and wouldn't realize that 
this is a car rental agreement!"

"What?  What do you mean?"  He snatched it back and skimmed over the paper.  
By the time he finished, the expression of a mild disapprobation disappeared 
from her face and turned into one of compunction.  "I see," was all he said 
as the keys went back into the ignition.  A moment of nervous silence passed 
in between them until Mulder's cell phone rang.  Both jumped at the noise, 
and Mulder answered it with a jittery chuckle.

"Mulder, it's Byers.  We've been looking through our usual channels to find 
your blizzard-"

"My what?  Oh.  Go on, Byers, sorry."

"And yes, you can purchase it on the Internet.  It's actually being sold on 
e-Bay by a small company in Boston by the name of Williams' Electronics.  
Made and sold exclusively by the owner-"

"Dominic Williams," Mulder completed the sentence.

"Yeah.  How'd you know?"

"I saw it coming.  And did you check him out?"

"Well, you just requested us to find out where we could buy one.  And by the 
sound of it, you already know who he is."

"I know of him.  But I intend to find out much more."

"Okay.  Is that my cue to hang up and do you another favor?"

"No, what do I owe you for this one?"

"That's up to Frohike.  He was the one who found it first."

"Uh-oh.  Well, if it has anything to do with impure thoughts regarding a 
certain partner of mine, I'm afraid that's out of the question...for now.  
I'm receiving a dirty look as we speak.  I'd better go."

"What'd you do to her this time?"  Frohike's Illinois accent shouted just as 
Mulder removed the phone from his ear and pressed the talk button.

"Now what?" Scully was agitated, but he noticed that her irritability had 
softened into the familiar skeptical but amused tone.  His breathing 
returned to a somewhat normal pace.

"I say we go pick up Mr. Dominic Williams."

"Mulder, his warrant hasn't arrived yet!"

"Well, this seemed to fool me pretty well last night," Mulder held up the 
car rental paper and started the car back up.  "Shall we try two for two?"

"Oh, Mary, mother of God..." Scully mumbled, tore it away from him, and 
folded it up into a business letter format.  "I wonder how many rosaries my 
priest will have me saying *this* week."



Williams' Electronics, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999, 12:14 p.m.



"Mr. Williams, someone's here to see you," a male young adult knocked on the 
door after letting Stewart and Lloyd back behind the sales counter.

"Let them in, Chris, and close the door on your way out," Dominic gently 
instructed him, and he resumed his normal duties moments later.  "I wasn't 
expecting you until tonight, Katherine."  Stewart noticed the awkward body 
language Williams was exhibiting toward him, so he moved slightly farther 
away from Lloyd's personal space.

"Sarah called me to tell me that Chauvret has agreed to front the shipment 
to Vancouver.  I felt that a more personal visit was required instead of a 
phone call," Stewart announced.

"How ironic," Dominic chortled.  "I know what's going on in your mind, 
Bernard, so why don't you just come out and say it audibly?"  He turned away 
from his project and faced them.

"Ashcroft phoned me, too.  He says the FBI's gotten a warrant for your 
arrest."

"Oh, that.  I was expecting them to come charging across my doorstep last 
night.  But they didn't, thanks to you, Katherine," he leered.  "How much am 
I going to see on my Master card this month?"

"I paid it in cash, Dominic, and secondly, I helped speed it up so I 
wouldn't have to sit and listen to him drone on for hours in a drunken 
stupor."

"You, impatient?  You must have been tired last night," Stewart broke in.

"He's not one of those people that becomes the life of the party, let's just 
say," she rolled her eyes.

"But back to the matter at hand, Dominic.  Aren't you going to want to leave 
town?"

"I'm not worried, Bernard.  Part of our setup includes my arrest.  I'd worry 
about getting that guard and yourself out first."

"But you're supposed to be in Ottawa in two days!"  Stewart exclaimed.  "A 
police arrest is nothing because of our link with Ashcroft, but things could 
turn very nasty with the FBI."

"Leave that to me.  I still have a good amount of influence over Agent 
Mulder," Katherine placated him.  "Besides, didn't Ashcroft say that they'll 
be just holding him for interrogation purposes?"

"I suppose so.  I apologize, Dominic...Katherine.  Chauvret's recent 
aggressive pressure has woven its way under my skin.  I really don't like 
the man at all.  Why do we continue to do business with him?"

"Because of his outstanding number of prominent contacts in the shipyards 
and port agents," Katherine returned patiently.

"Yes, I agree with you, Bernard...the man does have a proverbial stick up 
his ass.  But he gets the job done just as you and Sanchez," Dominic 
interceded.

*If only I weren't married, things would be much less complicated.*

"You should have made it a phone call, Bernard, unless you want me to keep 
hearing your thoughts.    And I wouldn't want to share them with a lady 
present."

"What makes you think you can be so candid with people and not have 
something to worry about?"  Stewart snarled.

"Again, I can pretty much tell who would follow through with a threat or 
not.  Don't you have something better to do than waste your time here right 
now?"

