Summary: Mulder and Scully go to Florida to work on a case involving Skinner's aunt and some naughty doings. (X, S) This is a story I wrote some time ago. My first story of any length, it was published in a fanzine, so it never appeared on the Net. I figure enough time has gone by that I can post it now. It is set mid-second season. This one is rated maybe R-lite for some pretty adult themes, and carries the Chris Carter seal of approval for a close, friendly, partners-only relationship. Well, maybe some UST as well. Come to think of it.... The X-Files and the characters of Mulder, Scully, and Skinner belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Television - I just borrow then from time to time, without permission but with no intention of copyright infringement or making any money, etc. The plot and additional characters are mine, such as they are. Feel free to copy, forward or whatever to your heart's content, as long as no changes are made to the story and my name remains as author. Raves, flames, slings and arrows welcomed - e-mail me. PERSONAL FAVOR 1/4 by Suzanne Bickerstaffe ecksphile@aol.com originally written and posted to EMXC March, 1995 Part I Washington D.C. 2/13/95 "Sorry I was delayed, sir - traffic". Scully entered Skinner's office and quickly crossed the room to sit in the free chair next to Mulder. She shot a questioning look Mulder's way, and he responded with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. Looks like I haven't missed anything, she thought. Skinner looked uncomfortable. Sweating lightly, he remained standing, pacing back and forth and avoiding looking at the two agents. Skinner's discomfort had piqued Mulder's curiosity. He had already ruled out that the reason for this meeting was another of his regularly occurring, patented 'chewing-out's'. Skinner was never uncomfortable with those; in fact he seemed in his glory when taking an agent to task over some infraction of the rules. "I'd like to thank you both for coming. Before we go on, I need to tell you that first, what I'm about to say goes no further than the three of us, and secondly ..." he broke off and softened his tone slightly, "what this concerns is more in the nature of a personal favor to me than anything I feel I can order you to investigate. If, after I've briefed you, you think there's anything to it and you agree to check it out, I'd be grateful. If not, we'll forget this meeting ever took place." Skinner's eyes finally turned to Mulder and Scully, and he raised his voice slightly. "Clear?" Unison - "Clear, sir". That explains why he's so uncomfortable, thought Mulder. Asking for personal favors from anyone would be hard enough for this man, but having to ask the "Spooky Patrol" would be especially humiliating. He turned his attention back to Skinner, who seemed to be having a real problem with what to say next, and had resumed his pacing. "Agent Mulder, I'm sure you are under no illusions that I am a 'believer', as it were. But I think you will also remember from a prior conversation that I have had some personal experience with unexplainable phenomena." Scully's eyebrows shot up. Puzzled, she looked over at Mulder. The brief glance he returned said "Later" as clearly as if he had spoken it. Skinner went on. "I have a relative down in Florida who has...had some problems lately." Skinner took a deep breath and forcefully exhaled; he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "To put it bluntly, this relative has been arrested twice now, the latest time for for performing lewd and lascivious acts in public, and has had other personality changes over the past couple of weeks. There could be a lot of explanations for this, obviously. But it has been very upsetting to both the person involved and the whole family. One of the most upsetting aspects is my relative's assertion that she was being controlled by "some entity" at the time of these acts." Skinner caught Scully's look of pity and embarrassment, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. That's what I thought too, at first. But a file that happened to come across my desk made me think that there might just be something to it." Skinner finally sat down, made more secure by the opportunity to brief the agents with purely objective facts. "As I'm sure you are both aware, the newspapers have been full of stories about serious crimes against tourists in the state of Florida. What you probably won't see is a story about crimes being committed *by* tourists. Only tourists who have visited the same limited geographic area appear to be affected, and it happens to be the same area in which my relative lives. I also found that in each case, the crime has been public, sex- related, and perpetrated by someone with no previous history of such acts, which is unusual in itself." Mulder nodded. Sex offenders usually started young and had long records. "Two of the tourists picked up after the incidents also said that they felt like 'something or someone' was making them do these things. As far as I know, it was never folllowed up. Since the perpetrators were temporary visitors, it was probably felt that once they left, there was no more problem. Besides, Florida's chambers of commerce and tourism boards have been so glad to get tourists back after all the bad publicity, they are probably putting some pressure on to make sure that the charges are dropped and the stories never make the papers. "I don't know what's going on down there. Maybe this is all a coincidence, and I'm just seeing things because I want to see them. If you knew my aunt, you'd understand - nothing could be more out of character than something like this." Skinner cleared his throat, obviously becoming uncomfortable again. "She's very important to me - she held our family together through some tough times when I was a kid. She was always there for me, and I'd like to return the favor if I can. The rest of the family is talking about placing her in a psychiatric facility. Maybe I just don't want to believe that she's changed that much, or that she's capable of something like this, but if there's any chance to avoid a painful situation, I'd like it to be explored. "Admittedly, I've used my clout on this one. I'm making this an X-File, for a number of reasons. First, it affords a certain degree of privacy. No one can be bothered to read any of the X- Files except you two, so I can be pretty sure that no eager beaver gunning for my job in a couple of years is likely to find it and use it to his advantage against me. Also, although we've had our differences, I consider you to be the two most capable investigators in the Bureau. If there's something there, you'll find it. If there isn't anything there, you'll tell me, because you're too honest to kiss up to me. Making it an X-File also covers your expenses, should you choose to follow up on this." Skinner looked directly at Mulder and Scully. "Don't decide now - take the file, read it over, let me know by this afternoon. Whatever you decide, it's without prejudice - if you don't think that there's anything worth following up, I'll accept your judgement." Mulder took the neatly labelled file that Skinner handed him, and kept his facial expression neutral only with considerable effort: X-File #58383495 Sister Mary Monica Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows Convent Clearwater, Florida - - - - - Mulder leaned back in his chair, his long legs propped up on his desk, thinking over the contents of the file while Scully took her turn to read it through. Finishing, she flipped the file closed. "Okay, so what did Skinner mean when he was talking about his 'personal experience' with unexplained phenomena?" Mulder sighed. He had really hoped she had forgotten about that. He hated talking about what happened while she was gone, while she was in the coma. There were too many things about that time that still scared the hell out of him - things about himself, things about their relationship - for him to willingly talk about it. The events that led up to and followed his hearing Skinner's story of coming back from the dead were still acutely painful to him. Scully recognized the hesitation, the guarded look. Lightly, she said, "Hey, I still have a lot of holes to fill in." Her tone became more serious, more gentle, "Mulder, I know how you feel. But I'm alive and I'm here, and we have to get beyond this." He took a a deep breath, let it out slowly, and made a poor attempt at a smile. His voice was only slightly roughened by the emotions that he held in check. "I know, Scully. It just sometimes still hurts, you know?" His voice gradually got stronger as he told her about Skinner's near-death experience in Vietnam, although he omitted telling her why Skinner chose to share it with him at that particular time. Clearly, Scully was surprised by the story, so surprised that any questions that ordinarily would have occurred to her regarding *why* he would have shared such an intensely personal experience