"I do, actually.  I have a lunch meeting in half an hour to attend.  Here's 
the original disc--it's better that you keep it than I."  He removed the 
surveillance recording from a suit coat pocket and placed it into Williams' 
hands.  "Any further contact that I make with you should only be for an 
emergency, yes?"

"That's correct.  I'll be able to slip in and out of their hands like Jackie 
Chan.  For now, take a vacation to Aruba or something.  Katherine will call 
Sarah, and she'll call you when we need your services again."  The curator 
parted from their company, and Lloyd set her briefcase down near a table 
leg.  "You caused a minor breach in their partnership last night, 
Katherine."

"I'm waiting for the but to come next."  Williams reached up as a sighted 
person might and caressed her hair.  She caught his hand and interlaced her 
fingers with his.

"I care for you very deeply.  And I hate to ask you to do this, but...-"

"You want her to witness some affection in public?"

"I told you they have a strong bond, Katherine.  We're going to have to work 
fastidiously in order for it to be *completely* severed.  Do you understand 
what I'm asking of you?"

"I do.  I'm just dreading the thought of it."

"Hmm...so sometimes having a man run through your thoughts isn't such a bad 
idea."  He brought her hand closer to his chest and began to rub her hand in 
between both of his.

"Not when it's only used for a certain purpose," she grinned devilishly.

"You might want to use the back door on your way out."

"You're not getting rid of me *that* easily, Dominic."  Katherine invaded 
his personal space and trailed her right index finger down his cheek.

"I mean it.  I can hear them coming in the front entrance right now."

"Really?  What fragrance is she wearing today?"

He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose deeply.

"J'adore by Christian Dior.  Oh my."

"What are you picking up?"  He released her hand, and she retrieved her 
briefcase suspiciously.

"Some x-rated pictures running through Agent Mulder's mind," Dominic 
laughed.

"Hope they don't involve *me*," she smirked.

"They don't."  On that note, she gave him a sigh of annoyance and mouthed a 
goodbye to him upon her exit.  Seconds later, Chris opened his door once 
more.

"Sorry to disturb you again, sir-"

"Bring them back here.  I wouldn't want to create a scene in front of the 
customers."

"What do you mean, Mr. Williams?"

"The FBI agents will be taking me away for a little while, Chris.  You 
remember how to lock up, right?"

"Of course, Mr. Williams."  As soon as Mulder and Scully crossed the 
threshold to his workshop, Williams arose with his cane and flipped it down.

"Dominic Williams, we have a warrant for your arrest," Mulder withdrew the 
car rental agreement from his pocket and waived it in the air with a 
flourish.

"Of course you do.  I'll come willingly, so you won't need to cuff me, Agent 
Scully," he said serenely to her just as she was about to step towards him.

"Then you can drop the cane act," Scully retorted smugly.  "If you need any 
assistance, we'll give it to you," she added afterwards, politely.  However, 
she still cuffed his hands together in the front and gently led him out the 
front door.  Mulder followed the two, and as he opened the back car door, 
Williams shook his head with a tiny chortle.

"What's so funny?" he asked Dominic.

"Your unspoken chemistry.  The unprofessional thoughts running in both of 
your minds like two penned up animals--makes me wonder who's gonna break out 
first."

"That's enough, Mr. Williams," Scully scolded him as she entered the front 
passenger seat.  They arrived at the FBI field office and escorted Williams 
into a mirrored holding room.  Pendleton popped his head into the room to 
stare at his new captive inquisitively and made a gesture to Scully to come 
closer.  She did and meekly accepted the real warrant from his hands.  "Make 
sure this interview is done by the book," he snarled in a harsh whisper.  
"If I hear of *any* unorthodox methods being used, I'll see to it that 
Skinner's both notified *and* the OPC...not necessarily in that order, 
either!"

"Sir...-"

"I'll be expecting some J & B by the end of the day to be left upon my desk, 
Agent Scully."  He disappeared behind his own office door with a deafening 
slam shut.

"2 rosaries.  There's a liquor store just down the street," Williams stated.

"What?"  Scully whirled around with surprise.

"Just answering your questions," he shrugged with a smirk.

"I'm afraid my partner doesn't quite believe you can read thoughts as 
readily as I do," Mulder broke in.

"I know."

"Then let's play a game."

"Mulder, stop right there.  You can't go on any further until his attorney's 
present," she strode over to him and whispered into his ear.

"I was just going to invite him into my head," Mulder shrugged.  "So what's 
it like, can you hear both of us right now?"

"Mulder!"  Scully gave him one of her penetrating glares and pulled out her 
cell phone.  "Mr. Williams, do you need me to punch in the number?"  Again, 
to her surprise, Williams extended his hand to her and accepted the 
electronic device.  She patted Mulder on the arm and signaled him to join 
her in a corner.

"Wanted me all to yourself, huh?" he grinned roguishly.

"I'll let you know when I think you're humorous," she snapped back in a 
hushed tone.  "We're on pins and needles with Pendleton, Mulder.  Just watch 
your behavior."

"Who died and anointed you queen?"

"I'm trying to keep us in line here."

"Well, *I'm* trying to solve the case."

"By goading his supposed talents?  You're better than that, Mulder."

"Just what do you intend to accomplish by questioning him, then?  You were 
the one that told Pendleton you needed a warrant anyway."

"I wanted to arrest him, not interrogate him."

"You know that a surveillance tape with his image on it isn't going to be 
enough to convict him, Scully.  I suggest we utilize a different strategy to 
get more evidence."

"You already did, Mulder!  That piece of electronics he used was made by his 
own hands.  Granted, I don't exactly understand *how* he created the thing.  
Did you ask Byers to lift prints off of it?"

"Too many people have handled it."  Scully's hands embraced her temples, and 
she began to knead them slowly with polysyllabic groans.  "Ahh....what about 
that frame you had examined?  Wasn't it a fake?  We could track it down from 
the Boston Port Authorities and then-"

"Mulder, you are a godsend.  Thank you."  She lifted her head from her 
fingers and was about to stroke his face but then remembered their present 
company.  Her hands instead judiciously went to tap his shoulders lightly 
and then back to their crossed form.

"I wish I could get those words carved into stone," he murmured.

"All right, while I go to the police department to retrieve the frame, you 
stay here and wait for his lawyer to be present before questioning him."

"You mean guard him?  How far is he going to go?  And what am I going to do 
in the meantime?"

"Tsk, oh, you sound like my eleven year old godson, Mulder.  For god-sakes, 
pull yourself together," Scully huffed and bit her upper lip.  His sullen 
expression reappeared as if she had just run over his dog, and she let her 
commandeering gait down for a few moments.  "Fine.  You go to the police 
department--I'll wait here."

"I promise to bring back something good, pookie," he winked and poked her in 
an unguarded spot near her ribs on his way out.

*Where the hell did that nickname come from?*

"The cartoon strip series Garfield--it's the pet name Garfield gave his 
teddy bear.  And stop trying to look so hot and bothered every time he 
teases you...you secretly crave every morsel," Williams remarked snidely.

"If you *really* can read my thoughts like you say, Mr. Williams, then you 
should know you're drifting into some very ominous waters."  As he glanced 
in her opposite direction, he cocked his head to one side as if he were 
listening to the tsunami of a lifetime hitting his ears.  He shifted into a 
proper posture from his previous slouch and placed his feet squarely onto 
the floor.

"I believe you," he nodded timidly.



Boston Police Department, Boston, Massachusetts
April 1st, 1999, 4:03 p.m.



"Oh, it's you, again," Sgt. Cook stated brusquely as he took a glimpse of 
Mulder's badge.  "Well, what do you want, Agent Mulder?"

"Agent Scully brought a frame in yesterday to be examined by your forensics 
department.  I'd like to be able to collect the evidence and bring it back 
to the Boston FBI field office for further study."  Moments later, he 
decided to be courteous and added a 'please'.  Cook gave him a sneer that 
Scully typically reserved for his choice of take-out food, and when he 
remembered the unpleasant thought, he shivered.  Never the less, the 
sergeant removed a 'chain of custody' form from his top right handed drawer 
and pointed to the pen chained to the desk.  "Don't forget to wash your 
hands when you're done with it."

Mulder agreed and shook the pen back and forth before starting to fill out 
his obligatory paperwork.  "By the way, is Lieutenant Ashcroft in?" he asked 
while keeping a steady concentration on the form.

"What do I look like, his freakin' secretary?"

"Well, this is the Boston Police Department reception desk, isn't it?"  A 
silence that passed over the two men made Mulder's eyes jump up towards 
Cook's hands, but when he realized that they were nowhere near his face, he 
buried his eyes back into the paper.  Cook merely tapped the bureau and 
directed Mulder's attention to a dry erase board on the wall.  Ashcroft's 
name was not amongst the names listed on the 'in/out' board with today's 
date.

"I see.  I'm not sure how long this will take.  Is it okay if I don't fill 
in a specific amount of time?"  Mulder inquired and Cook shrugged.

"Typical feds.  You don't even know how long it'll take for you to keep 
scratching your heads.  Whatever.  Just put down your badge number next to 
your printed name and sign below it."

"Would you prefer it if I did it with my own blood?"  Cook slammed a drawer 
shut after opening a 3" black binder and let it drop onto the desk with a 
heavy bang.  "I guess so.  How long will the wait be?"

"I'm not sure how long this will take--there might not be a specific amount 
of time," Cook mimicked Mulder's mid-Atlantic drawl to the best of his 
ability, but Mulder understood the implication.  It could be hours before he 
would be back to Scully and Williams.  He signed the paper with a sigh, and 
Cook left him to probably make copies and file them into the heaping 
notebook.