with Mulder, were forgotten. "So, Mulder, what do you think about the file?" Mulder mentally pulled up the contents of the file... Sister Mary Monica - arrested 2/3/95 for solicitation to commit prostitution. She had been seen on numerous occasions to be apparently soliciting, but clearly, no one had believed an eighty year old woman in a traditional nun's habit would be doing such a thing, so no one took it seriously. It was only when she started touching men in a way that left no misunderstanding about her intent that she had been arrested. Members of her convent reported that she seemed distracted lately, and her conversations were rambling and oriented much more to the profane than the sacred. On 2/8/95 she had been arrested again, this time for indecent exposure and lewd and lascivious acts; specifically, masturbating in public. Alarmed now, the superiors at the convent had Sr. Mary Monica admitted to a local general hospital for psychiatric observation and a complete physical work-up. Other than the chronic rheumatoid arthritis from which she had suffered for many years, both the physical and psychological work-ups were negative. The symptoms gradually cleared, and for the past couple of days, the nun had seemed to return to normal, although whether this was because she was actually better, or because her activities were being closely supervised, was not known. She had been discharged from the hospital on the 11th. Gerhardt Meister - a 56 year old male visitor from Munich, Germany. He had arrived alone in Florida 1/21/95 and had travelled extensively within the state until his arrest on 2/10/95 in Tampa on charges of trying to force a 14 year old girl into his car. A check for criminal records in Germany was negative, and an alcohol and drug screen, drawn at the time of his arrest, was also negative. A photo was included in the file - the standard police-issue glossies - which showed a thin, anxious-looking, somewhat bug-eyed man. His home address in Germany was also in the file, but nothing else was known about him. He left the country immediately after the charges were dropped, the day after his arrest. Elizabeth Willis - a 34 year old public school teacher from Stoke-on-Trent, England. The police photo in the file showed a woman who was the personification of the stereotype for "old maid schoolteacher". She had been arrested in St. Petersburg 2/5/95 for sexual battery on a very surprised 82 year old gentleman who had dropped the charges almost before the paperwork of the arrest had been completed. She had been one of the tourists to state that something had been making her think impure thoughts and act on them. She herself had insisted that bloodwork be drawn and a physical exam done. Her health was somewhat frail, as she had been diagnosed with systemic lupus erythematosus several years before. Nothing in her exam or in the bloodwork results showed anything beyond the expected - in other words, nothing that could account for her groping an octogenarian. Although officers reported that her language was highly colorful and inventive at the time of her arrest, several hours later she appeared calm, prudish and unable to explain her actions, other than to blame "an entity". She, too, left the country almost immediately following her release from jail. Natalie German - a 50 year old widow from Ramsgate, England. She had been arrested 2/2/95 in Tarpon Springs for trying to stimulate the interest of one of the sponge divers by dancing topless for him on the docks. The watching crowd of tourists and certainly the sponge diver in question had been intrigued and entertained. Nothing might have come of the incident, but Mrs. German had become short of breath and someone called 911. Since the police routinely answered all 911 calls with the ambulance, the arrest for indecent exposure had been made at that time. Alcohol and drug screens were negative, and the police decided to save themselves the paperwork and the woman had been released. Like Elizabeth Willis, she denied responsibility for her actions, saying that she had been driven to it. She completed her tour of Florida nine days later without further incident and returned to England Herbert Warner - a 67 year old widower from Riverside, California. Prior to his retirement, he had been a merchant gardener. He had been picked up for skinny-dipping on Clearwater Beach on 2/4/95... Although skinny-dipping is perhaps not the term I would have chosen, thought Mulder, remembering the photo of the decidedly obese Mr. Warner. He answered slowly, obviously giving Scully's question and the file contents serious consideration. "I think that something is going on, but for the life of me I can't see what it is. I think the location is critical - there's something in or near that convent that's involved in this. Although why all these people might have been visiting the convent escapes me. I'd like to have a lot more detailed information about where exactly these people might have been, what they did, what they ate, drank, breathed - everything. There may be more people than this who have been affected, and either never acted on their impulses, or were never arrested, or who didn't perform their acts in public." Mulder's dry sense of humor finally reasserted itself, and he gave a lopsided grin. "Or they did perform their acts in public, but to a less critical audience. ...I don't know, the timing interests me - all these incidents happening within a 10 day period or so. Or are we missing information that skews the time factor? The people affected, too - I mean, why just them? Why not other residents of the area? What makes these people different? If we can find evidence that more people were affected, or were affected at other times or in other places and we can add those pieces to the puzzle, maybe we'll begin to see a pattern. I'd really like to go down, talk to Sister Mary Monica, get better histories of the people involved, and check out the police records for other, similar incidents. I don't think we have a prayer of knowing what's going on unless we do that. And I would really like to be able to tell Skinner that his aunt isn't crazy." He added, almost under his breath, "I feel I owe Skinner at least that." Scully looked over at Mulder and noticed that he had shut down again. Knowing how much talking about the events surrounding her abduction bothered him, she tried not to ask too many questions. Often, she ended up filling in the empty places in her own past from little comments like these. Obviously, something pretty significant had happened between Skinner and Mulder while she was "away". She had noticed when she returned to work that their attitude towards each other, while certainly not warm and friendly, was less tense and more respectful. The reinstatement of the X-Files was perhaps one reason, but not the only one, Scully thought. Something else to ask Mulder when the time was right - whenever that might be. Okay, so Mulder wanted to do this for Skinner, and he probably figured that she wouldn't want to go, and that would mean an hour or more of wrangling until she eventually gave in to him - why not just cut to the chase? Besides, sometimes she just got a perverse pleasure out of doing exactly the opposite of what he expected. "You're right, Mulder - this file raises more questions than it answers. I'd like to know more. It's probably nothing more than coincidence with the tourists, and the onset of Alzheimer's in Skinner's aunt, but it could be interesting. And on a totally selfish level - our usual assignment for the middle of winter is more like Alaska or North Dakota. Florida will be a nice change. I don't think it would hurt to spend a few days down there checking it out." Mulder relaxed, pleasantly surprised. He had been afraid he was going to have to talk her into going. He didn't want to have to explain - it simply opened up too many wounds that even now were just beginning to heal. But the truth of the matter was that he *did* feel that he owed Skinner - for Cancer Man's address, for reinstatement of the X-Files, and mostly, for simply treating him with some professional courtesy and respect when all too often he was treated like some kind of freak. Yes, he owed Skinner. "I'll call Skinner then and let him know that we're going, and maybe you can book the flight and the hotel." Suddenly Mulder flashed Scully a rare wide grin. "Make it a hotel on the beach, Scully - I'm packing my Speedos." - - - - - Florida 2/14/95 The flight from Washington had been uneventful, and the trip across the palm-lined Courtney Campbell Causeway from Tampa to Clearwater likewise, except for the heavy tourist traffic. As Mulder drove, Scully gazed out on the water, taking in the shrimp boats and the occasional graceful arc of a cresting dolphin, her eyes reflecting the blue-green of the bay. They had discussed their plans on the plane. Mulder was sure that the convent had something to do with the incidents. Where he came up with that she didn't