"After I charged your phone last night, I was at least expecting a return 
phone call," Lloyd's husky voice called to him as she strolled towards the 
bureau nonchalantly.  The sound of her heels was one of a defiant but 
extremely confident stride--one that made Mulder's innards recoil.  The 
woman was on a mission, he decided.

*A mission to make me forget everything but those luscious legs.  I'd better 
get out of this before I step into another pile of refuse with Scully.*

"Sorry about that."  *Okay, enough guilt trip.  Down to business.*  He 
squared his shoulders and turned to face her dead on.  He continued in a 
much more firm pitch.  "Look, you lied to me last night.  I don't see why I 
should continue even addressing the case with you."

"What on earth do you mean?"  Lloyd's austerity surprised Mulder.  He 
thought that she would instantaneously turn to the common feminine wile of 
innocent shock.  However, he remained steadfast and strong on the outside.

"You gave me a car rental agreement as 'evidence' supporting your firm's 
embezzlement last night.  And you also lied to my partner about the 
authenticity of that Renoir frame.  If I had any tangible shred of proof of 
this, you'd be waiting to make a phone call right now to speak with your 
lawyer in a pair of handcuffs."

"Oh, you want to use those again?  I thought you'd had enough last night," 
she answered haughtily.

"Quit it.  We didn't sleep together last night--I would've remembered it 
very well."

"Then do you remember how you got back last night?  I drove your car," Lloyd 
paused at the pragmatic moment, "...and we did it on the couch...in your 
room.  I asked you what the hell was the matter with the bed, and all you 
simply said was that you hated sleeping on them."

"No.  It's not possible."

"Face it, Mulder.  If you want to keep kidding yourself like this was your 
prom night after too much champagne, go ahead.  But if you want to behave 
properly like an adult, I can tell you everything."  She knew all too well 
that his hunger and thirst was for the truth.  As she turned on her heel, 
the cheeky grin on her face glowered.  His hand lightly brushed her 
shoulder.  That was enough apparently, to give her enough leeway to shove 
him into a nearby janitor's closet.

"Katherine, what're we doing in here?"  Her response came through quite 
clearly as she blindly reached for his tie and ripped it off in the process. 
  "Whoa, whoa, this is heavy."  In the dark, he had to admit that he didn't 
mind it when the woman took charge--but oops, this was not Scully.  "What 
*do* you think you're doing?"

"Remember when I told you that this case was all about misdirection?" Lloyd 
breathed, and he frantically began to grope behind himself for a doorknob or 
some means of escape.

"Vaguely, yeah.  And this shouldn't go on like this..."  She had his dress 
shirt also torn open, and now her hand headed south to grab him.  
"Uh...Jesus...wow.  Uh...please, Lloyd, I'm very flattered, but-"

"But you're not ready yet.  I know.  That'll change in just a couple of 
minutes."  Her hand briefly stroked him a couple of times, and he finally 
managed to trap her hand from doing anything else.  Further words of rebuke 
were stifled when his cell phone disrupted him.  Mulder forgot his 
distraction temporarily, and after he answered the phone, he released his 
grip on Lloyd.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully stated and went on.  "Did you get our evidence 
yet?"

"Well, I'm kind of...waiting for the...Jesus!  Will you stop?!"  Once again, 
Lloyd's evil hands were on the prowl, and he felt her touch.  His ragged 
breaths were the telltale signs that he was again putting pleasure before 
business to Scully.

But just to make sure that she was not jumping to any conclusions, she 
carefully inserted a diplomatic inquiry into the conversation.  "Mulder, 
where are you?"

"Uh...kind of in a dark spot right now," he said, becoming exacerbated with 
Lloyd.  Unfortunately, Scully got the wrong impression and assumed he was 
cross with her.  She paused briefly across the line to ponder his actions 
and heard him struggling against something.  Large thudding sounds followed 
by his sharp intakes of breaths and a woman's laugh was enough proof to now 
vex her.

"That'd better *not* be who I think it is," she bellowed.  "SAC Pendleton 
and I are headed over to the police station now."

"Wait a minute, what about Williams?  Oof, finally."  His wandering hand got 
hold of a doorknob, twisted it open, and nearly fell out of the closet with 
his pants down.  As he seized his trousers, he lost the phone, and Lloyd 
caught it before it landed onto the ground.  "What a teaser you are," she 
chuckled and hung up on Scully.



Half an hour later...



"I don't think I have to tell you how much your ass is going to be grass, 
Agent Scully," Pendleton scolded her furiously as they parked a few streets 
away from the police station.  "And I'll be expecting some Cutty Sark as 
well as that J&B by tomorrow morning."

"You're not my direct superior," she growled as she nearly left him behind 
at her vigorous pace.  "And like the FBI, I don't deal negotiations with 
terrorists *or* tyrants."

"What on god's green earth made you even *think* for one second that you 
could detain him for questioning with a fake warrant?  No, wait.  I'm 
getting it now."  Scully swung the door open and nearly hit Pendleton in the 
process.  "You wanted to hoodwink the blind guy.  How low can you go, 
Agent?"