know, but she had to admit that Mulder's intuition had an incredibly good track record. She was willing to go along with it for now, for lack of any better place to start. Hopefully, he wasn't thinking along the lines of ghosts or possession by devils. There was also something about the profiles in the file Skinner had given them - there was something there, flirting with the edges of Scully's conscious thought, but just barely beyond reach. She knew eventually she would have it - it was just a matter of time. She really hoped they'd be able to give Skinner the answer he was looking for, something that would take his aunt off the hook; not only for Skinner's sake, but also for Mulder's. With any luck, she thought, this case will be quick and easy, and maybe give us a chance for a little of the R&R we both need so much. Lord knew that the past several months had been physically and emotionally exhausting. They both needed the chance to heal, physically and mentally. Only then could the promise implicit in their relationship develop. At check-in, they were given a message that had arrived only minutes before. A tourist from Denmark had been arrested for attempted rape that morning. His fit the profile of the other crimes. A check in Denmark revealed that he had no previous record of such activity. After his arrest, he had stated that he had no control over his actions - that something was manipulating him to attack the woman. He was being held in jail under suicide precautions. The woman he attacked was in the hospital. End of Part One PERSONAL FAVOR 2/4 By Suzanne Bickerstaffe eckphile@AOL.com, ecksphile@earthlink.net March 1995 Disclaimers in Part One Part Two "So what's our plan now?" "I was going to suggest seeing Sister Mary Monica first, but now I think I'd better go to the jail and interview the Danish tourist. I'll drop you off at the hospital on the way and you can check out his victim, get her statement if she's in any condition to talk about it. Would you mind getting a cab from the hospital to the convent? Supposedly they're not that far from each other. I'll meet you there when I'm finished at the jail." "Sure. Fine by me." They talked throught the open communicating door between their rooms while they unpacked. Their excuse for the adjoining rooms and the open door was that it was a matter of convenience, to facilitate conversation and the exchange of information, which was undeniably true. But that was an excuse for public - or Bureau - consumption. The truth of the matter was that it was an ideal arrangement for two people who were used to having their own space, but who also derived so much pleasure and comfort from each other's presence that they were rarely away from each other. The door would remain open for the duration of their stay, as it always did. He would be free to bounce into her room with the enthusiasm of a child whenever a new line of thought about the case occurred to him. She would be close at hand to comfort him when nightmares wracked his sleep. She would fall asleep to the sounds of his restlessness and his t.v., and he would awaken to the sounds of her morning routine. Sounds which, they were beginning to realize, they would both miss when they returned to Washington and their separate apartments. When they had unpacked and changed, they left the hotel. Mulder dropped Scully outside the Emergency entrance to Morton Plant Hospital. "I imagine it will take a couple of hours - see you at the convent at around 4, okay?" Scully entered the building and was immediately surrounded by all the evocative smells and sounds of a busy general hospital. She inquired of the hospital auxiliary volunteer at the Information Desk about the room number of the victim, and got directions. Walking to the bank of elevators, she absorbed all the stimuli around her and was energized by them, like a racehorse responding to the call to post. She grinned wryly to herself - the emotion evoked for most people would certainly not be the excitement and nostalgia she felt. It's what set medical people apart from the everyone else - a comfort zone existed for them in a place where most people felt only anxiety and dread. She exited at the third floor and crossed to the nurses' station. "I'm looking for Nadine Watson. My name is Dana Scully, FBI." She took out the leather wallet and showed her ID. "She's in 307 - third door to the left down that hall." The nurse pointed. "I don't know how much she'll be able to talk to you, she's pretty heavily sedated." "What's the extent of her injuries?" "Mostly shock, on admission. She's improved since then. She was beaten up, and she hit her head when she went down, lacerating it pretty badly. Of course, there was a fair amount of blood loss by the time the paramedics got there, but not a dangerous amount. Mostly she's here for observation. The x-rays and the MRI were all negative." "Any sexual trauma?" "Nope. From what I overheard the cops saying, evidently the guy saw all the blood from the head laceration and kind of freaked out. He started yelling for someone to call the paramedics, and just sat there bawling his eyes out until the paramedics and the cops arrived." "Thanks. You said 307?" "Yeah, just down the hall, third left." Scully found the room and knocked on the door. The attractive black woman in the bed turned towards the sound, opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again. The left side of her face was swollen and abraided, and a bulky bandage was on the back of her head. "Nadine Watson? I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm Special Agent Dana Scully of the FBI. If you're feeling up to it, I'd like to ask you a few questions." "Okay, ...did you say FBI? Why's the FBI involved? This wasn't a federal crime." Why, indeed... this is a bright lady, thought Scully. "Well, there are some jurisdictional questions..." "Because if you're thinking this is a racial thing, I think you're wrong." "Why do you say that, Nadine? Tell me what happened today." "Well, I already told the police, but okay.... I was walking to work from the bus stop. I work in an area where there's a lot of construction - new office buildings going up, lots of detours - you know. Anyway, I was just cutting through one of the sites on my way to my building and passing a dumpster when he grabbed me. I started screaming and he hit me in the face a couple of times. I was struggling with him and he was tearing at my clothes. Then I lost my balance and I went down, and hit my head on something - I think a cinder block, something like that. I was kind of dazed after that - kind of in and out, you know? But I heard the guy yelling, and people came and then I blacked out until the paramedics started working on me." "Do you think he had been following you?" Nadine hesitated, thinking back. "No, he definitely wasn't following me. It was more like he was hiding there by the big dumpster and I just happened to walk by at the wrong time. It could have happened to anyone." "Did he say anything?" "No, nothing. That's kind of how I figured it wasn't a racial thing. If it was, he would have been calling me names and saying all kinds of stuff. But he wasn't. His face was strange, too - almost like he was confused or puzzled or something. After he started yelling for the paramedics, he seemed - I don't know, shocked, I guess, but I could be wrong about that, I passed out really soon after." "Thanks, Nadine. We appreciate your help. Do you have family here?" "Yeah, lived here all my life. I had just gotten rid of everyone when you came. I love them, and I know they care about me, but they were driving me crazy." "Well, I'm glad they're here for you. If you think of anything more, just call me." Scully jotted down the hotel name and phone number on her card and left it on the bedside table. "Or if you just want to talk. You've been through a pretty rough time today." "Thanks, but I'm okay." Nadine yawned. "I think I need a nap more than anything right now." Scully walked down the hall, reflecting on Nadine's statement. Odd, that the attacker had changed his mind in the middle of the act of assaulting the woman. I wonder what kind of luck Mulder's having, she thought. - - - - - Mulder looked at Lars Rasmussen, not without a certain amount of sympathy. The sixty year old widower was intermittantly weeping, horrified by what he had done that day. And what he had almost done. "Okay." Mulder said softly. "Relax. Tell me again. What happened?" Rasmussen took a deep breath and steadied himself. His English was excellent and barely accented. "I slept very badly last night. I was having nightmares - the kind that when you wake up, it feels like you're still in the middle of the nightmare. Do you know what I am talking about?" "Far better than you could possibly realize," Mulder replied, with an ease he didn't feel. "What were the nightmares about?" "They were about me - I could see myself doing wrong things, immoral things, and enjoying them so much." A dark flush started up from the man's neck. "Things that disgusted me. I woke up feeling sick to my stomach." He stopped, trying to put his experience into words. "But at some point, it didn't disgust me any more, it was as if I thought 'why not?'