"Look, aren't you interested in the truth?  Isn't that what we're meant to 
investigate?"

"By all means, Scully.  But I'm also meant to keep my pension and health 
benefits...apparently they're not something you give a damn about.  You 
should be--not every FBI agent makes it past his or her physical past the 
age 35."  That ugly thought did flutter her insides for a fleeting moment, 
but she shook it off as she approached the reception desk.

"Sgt. Cook, you remember me?  I'm Agent Scully, and this is SAC Lucas 
Pendleton from the Boston field office.  Have you seen Agent Mulder 
recently?"

"Yeah, he was here a while ago--he made a request for some evidence.  But 
when I got back with it, he was gone.  Typical fed.  You come around here 
flappin' your goddamn gums and orderin' all sorts of shit, but you never 
come back to step in it or clean it up.  It's always left for us," Cook 
answered them angrily.

"Well, regardless of that, we need that frame.  Could you get it back, 
please?"  Pendleton asked.

"Sure.  You'll just have to fill out the paperwork again."

"What?"  Scully shouted.

"You're different agents.  I can't go back into the evidence room without 
proper credentials from either of you.  They have surveillance, you know?"  
He pointed to the camera above him with his pen, and both agents' eyes 
glanced upwards with indignation.  Pendleton crossed his arms and stepped 
away from the counter.  He motioned to Scully to come forward and handed her 
the sheet Cook offered.

"You got yourself into this.  You can bail yourself out.  Let me know when 
you're done.  I gotta take care of some business," Pendleton said arrogantly 
and headed down the hallway for the public men's room.

"Unbelievable," Scully grumbled and fingered the chained pen to begin to 
fill out the paper, but her cell phone interrupted her train of negative 
thoughts.  "Scully."

"Agent Scully, why am I hearing threats from a Collin Parker esquire out of 
Boston?"  Skinner's voice nearly ripped her ear off, and she winced while 
trying to get the tethered pen to write.  "He specifically called the 
Washington branch of the FBI demanding to speak with me and said that if 
Dominic Williams was not released from his prejudicial interrogation within 
two hours, he was going to file an $80 million suit against us.  Now, I 
believe, that I am perfectly within my rights, Agent Scully, to want an 
explanation for this tomfoolery!"

"Well, sir...-"

"Move out of the way, red!"  A police officer yelled and shouldered Scully 
aside as he forced a drunk up to Sgt. Cook.  "Let me have the paperwork for 
a 502.  I hate this shit.  How come we have to fill out this crap for the 
drunk tank now?"

"One word--attorneys," Cook hollered back, and Scully covered her ear so 
that she could clearly think and explain to her boss while beginning to 
write.

"We did release Mr. Williams, sir...about half a minute after Parker had 
told us how many of his client's rights we'd violated.  Mr. Williams is 
visually impaired and claims that we didn't let him take his cane with him, 
even though Agent Mulder and I guided him throughout the whole process."

"Why didn't you let him use his cane?"

"It could be used as a weapon."

"And what makes you so sure that he'd hit his target, considering the fact 
that you just told me he's blind?"

"Agent Mulder suspects extra sensory perception."

"Uh-huh.  And do you concur with his suspicions?"

"Oh shit," she mumbled as the paper tore from her heavy pressure, and she 
tossed the pen aside.  Scully had filled out the majority of the data, and 
she showed it to Cook.  "Look, is this enough for you?  Your pen ran out of 
ink."

"Scully!"  Skinner screamed, and she pushed the cell phone into the front of 
her coat.

The officer accepted the sheet to study it carefully and gave her a caustic 
look.  "I can't file this."

"Tape it up, then.  And give me the goddamn frame!"  Scully threw her badge 
across the bureau and brought the phone back up to her ear.

"I'm still waiting for an answer, Agent."

"Well, frankly, sir, I can't give any other sort of definition..."

"Yes or no will do, Scully."

"You can't prove that I wasn't doing nothin'...-" The impertinent noise of a 
Latin American young lady with golden hoop earrings storming in front of 2 
more officers briefly distracted everyone in the background.  "I ain't a 
sayin' nothing--"

"You sure got a lot of nothin' to say, honey," replied one.

"Scully!"  Skinner again yelled, and this time Scully apprehensively said 
yes.  "Yes, what?!"

"I believe Agent Mulder."

"All right, then.  Do you have an alleged perpetrator yet?"

"We did, but then we had to let him go."

"Do you have anything else to go on?"

"I'm in the middle of that right now."

"And where's Agent Mulder?  I've been trying his cell phone for the past 
hour, which is why I finally called you."

"As soon as I have the painting frame in my hands, I'm going to go solve 
that problem.  And I'm also going to ask for a warrant for another 
suspect--this one, I'm sure, will not be quite so difficult to prosecute."

"How long do you surmise your stay in Boston will be?"

"As long as I find Mulder in one piece, we'll be gone by tomorrow morning."  
*But by the time I finish with him, he might be missing a few.*

"Thank you, Agent Scully.  I look forward to reading your compendium."  With 
that, Skinner disconnected the line, and Sgt. Cook reappeared with the frame 
covered in a brown paper jacket.