. Why not do those things, see if they bring so much pleasure. And it was as if there was something else giving me those thoughts." "I don't understand. Explain that to me." Rasmussen opened and closed his mouth several times. He finally gave up and shrugged his shoulders. " I can't tell you more than I have. I can't really put it into words. It wasn't that substantive. It was more like impressions, or...flavors, perhaps." He brightened. "Yes, "flavors" best expresses it." He sobered immediately. "Do you know how that poor woman is doing? Please, please believe me, I never would do anything like this." Mulder looked at him directly, and said mildly, "Actually, I do believe you. And I think you need to know that this sort of thing has happened before to other people. That's why I'm here. We're trying to find out why people are acting out these impulses. Try not to blame yourself - I really don't think you were responsible." He paused as a new fit of weeping shook Lars, this time provoked not by guilt, but by the relief of having someone believe in him. "Lars. I need your help." Mulder crossed to Rasmussen's chair and, squatting down next to it, placed a hand on his shoulder. Rasmussen took a shuddering breath and pulled himself together. "Okay, that's good." Mulder handed the man a pen and some paper. "I need you to make a list for me. Write down everything you've done, everywhere you've been since you arrived in town. Don't leave anything out, no matter how trivial. Write down where and what you ate and drank, any information at all that you think could help us." While Rasmussen wrote, Mulder watched him. The man was pathetically eager to help. He had clearly been devastated by his actions earlier that day, so devastated that the arresting officers had thought he might harm himself, so suicide precautions had been instituted. Nothing in the man's story gave Mulder much of a clue. He didn't remember much - just leaving his motel room, in his words, "in a fever of lust". He remembered nothing else until he saw all the blood from the woman's head injury and started calling for help. Not much to go on. But something - there was something here. And Mulder felt the familiar rush - almost a thrill - that accompanied the start of a case. - - - - - Mulder parked the Taurus in the first open space he could find and walked the two blocks back to the convent where Scully was waiting outside the large wooden gate. "I figured we might as well present a united front, Mulder. Besides, ever since parochial school, nuns have intimidated the hell out of me." Mulder's hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. "Scully, I'm shocked. I didn't think anything intimidated the hell out of you." "Yeah, well...obviously you never experienced the Sisters of the Sacred Heart at Saint Aloysius School, either. Sister Agnes would have intimidated Tooms." Mulder laughed as Scully knew he would, as she planned he would. God, it was good to hear. They rang at the gate and a disembodied voice asked for their names and their business at the convent. They had agreed that the fewer people who knew about the FBI angle, the better. "Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. We're here to see Sister Mary Monica." "Oh, yes, we've been expecting you. Please come in. Follow the path to your right and someone will meet you." There was a buzz and the heavy wooden door popped open. "After you, Scully." "Mulder, so help me, if you don't get that smirk off your face..." They walked in brilliant sunshine and dappled shade along a brick path which led to a magnificent Spanish mission- style stucco building. Behind it in the distance, the waters of the Gulf sparkled. The grounds were spacious and lovely - natural and formal garden areas, huge pin oaks hung with Spanish moss, and wrought iron benches set out at strategic points along the brick walkway for resting and contemplating the surrounding beauty. The convent door opened to admit them to a cool shady foyer. The novitiate who let them in took them down a hallway and showed them into a large, well-appointed room. "Please wait here. Sister Mary Monica will be down in a few minutes." Mulder wandered around the room, spotted the bookcases which filled one wall from floor to ceiling and as usual was drawn like a magnet to them. St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, The Lives of the Saints, Teilhard de Chardin - all pretty much what he would have expected. And a few from rival camps that he wasn't expecting, like Dietrich Bonhoeffer and C.S. Lewis. Scully was gazing out the window, watching the boats play out on the Gulf. They both turned when a door opened and two nuns in traditional long black habits and white wimples glided in. "Thank you, Sister Angelica. I think the world will be safe with these two people to guard me." The older nun fixed a steely glare on her younger companion, who was clearly ill at ease. After a moment, she departed - fled might be a more accurate term - leaving Sister Mary Monica with Mulder and Scully. She turned to them, her expression no less severe. "Wally phoned and told me you'd be coming. Please sit down." Wordlessly, Mulder and Scully looked at each other - "Wally"? Somehow Assistant Director Skinner just didn't seem like a "Wally". They sat together on the couch across from the nun's straightbacked chair. "I assume he told you what happened." The nun's direct gaze fastened onto them. She was a good deal taller than either had expected, and appeared at least fifteen years younger than her eighty years. Except for her hands, badly deformed by rheumatoid arthritis, she was a handsome, distinguished looking woman, with the same piercing dark brown eyes as her nephew. "I am at a loss to explain what happened, except that I had a sense of ...something...directing me. It was nebulous, I just can't explain it any better than that. But it was overwhelming. And it was real." "I know this is painful for you, but could you please go over what happened, starting from the first time you felt this force." Mulder listened as the nun unemotionally recounted the story of her arrests, his face open and his eyes mild, sympathetic and interested. Sister Mary Monica was the personification of dignity. Mulder could imagine how much she was hurt by the sordid nature of her actions while under the influence of...whatever it was. She seemed to be an immensely strong woman, but the past two weeks must have been hell for her. Scully finished jotting down notes a few moments after the nun had completed her story. "And how are you feeling now?" Sr. Mary Monica smiled grimly. "It's as if it never happened. That is, unless you count my every move being watched like a hawk and my family and the superiors here wanting to have me committed." Scully looked at her sympathetically. "We're here investigating other cases like yours in this area. We hope to be able to find some commonalities and come up with some kind of explanation for these occurences." "It would appear that you two and Wally are the best hope I have. What can I do to help? Is there anything else you need to know?" "What is your routine here, Sister?" Scully asked. "And was there anything different about it in the last month or so?" "Because of my age, I'm semi-retired. I really don't share too much in the work of the Order. I spend a lot of time gardening. I find it helps my arthritis if I stay as active as possible, so I tend some of the "natural" garden areas on the grounds. The heavier work of the formal gardens is done by some of the younger nuns. Our gardens are quite famous, you know - you'll have to tour them before you go Normally our tour groups are only in the morning, but I think an exception can be made for you, if you're interested." "Tour groups? What kind of tour groups?" Scully just beat Mulder in asking the question. This might be the connection to the convent they had been looking for. "We conduct tours for people who belong to their local and national gardening societies. We have visitors from all over the world touring our gardens. This is the only place where several rare, indigenous species can be seen, except for remote wilderness areas. The tours generate significant income for the Order." "By any chance, do you maintain a record of visitors, or have a guest book of some kind?" inquired Mulder mildly. Although outwardly he seemed calm, Scully could sense his excitement. "Why, yes, we have a guest book. We don't require people to sign it, of course, but most do. For bookkeeping purposes, we have records of the money we have received from the groups booking the tours. Would it help to have photocopies of the guest book and the names of the tour groups?" "Yes, please - could we have copies of all entries from both sources from, say, January 