"Finally.  The piece de resistance," Pendleton remarked as he also entered 
the atrium.  He gladly retrieved the package from Cook as the officer slid 
Scully's ID back to her.  "Let's get the hell out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere until I locate Agent Mulder," Scully stubbornly 
announced.  As if on cue, the reception desk's phone rang, and Cook answered 
it.  She was just about to step away, but he held out the phone to her.

"It's for you, Agent Scully," Cook told her.

*Maybe Mulder couldn't reach me on my cell because of Skinner.  This had 
better be him.*

"Mulder, where have you been?"

"Hate to shock you, Ms. Scully, but he's not here.  But don't worry, he'll 
be fine in a few hours," Katherine Lloyd's voice on the line surprised her.  
Scully quickly shielded the receiver with her hand and signaled to Cook for 
some attention.  "Can you get a trace on this call?" she asked.

"No need, Agent.  I'll even give you the phone number of where I'm calling 
from.  It's uh...--area code 641. 555. 9110.  He's just around the corner 
from me."

"The FBI doesn't negotiate with-"

"I didn't kidnap him.  I just put him down for the evening.  Check out the 
phone number."  With that, the line went dead, and Scully scrawled the 
number down hurriedly.  Sgt. Cook spun around and gave the note to a 
non-uniformed cop.  "Give me a minute," he said loudly as he traced the 
number through his computer.  "It's a pay phone within our precinct."




St. Anthony's Mercy, Boston, Massachusetts
April 2nd, 1999, 2:17 a.m.



"Ohh...where am I?"  Mulder groaned and began to shuffle about in his 
hospital bed when he realized that his head hurt.  "Ow."  Scully heard him 
from outside and quickly strode inside the room with a styrofoam cup of 
coffee in hand.

"Mulder, don't move."

"You might as well tell me not to breathe," he whispered.  "Well, we just 
seem destined to keep our medical insurance companies happy.  You're not 
going to tell me that I'm lucky to be alive, right?"

"Nope.  Not this time."  She set the coffee down onto his bedside table and 
pulled a chair up to his side.

The tranquility with her chores was at first not an issue with him.  He knew 
that she was not a gregarious person; she did not suffer from the same 
pressure of speech that he did.  But her reticence was now gnawing at his 
very core.  He had to know what happened.

"She knocked me out, didn't she?" he finally inquired.

"I suppose.  It could've been Ashcroft for all we know."  More quiet.  
Something was very wrong.

"In what kind of state did you find me?"  Mulder pressed.

"One fairly similar to an incident in Chaney, Texas that occurred one year 
ago.  Except you had fewer clothes on this time, and you were humming the 
theme from "The Love Boat"  when I woke you up."

"I guess I had a good excuse then, didn't I?"  A juvenile grin crossed his 
face, but Scully did not pick up the humor.  "What'd you find out about that 
frame?"

"A lot.  In fact, the frame wasn't the only counterfeit evidence given to 
us."  She lowered her head shamefully and made eye contact with the sheets.

"It wasn't?"

"No.  The security tape was also a fake.  The footage showed Dominic cutting 
the painting from the front.  But in fact, the canvas 'stolen' from the 
frame was truncated from the back edges.  So out of curiosity, I had the 
Boston FBI techs open the matting from the front, and we found the Renoir 
painting unscathed and untouched."

"Then what'd they steal?"

"The other three.  I suspect they did it while I was occupied with obtaining 
the security disc upstairs.  I was so upset with Ashcroft about his behavior 
and was so determined to get that frame, that I forgot all about the other 
three that were not there."

"When do you think they switched discs on you?"

"I was never given the original.  Once we saw it was a fraud, Pendleton 
rushed over to the museum to arrest Stewart--but of course, he was gone."

"And Lloyd?"

"We checked with her employer for any travel arrangements she might have 
made to get out of town, but there were none.  None of her personal credit 
cards were used or checks."

"What about Williams?"

"We had to release him about an hour after you left.  His lawyer arrived and 
just about tore the office apart with his hurricane fury.  He claimed we 
were treating him inhumanely and intimidated the FBI with a lawsuit so big 
that it would make the 1994 McDonald's coffee episode seem like cigar 
lighting money."  Scully picked up the coffee and sipped it pensively.  "But 
it didn't beat out the sum that Ronnie Strickland's family was originally 
aspiring for," she continued.

"Ugh, so what was it that did the clobbering?"  Mulder's hand reached up to 
rub the gauze, but Scully grabbed his wrist before he came into contact with 
the bandage.

"Your gun.  It's been confiscated for evidence.  Those sutures are fresh.  
Don't pull them out."  He turned his hand to glance at the back of his palm, 
and she began to loosen her grip.  Mulder shook his head and tenderly 
clasped her fingers between his.   Her eyes were full of question.

"I never realized this, before, Scully, but you're really meticulous about 
keeping your hands soft.  A lot of doctors I know have very calloused and 
rough hands."

"Really?  And how often do you go around caressing other doctors' hands?"  
He shrugged and was just about to bring their joined hands to his lips when 
she withdrew herself.

"What's the matter?" he asked.  Scully went back to quaffing her beverage 
and crossed her legs prudently.  Her body language spoke for itself.  He had 
jumped over the invisible line of protocol between them, perhaps.  Or was it 
something else that was causing her to be so vigilant?

"Scully, I'm not Dominic Williams.  Would you mind telling me where I 
screwed up, please?"  After what seemed like an eternity, she finally spoke. 
  But it was not the response he was hoping to hear.

"Skinner's nonplussed, to say the least.  But he understands our situation.  
Since you've been hospitalized, I'll finish up the report...with a 
recommendation for Katherine Lloyd, Bernard Stewart, Dominic Williams, and 
Lieutenant Ashcroft to go onto our 'most wanted' list."

"Are you angry with me, Scully?"

Anger was not even the half of it.  It was just a starting point on her 
'shit' list.  From there, her emotions knew no boundaries, and she wanted 
very badly to tell him how he had hurt her deeply.  How he had violated 
their sacred pact of trust and perhaps even, their friendship.  But now was 
not the time for a tirade.  It was not professional, in her mind's eye.  
Besides, he was still on drugs.  Nothing would be remembered in the future 
that was said today.

She sighed and rested her forehead into her splayed fingertips.  Rest.  That 
was all she wanted right now.  Lounging in a tub would be a bad idea; she'd 
probably become too relaxed in it and fall asleep.  The last thing she 
needed to wake up in would be cold water.

"Hey, Scully...are you still here with me?"

"Mmph," she grunted, "yes, I'm awake, Mulder."

"When do I get out of here?"

"You'll probably get released within the next twelve hours or so.  Depends 
on what your doc says."

"I'm looking at her."

"I need sleep, Mulder.  I'll be back to check on you in the morning, and if 
you're in good enough shape, I'll drive us back to D.C.  Goodnight."  Mulder 
furiously tried to remember what on earth he could have done to make her so 
cold and stoic.  She obviously was not in the mood to share his sin, so it 
was up to him this time.  It must have been something really awful; in all 
of the past hospital visits, she'd never left his side.  But that wall was 
there; he was determined to find out what had forced her to build it so 
thickly.




Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
April 2nd, 1999, 10:13 p.m.



Scully unlocked the door and trudged into her empty home.  She plodded first 
into her kitchen to turn on a kettle of water and then into her bedroom to 
deposit her overnight bag onto her bed.  After she had changed into a 
comfortable set of lavender pajamas, she followed the loud cheer of the 
kettle's whistle back into the kitchen, and poured the water into a mug with 
a chamomile tea bag.

The drive back had been exhausting.  A flight would have been more 
preferable to her, even though she hated flying.  But the fog at Logan 
Airport was far too dense for any commercial flights to penetrate.  And 
having to spend eight hours in a car with the incendiary device of her 
irritation was like having a thorn in her side.  It was nice to finally be 
away from Mulder.

Unfortunately, now that she was separated from him, she could think of 
nothing else.  	His lustful desires had clouded his judgment, and once more, 
she had been there to pick up the pieces in the end.  She normally would not 
have minded lying for him had he just left to go see the Gunmen or perhaps 
even harass Lieutenant Ashcroft.  At times like this, she reminded herself 
that this was why she could and did not want to become romantically involved 
with her partner.  It was too much of a heartache to be ditched.

An unfamiliar rapping came to her door, and as she went to look through the 
peephole, a husky man with Nordic blonde hair and blue eyes looked straight 
back at her.  Her hand went suspiciously to the Walther .380 she kept in a 
nearby boudoir as she partially opened the door.  "I'm here to see a Dana 
Scully," his Germanic accent stated.

"What do you want?"  Instead of giving her a verbal reply, he pointed to a 
folded up padded table leaning against the wall, and she placed the hidden 
gun back into the boudoir.  "Are you sure you're here to see me?"  Scully 
asked with one of her genuine skeptical expressions.

"This was the address given to me by the gentleman on the phone.  Can I come 
in, please?"

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Please do."  She was completely baffled but did open the 
door all the way, and he walked in with his equipment.  "Gentleman?"

"Would you like me to use the table, or are you more comfortable on your 
bed?"

Scully was now a little less confused, but she was still in amazement as to 
this very powerful but good looking man's presence.  She shuffled back into 
her kitchen to pull out the tea bag and as she came back, he was still there 
in her living room.  "Could you please make your decision soon?  I have 
another appointment after you, Miss Scully," he demanded politely.

"I'm sorry, what did you ask again?"

"Your massage.  Would you like it in here on the table or on your bed?"

"Um...I guess in the bedroom.  Uh...would you like a cup of tea?"

"I don't drink while on duty, but thank you just the same."  He retrieved 
his duffel bag from the floor and stretched his arm out in front of himself. 
  "Shall we?"