20th to the present? It would be very helpful." "I'll see to it immediately - it will give Sr. Angelica something useful to do. Anything else?" "It might be helpful if you wrote down what you do on an average day, and any changes from that routine during the period in question," Scully said. "Well, as far as digressions from the routine go - there simply aren't any. I don't think you could find a more ordered, regimented existence than in a convent. It was quite a change when I entered the Order. You see, I came to my vocation comparatively late in life. I have a much more worldly background than many of the sisters. I was a corporate attorney until I was in my fifties. I've been at this particular convent for almost three years. I think some of the sisters feel that my past worldliness explains what's happened to me in the past few weeks." She laughed without humor, then became grave, showing a hint of vulnerability for the first time. "It's undoubtedly difficult for you to understand this, but my vocation means everything to me. Being here has been the most fulfilling time of my life. I would hate for it to end like this." She rose and crossed the room to a telephone which she used to call Sister Angelica to make the necessary photocopies, and then sat and wrote an organized, detailed outline of her daily routine. When Sr. Angelica returned with the photocopies, she put all the papers together in a manilla envelope and handed them to Scully. "Thank you both for coming. If you have any questions, you know where to find me. Sister Anne will show you the gardens on your way out." Mulder and Scully made their way along the cool quarry tile floors to the foyer, where Sister Anne was waiting. "Anything special you'd like to see?" asked the plump, cheerful nun. "We'd like to see everything, but especially the natural gardens," Mulder replied. Scully gave him a questioning look, to which he shrugged and explained, "It's where she spends the most time, and we really have no idea what we're looking for, so it's a place to start, anyway." Sister Anne was in charge of the gardens and she was extremely informative. She had earned a Master's Degree in Botany from FSU just prior to deciding to enter the Order. She showed them everything, from the small but representative citrus grove, to the poisonous plants area, to the formal, cultivated gardens, and finally the natural gardens. "Natural gardens are not as natural as you would think," she explained. "Often, they are just as planned as formal gardens, and take just as much time and effort. It's only that they are planted in a more unstructured and "natural" arrangement, giving the impression that everything just grew that way by accident. Our natural gardens here are, I think, unique in that most of them did actually just grow the way you see them. Yes, we fertilize, and water during the dry season, and eliminate weeds and that sort of thing. But we had to add relatively few plants to the ones that were already growing here at the time we acquired this property for the convent, about 35 years ago. The previous owner said that this particular garden has been in existence probably since pre-Columbian times. Of course it wasn't a garden, as such, then. Are there any particular plants you'd like to know about?" "We're kind of at a disadvantage here," Scully said. "The climate is so different here from what we're used to, and all the plants are so different." "I know, it's like being on another planet," Sister Anne agreed. "I grew up in Missoula, Montana, so all this was new to me, too. There's some really interesting species, though - plants you might not see anywhere else, including one that blooms only once every 10 to 12 years. You just missed its prime." She pointed to some slightly wilted white blossoms that must have been spectacular a few days previously. "We had to schedule extra tours for that very reason. But all of the tropicals and sub- tropicals are of interest, especially to the European visitors - all this is new to them, too." They finished the tour of the gardens and thanked Sister Anne, who showed them to the gate and then securely closed it behind them. Strolling to the car, Mulder said, "Well, Scully, Skinner's aunt is formidible. It's easy to see they're related. It's also nice to know he trusts us so much." "Trusts us...you mean about his aunt and what she did?" "No, I mean about 'Wally'." End of Part Two PERSONAL FAVOR 3/4 by Suzanne Bickerstaffe ecksphile@aol.com, ecksphile@earthlink.net March 1995 Disclaimer in Part One Part Three "Okay, so what do we have?" They were in Scully's room, sprawled stomach down and side by side on her bed, pouring over the file they had brought from Washington and correlating that information with Rasmussen's itinerary, notes from their interviews, and the papers Sr. Mary Monica had given them. Scully felt mentally sluggish, the result of too many fresh Gulf shrimp at the seafood restaurant where they had gone for dinner. Mulder had eaten next to nothing, as was usual for him in his excitement at the beginning of a case. His brain was on overdrive. "Scully, look at this - the photocopies of the guestbook. Here's Meister's signature on the 6th and here's Elizabeth Willis on the first of the month. I don't see Natalie German, but there is a record of the Ramsgate Gardening Society touring the gardens on January 30th, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised to find that she was part of that group. I don't see Warner's signature, either, but he was, according to our file, a retired merchant gardener, so I don't think it's stretching things too much to assume he was at the convent, too. Rasmussen's itinerary gives the 10th as the date of his visit. So it looks like there is some kind of exposure to someone or something on the convent grounds that takes place, and about four days later, the symptoms appear." "All right, now look at the incidents and their dates. There's a pattern of escalation here, Scully. The earlier incidents were relatively minor, the two latest ones - Rasmussen's rape attempt and Meister's trying to grab the teenager - were serious. Possibly there's a gender link there, but I really don't think so, I think it's more related to the dates. Which is disturbing, Scully - it's like there's a time bomb out there. And maybe there's more than one. Someone out there is going to be the victim of a serious sex crime - maybe even a child - and the poor bastard that does it is going to be no less of a victim. Unless the crimes simply stop, of course. We have no idea what's causing them, so I guess they could just stop, but again, I don't think so." Mulder pushed himself off the bed and started pacing around the room. "And there's something else. Look at these people and what kind of a pattern do you see - a nun, a widow, two widowers, a spinster school teacher.... What do you see?" "I don't ... "Well, true, some of this is speculation, but - these are all people who, if I may put it crudely, aren't getting any on a regular basis, if at all." "Any wha- ... oh. Mulder, that's ridiculous. For God's sake, if lack of a sex life is the only criterion for being affected by whatever this is, the two of us are in mortal danger of becoming sex offenders." "Tell me about it." His hazel eyes looked at her with amusement, affection, and - something else. "Maybe it's just the excuse we - " He broke off as he had a new thought. "I wonder - Scully, if I were a betting man, I'd wager that the local working girls are seeing more clients lately who have an interest in gardening." He strode over to the phone, dialled a number - it must be nice, thought Scully, to have a Rolodex in your brain - and spoke for several minutes to someone named Freddy. "Freddy's a vice cop in St. Petersburg. It's totally unscientific, of course, but Freddy said he's been picking up a lot more European johns that are part of tour groups lately. He's going to try to get some names together so we can cross reference them to the guest book and tour records. But we still come back to the same question - why are only some people affected, and the majority are not? I refuse to believe it's simply a matter of who's deprived of sex. That may be one factor, but not the only one. None of the other nuns in the convent was affected, at least to our knowledge, and I think it's safe to assume they're celibate. And I refuse to believe that everyone else on those tours and everyone else who lives in the neighborhood are having sex on a regular basis - God, that would be so depressing." He put on a comically sad expression. Scully laughed at his clown face of depression and ruffled his hair. "Mulder, I can't think. I'm too full from dinner. I know there's something in the file, something significant, but I just can't focus on it. I'm going for a walk on the beach to clear my head." She slipped out of her slacks, pulled on some shorts and sneakers and buckled on her fanny pack. "Want company?" "No. No offence, Mulder, but I'll be able to concentrate better without you." "No offence taken. Have a good time. I want to call Skinner anyway, let him know that we don't think his aunt is crazy, and what we think might be going on." Mulder flopped on Scully's bed and dialed Skinner's home number. Quickly, he brought the Assistant Director up to speed with the results of the interviews and the status of the investigation. He closed, promising another status report the following day. What the hell, thought Mulder. I wouldn't mind a run on the beach before bed - get rid of some of this tension. He changed into soccer shorts, T-shirt and running shoes, then made his way through the overly air-conditioned hallways to the lobby and out the back door to the beach. He set off north at a moderate pace, unaccustomed to the high humidity in the air, and ran in the powdery sand for about a mile before turning back. As he ran past the hotel, he noticed in the gloom about one hundred yards ahead a knot of people milling around and the sound of sirens in the background. He increased his pace, reaching the crowd. Seeing a short, red haired figure in the center, he pushed his way throught the crowd towards her. His heart and stomach did a simultaneous flip. Scully's left eye was almost closed and an ugly purple bruise was developing on her cheekbone. Her blouse was torn open, all the buttons missing, and she was hugging herself to hold it closed.. "Scully, what happened? Are you all right?" "Yeah, I'm okay. I may have just defused our time bomb. He came out of nowhere, Mulder, hit me and started ripping at my clothes. I don't think he was expecting his victim to have martial arts knowledge and handcuffs, though. It was just like Nadine said - he was hitting and trying to tear my clothes off, but the expression on his face was so distant, so uninvolved. As soon as I got him down with the cuffs on, he started to cry." She broke off as the local police arrived. Concisely, she gave her statement to them and they took the still-sobbing man away. "Let's go, Scully." He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "Wait. Just a minute." She couldn't go back into the hotel with only the tatters of her blouse around her. He broke away from her, and slipped his T-shirt off and gently eased it over her head, avoiding contact with the bruised and swollen flesh. She pulled it on, he replaced his arm and they started back to the hotel. "It's kinda sweaty. Sorry." "I don't mind." He could feel her start to tremble slightly as the inevitable reaction set in, and he moved his hand up and down, caressing her shoulder. They left the beach and retraced their steps back up to his room. "Sit down, Scully." She sat on the corner of his bed while Mulder took some cubes from the ice bucket, wrapped them in a hand towel and gently held the compress to the side of her face with unsteady fingers. He sat next to her, his other arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "It's okay, Mulder...*I'm* okay. It's not like with Duane Barry and Donnie Pfaster. I wasn't helpless - I handled it." "And very well, too. Much better than I'm handling it at the moment." She looked up and caught the fear and pain in his eyes. "Poor Mulder. I'm so sorry," she whispered. He smiled a little at her. "Comes with the territory. It's okay. You're worth it." He drew her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her hair. His closeness to her was like food, and drink, and air - all the sustenance he would ever need or want. Scully relaxed against his chest, his rapid heartbeat loud in her ear, his warmth and strength soothing and comforting. They were still for several minutes. "Mulder?" "Mmm?" "Thanks." "For?" "For having faith in me. For not going crazy and getting all overprotective on me." "Oh...you're welcome." For several minutes they were again quiet and motionless. "But you'd like to be." "Mmm?" "Your natural inclination is to be protective of me." He smiled against her hair. "Guilty as charged." "So you're always fighting against your natural instincts. Why?" "That's the way you want it, isn't it?" "Well, yes." "All right, then. Besides, Dana, where you're concerned, those are *not* the *only* natural instincts I'm fighting." A long moment passed. "Oh." With a sigh, he nuzzled her hair, then he reluctantly released her and gently moved her off his lap. "Keep that compress on your face, Scully. I need to take a shower." He plucked some clean clothes out of a drawer and went into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind him. Scully held the compress to her face, rose and crossed back into her room. Dana, you are an idiot, she thought. "Oh." A dozen wonderful replies to his admission came to her mind now - *now* - when it was too late. The moment had passed. And all she could come up with was "Oh". Idiot. *Idiot*. Disgusted, she threw the compress into the sink, stripped and stepped under the shower. That night, sleep did not come easily to either partner. - - - - - Scully had just finished doing what she could with her makeup to disguise the bruises and swelling to her face when there was a knock at the door. The waiter rolled the cart containing breakfast into the room, and made it a point not to stare at the guest's shiner - it was better for tips that way. Scully signed the check and he departed. "Scully, is that coffee I smell over there?" Mulder's head followed his voice around the corner. "Breakfast is served, Mulder." "What's Skinner going to say about a $25.00 breakfast?" He began peeking under the stainless steel dish covers. "Somehow, I don't think he'll care. I finally figured it out, Mulder - what was bothering me about the file. It's really tenuous and will need to be checked out, but I think it makes sense. Here's your coffee - sit and eat while I talk." It was Scully's turn to pace. "Okay. You noticed Sister Mary Monica's hands." He nodded, in the middle of chewing. His appetite had obviously improved since last night. "She's had rheumatoid arthritis for a number of years. Do you remember Gerhardt Meister's photograph? How strange his eyes were? Mulder, that's called exophthalmos, and it's symptomatic of a severe hyperactive thyroid condition, very probably Graves' disease. Elizabeth Willis was diagnosed with systemic lupus erythematosus several years ago." Scully stopped and sipped some fresh orange juice. "What all these have in common, Mulder, is that they belong to a class of diseases called autoimmune disorders. Very simplistically put, the body kind of has an allergic reaction to itself, which can be manifested by any of a wide variety of disease processes. These diseases are not all that common. I think it's statistically significant that two out of the seven people accused of these acts have diagnosed cases of these diseases; and I'm almost certain that Meister will also be positive for an autoimmune disorder. I might even be willing to speculate, if pushed, that Natalie German also belongs in this group. From her photograph, the neck enlargement is unmistakeable, and that is a classic sign of Hashimoto's syndrome, another automimmune disease. So that would make four out of the seven." Scully finally sat and started nibbling absently on a croissant. "Well, the Hashimoto's syndrome might be reaching a bit, but I really think that there's something here. It doesn't explain what's causing the problem, but it might help to explain why only certain people are affected. That, and your sex abstinence theory." "Sounds good. What's your next step?" Mulder drained the last of his coffee and pushed himself back from the table. "I need to stay close to the phone and try to get in touch with Natalie German, Gerhardt Meister, and Herbert Warner, see if we can get any confirmation of autoimmune disease either from them or from their physicians. I'd rather stay in today - I'm not exactly comfortable about going out looking like this." Mulder grinned, his eyes warm. "You're always beautiful to me, Dana." He continued smoothly, as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, "I have to go over to the jail again to interview the guy from last night - the police already called to ask when I'd be there. If you'd like, I can ask Rasmussen for anything relevant from his medical history while I'm there. Then, I want to go back to the convent. Something said yesterday gave me an idea and I want to follow it up." "Hmm-oh, okay, Mulder." Scully was looking at him uncertainly. "See you, Scully." He grinned again and then was gone. Well, what exactly did *that* mean, Scully wondered, sitting down unsteadily on the bed. Shaking her head, she reached for the file. She checked her watch, added on for European time, and started dialing Germany. - - - - - The man who sat in front of Mulder reminded him very much of Rasmussen. Roderick Reynolds of Toronto was calm for the moment, but tears were not far away - again. "I would never do anything like this, you've got to believe me. I don't know what I was thinking. For days now I've felt this