"This way.  Do you need any help?"  As she led him into her most private 
sanctuary, the man chuckled briefly in a low pitch.

"You relax and drink your tea.  Let me do all the work."  She sat on her bed 
to do just that and watched as he unzipped the bag to begin to pull out 
various bottles.

"What's your name?"

"Mark."  He continued on throughout the one sided conversation to go about 
the room and dim the lights.  Mark next removed four scented candles, lit 
them, and pulled out a large tupperware container.  "I'm going to need for 
you to remove your nightclothes.  Your top, at the very least, if all of it 
makes you uncomfortable."

The tea was making her very drowsy, and she of course felt a little 
reluctant but complied as he turned his back.  When she was finished, she 
laid herself on the bed face down.  "What type of scent are those candles?"

"Vanilla brown sugar and ginger.  Would you like some mood music?"

"I'm not really big on New Age stuff."

"It's Dave Brubeck.  Improvisational jazz."

"I like jazz," she nodded and her speech started to slur in her slightly 
euphoric state.  Mark disappeared from the bedroom momentarily, and the CD's 
alluring quartet began to play softly as he came back.

"He paid for a full body," the man mumbled as he noticed that Scully left 
her bottoms on.  "Well, I'll give you a little something extra on your back 
then."  He cracked the tupperware case open, pulled out a fistful of freshly 
thawed and mature rose petals, and tossed them carelessly onto the bed.

"Who called you, anyway?" she yawned and realized her eyelids were 
commencing to feel very heavy.

"I'm not sure.  My partner took the call, actually.  His information will 
show up eventually on the credit card receipts at the end of the month."

"I hope you don't mind this, but I think I probably will fall asleep on you 
in a short amount of time."

"I don't mind at all, Miss Scully.  I would hope you'd relax yourself."  
Mark pressed his hands together after oiling them up and began his magic.  
True to her word, within a few minutes, she was fast asleep.  The music 
suddenly changed from the Dave Brubeck Quartet to a tender moderate rock 
ballad.  He instantly knew that someone had touched the stereo, and just as 
he was about to stop his work, Mulder approached the doorjamb shoeless.  He 
sneaked into the room wordlessly and poured his identity as well as his full 
intentions out into the bulky masseur's ear.

"Miss Scully, I left my body cream in my car.  I'll be back in a few 
minutes--don't be alarmed when I come back in," Mark announced and quietly 
started to pack up his things.

Scully then muttered a reply that sounded like "okay" with her face 
concealed in the pillow and went back to her previous state.  Mulder 
followed him back out to her entrance and held the door open.  "Just one 
question, though," Mark said.

"Ask away."

"If she means so much to you, why don't you do it while she's awake so that 
both of you can savor it?"

"I was kind of hoping for that.  But now that I'm here, I can't very well 
leave her being unsatisfied, can I now?"

Mulder tiptoed back into her room and dug his hands into the body cream Mark 
had left opened for him.  He smoothed them back and forth several times 
before venturing into previously forbidden territory.  Oh, her skin felt so 
good.

A touch at the small of her back during their office hours was nothing in 
comparison with this.  At first, he constantly roved all around her in 
concentric circles with his palms, but then he then substituted his fingers 
into the same pattern.  Mulder then became so intoxicated with her that his 
fingers no longer made circles; instead they now made large figure eights.  
Scully groaned slightly and began to shift her head.  For one horrible 
moment, Mulder thought that she was going to see him.  But thankfully, she 
only moved it forward into the pillow and arched her neck so he could do the 
same ministrations to it.

Simplicity had been his first intentions, but now it seemed as if she wanted 
more.  He picked up one of the petals and gently scraped it along her back 
while keeping his other fingers on the neck.  One day, maybe just one day, 
she would let him do the same thing while being aware of his presence.  More 
pressure was needed, he decided.  Mulder placed both his index finger and 
middle finger onto the petal and pushed down a bit harder.  If he had better 
ears, he would had sworn that he heard a "Mary, Mother of God" from the 
pillow.



The next morning...



Scully awoke to the sudden realization that she had fallen asleep on her 
masseur for the evening and had forgotten to tip him.  As she robed herself 
and staggered into the kitchen to make herself a pot of coffee, she backed 
up and stared at the lanky figure dozing peacefully on her couch.  He was 
snoring gently through his nose with his arms folded cozily on his chest.

After her second cup of coffee, it finally dawned on her why in the world 
she would have found a completely clothed Mulder snoozing on her couch.  
Scully reached into her cabinet, poured another cup, and scuffled back into 
the living room.  She held the cup under his nose for a few seconds, and as 
his eyes opened, they became mortified with terror.  He nearly jumped up off 
of the sofa, but when she proffered him the coffee and sidled herself next 
to him, he calmed down.  "Morning, poopyhead," she gave him a large smirk.

"I think I've died and gone to heaven," Mulder squeaked.

"Come on, wake up.  I'll make you some breakfast."



	THE END