kind of pressure building up and building up, and something telling me to go out and take what I want. I couldn't fight it. My God, how everyone must hate me. You must think I'm a pervert or something!" Reynolds' voice was becoming louder and higher pitched, obviously working himself up into another hysterical episode. "Roderick - settle down," Mulder said sharply. The man's head whipped up, his eyes meeting Mulder's. He drew a shaky breath and nodded. "When did you start feeling these urges?" inquired Mulder, more gently. "About two days ago is when I first noticed it." "And when did you visit the convent?" "The convent?" "Yes, when did you visit the convent of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows here in town?" "I've never been there. I just got into town yesterday morning." Mulder sat back, stunned. That theory had looked so good. Now, just when everything seemed to be coming together, something to blow them out of the water. Was it possible that they had been wrong? "Where *have* you been?" "I've been doing some primitive camping in a couple of the parks - Myakka River and Everglades. I just decided that after roughing it for the past two weeks, I could treat myself to clean sheets and showers and restaurants for a couple of days before I have to return to Canada." "What made you decide to go primitive camping?" "I'm a wildlife artist by profession. I've recently gotten a commission to illustrate a book about Florida wildflowers. I prefer to see them in their natural habitats when I sketch - I feel it improves the accuracy of the work. And some of these species are located in pretty remote areas - primitive camping is the only way to go." Yes! Mulder thought. Yes. Maybe they weren't blown out of the water after all. "And there was another reason for doing this now." The man was hesitant. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to get your sympathy or anything. But the fact is that I've recently been diagnosed with scleroderma. It's progressive, it's eventually fatal, and I don't know how long I'll be able to get out into the wild." "I'm very sorry," Mulder said softly, honestly regretful. "As a matter of fact, I don't think you are responsible. There have been several other cases like yours. It would be helpful if you could list all the plants you remember sketching, plus any that might have been near where you were sketching. Would you do that for me?" Mulder passed pen and paper to him. "Sure." Reynolds uncapped them pen and started to write. "Uh - can you tell me - how's that girl I - I attacked last night, do you know?" "I know quite well. She's my partner. She's all right, a little battered looking right now, but she's okay. I'll tell her you were asking about her." "Oh, God, I picked an FBI agent to jump on? I'm surprised you didn't come in here and beat the shit out of me." "As I said, Roderick, neither of us believes you were ultimately responsible." Reynolds passed back the pen and paper. He had listed about forty plants by both commonly known names and by their genus and species. "What happens to me now?" "It will depend on the outcome of our investigation. Hopefully, we'll know more in the next day or so. If everything goes the way I think it will, the charges will be dropped and you can get out of here. Anything you need in the meantime?" "No, just knowing that helps." "Anybody you'd like us to contact for you?" "No. My wife died of cancer about eight months ago. I have a sister in Detroit, but I'd just as soon get out of here and get back home before I talk to her." "Okay. Here's my card if you need anything." Mulder shook hands with Reynolds and left the interrogation room. On his way out, Mulder stopped by the recreation area where he spotted Rasmussen. He waved and walked over to the older gentleman. "Lars, I needed to ask you a question about your medical history. Do have any acute or chronic diseases, especially anything like an autoimmune disease?" "No, I'm in excellent health, thank you. Just my allergies." "Allergies?" "Yes, I have many allergies to foods and drugs. I always keep a list with me, just in case." "Do me a favor - write them down on this paper?" Retrieving the list from Ramussen, Mulder left for the convent. End of Part Three PERSONAL FAVOR 4/4 by Suzanne Bickerstaffe ecksphile@aol.com, ecksphile@earthlink.net March 1995 Disclaimers in Part One Part Four The latest tour group was just leaving the convent as Mulder arrived. He gave his name at the gate and requested to see the Mother Superior. He was beginning to regret his decison not to call ahead for an appointment when the door finally popped open and the voice from the speaker instructed him to proceed to the building. By the time his interview with the Mother Superior had ended, Mulder had much more respect for Scully's misgivings about nuns. His access to convent disciplinary records was a hard-fought victory. For two hours he poured over the records. What he found was so completely supportive of his theory that, perversely, he was suspicious and rechecked his findings twice. The only years in which disciplinary action for sexual offfences by nuns had occurred were 1983, against three nuns, and in 1972, against two. All the offences had occurred in the same two week period in late winter in each of those two years. Next, Mulder sought out Sister Anne. "You mentioned yesterday that the Order had acquired this property 35 years ago." "Yes, June of 1960. Sadly, we benefitted from another's misfortune. The owner just had been convicted of raping a young girl, and was in jail. His daughter was anxious to sell out and start over somewhere else." "Sister, could you look at this list? The plant you mentioned yesterday - the one that blooms every ten to twelve years. Is that on the list?" "Sure, right here. It's sometimes called a Venus orchid, which is a misnomer, because it's not in the orchid family at all. Actually, it's a bulb, like tulips or daffodils. Very rare for Florida. There are some Seminole Indian legends about it." "What do the legends say?" "I don't know the specifics. I know the blossoms were used in fertility rites. And something about the flowers causing madness, which of course is just superstition." Mulder gave her an enigmatic look. "Maybe not. Thanks for your help." - - - - - "Okay, Scully, what have you got?" "It must be my lucky day - I was able to get in touch with everyone. Meister does indeed have a diagnosed case of Graves Disease. Unlike the others, he is married, but his wife has advanced Alzheimers and has been in an institution for eighteen months. Natalie German takes thyroid medication but doesn't know why. That would be a treatment consistent with Hashimoto's syndrome, but it's not conclusive. Herbert Warner has Goodpasture's syndrome, an autoimmune disease. He did visit the convent, on the last day of January." "What's scleroderma? Reynolds, the guy who attacked you, has just been diagnosed with it." "It's another autoimmune disorder. Mulder, that has to be it." "Rasmussen seems to be the only one who doesn't fit the clinical picture - he says all he has wrong with him is a lot of allergies." "Well, allergies are related to the immune system. Obviously, a lot more research is going to have to be done. By the way, your friend Freddy faxed over a list of names - guys who had been picked up with hookers. I cross-referenced them with the convent guestbook - five names were common to both. What did you come up with?" Mulder quickly filled Scully in about his findings from the convent records and his conversation with Sister Anne. "Do you really think that's it, Mulder?" He sat slumped in his chair, eyes closed, massaging his temples. "I don't know. It certainly looks like it. The years in question - 1983, 1972 and 1960 are all years in which the Venus orchid *could* have been blooming, based on its cycle. That's easy enough to check through one of the university botany departments - they would probably have some kind of record. Now it's just a matter of turning the information we've gathered over to the right people for follow-up. We don't want another outbreak the next time this plant blossoms." Mulder sat up. "Well, this has got to be a first, Scully. We agree on all aspects of the case. No demonic possessions; no ghosts, ghouls or giant blood sucking worms; and not an alien in sight. Who would have believed it? Feel up to going out for dinner?" "Not really. How about something light from room service?" "Sounds good to me. Give me about an hour or so - I'd like to go down to the pool and swim some laps." "All right. Look, are you okay, Mulder? You seem tired or depressed or something. I thought you'd be glad that Skinner's aunt isn't a crazy pervert." "I am, I am. Why don't you give him a call now and let him know the results of our investigation?" "You don't want to do it?" "No, go ahead. I need to swim." - - - - - It was late, after two in the morning. Their rooms were illuminated only by their tv sets. Mulder had been pleasant, but quieter than usual at dinner. Scully had been the one to keep the conversation going, keeping it light, turning it to topics that she knew would interest him. They had both ended up going to bed early, but so far Scully hadn't slept, and she doubted that Mulder had either. She lay on her bed as she had for hours now, willing the sleep to come and too tense to do so. One thing about having an insomniac for a partner - there was always company. "Having trouble sleeping, Mulder?" she called out softly. She heard the sounds of his bed creaking, and Mulder appeared in the doorway, clad in navy blue silk boxers and a neon green T-shirt that cut through the gloom. "Yeah - just thinking. I didn't know you were still awake." "Do you need to talk?" Mulder sat at the foot of her bed, looking not at her but at the flickering images on the tv screen and was quiet for a few minutes. "Scully, how familiar are you with my medical record?" "Well, from the number of times I've had to accompany you to Emergency Rooms around the country, and from all those fun times we've shared in quarantine facilities, I would say I'm reasonably familiar with it. Where are you going with this, Mulder?" "Do you know how many allergies I have, Scully? At least eight, that I know of - two of them severe enough to cause anaphylactic shock. Rasmussen was strongly affected by the Venus orchid, and as far as we know, his allergies were the only medical factor. I've been exposed to that plant twice, Scully. I'm more than a little concerned about what could happen to me in about 48 hours." "Eight allergies? That many? I had given it some thought, Mulder, but I remembered only two, so I wasn't really that worried." "Well, two drug allergies, the rest of them are bee stings, shellfish, that kind of thing. So now are you worried?" "Well, I'm concerned, yes." "If our theory's correct - and I think it is - a couple of days from now it's not going to be safe having me running around loose. And I'm not going to want to have you anywhere near me, Scully. I couldn't stand it if I did something...." She sat up and grasped his hand. He returned her squeeze, but still avoided her eyes. Mulder sighed. "Much as I would have enjoyed a couple days of sun and fun, Scully, I think the best course is to get someplace where I can vacation on Thorazine or something and be kept under lock and key for a while." It was Scully's turn to be silent. Finally, he looked over at her to see a parade of emotions crossing her face. "There is another way, Mulder." "Which is?" Scully got out of bed suddenly and faced him. There was tension in her voice. "Don't be obtuse, Mulder. You're not making this easy." She paced the length of the room and returned. "You nearly said it yourself yesterday. You said this might give us the excuse we need." "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" "Yes, I am. There's more than one way to defuse this. Maybe by taking away one of the risk factors, we can head this thing off. I can't do anything about your allergies, the medical risk factor, so that leaves the...uhhh...social one." She avoided his eyes. "We can keep it clinical - think of it as a medical treatment, or maybe just a personal favor." Mulder walked away from her, hands on his hips, shaking his head. He returned to the side of the bed, gently took Scully's hands in his, and they sat together. He looked directly into her eyes for the first time that night. "Dana - no. I can't believe I'm saying this, but no. I'm touched and I'm flattered and I appreciate your offer and you have no idea how much I want to say yes, but - no." She looked away, a slow flush climbing upwards from her neck. Stiffly, she said, "Never mind, Mulder, it was just a sugges-...." He cupped his hands around her face and forced her to look at him. When he was sure her eyes would stay on his, he released her. "No, Dana, please just listen. You know I don't have a lot of experience with relationships - sex yes, but not relationships. Not successful ones, anyway. . I have no relationship to speak of with my parents. Women - well, Phoebe Green is a good example of how those have ended up. You know how poorly I get along with everyone besides you at the Bureau. The only healthy relationship I've ever had was with Samantha, and that was gone while I was still a child. "I've never had a realtionship with anyone like the one we share. In a way, it transcends labels like partnership, friendship; hell, maybe even marriage in a way. It's a whole greater than the sum of its parts. I won't say I haven't thought about it - redefining that relationship, taking it to a different, more...intense...level. But if we ever decided to risk what we have now, it would have to be for something special, something perfect. Not to get some toxin out of my system. I don't want to look on it as a medical treatment, or a personal favor. And I *certainly* wouldn't want it to be *clinical*!" Mulder paused, searching her face for reaction to his words. "I don't want to do anything that will risk what we have right now. Maybe I'm a coward, but it's too important to me." His voice grew softer, more hesitant. "That's one of the things I kept thinking about when...you were in the coma...on all those machines. How would I survive, if you didn't? How could I go on, without you, without whatever it is that we share? The conclusion I came to scared the hell out of me." He smiled at Scully and shrugged. "Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe the allergies don't have anything to do with the effects of the plant after all. Anyway, don't worry about it. I'll deal with it." Mulder caressed her cheek lightly and smiled. "Now scoot under the covers and try to get some sleep." He leaned over, straightening the bedclothes as she settled down. For a second or two, she felt the warmth of his lips on her forehead, then he walked through the door into his own room. "G'night, Scully." "G'night, Mulder." For a second night, sleep was elusive. - - - - - Washington, D.C. February 23, 1995 Scully sat at her keyboard, putting the finishing touches on her report to Skinner: "...and copies of these findings will be sent to the Department of the Interior, the Agriculture Department, the Food and Drug Administration, the Environmental Protection Agency and the Governor of Florida. Law enforcement agencies in Florida have been requested to report to the FBI any cases in which intoxication by the Venus orchid appears to be the precipitating cause. Due to the plant's normal growth cycle, further incidents are unlikely to occur for another ten to twelve years. The rarity of the plant and the mostly inaccessible areas in which it grows should help to keep exposures to a minimum. Criminal charges against Rasmusen and Reynolds have been dropped and they have returned to their respective countries. A copy of these findings has also been sent to each of those people accused of sexual misconduct. To date, over twenty such crimes were reported that can be traced back to exposure to this plant, nineteen of the exposures occurring at the convent of Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows...." For those that had been affected by the plant, the consequences had been devastating. Skinner himself had insisted that each of those affected should have a copy of the report, as they had been victims as much as anyone. The Bureau was working with Florida law enforcement to eliminate those affects as much as possible. Skinner knew first hand what the ramifications had been in his own family. Although Sister Mary Monica's life at the convent had returned to normal, there had been continuing recriminations among family members. Perhaps the cold hard scientific facts of the report could assist in the healing process of the affected families. "...Because of Agent Mulder's exposure to the Venus orchid and his risk factor status, he entered the National Institiutes for Health for observation and monitoring. He required moderate to heavy sedation for two days to alleviate the symptoms caused by the exposure. He has required none for the past 72 hours, and will be discharged tomorrow...." Scully had been purposefully vague on this section of her report. Mulder had gone throught hell, plain and simple. He had refused all contact with her when the symptoms had been at their worst, but the reports she had received from the medical team caring for him had been - graphic. When he had finally consented to take her phone call yesterday, he sounded exhausted. He avoided most of her direct questions about what had happened, how he felt. His conversation had been stilted, unnatural, as if he were holding himself in check with all the determination and strength he possessed. Still protecting me, she thought. Natural instincts were obviously hard to ignore. And so much for the hope that the Florida trip would mean a little R&R, a chance to heal. Instead, there would be more healing that would have to be done. Scully sighed. When he realized the affects of the plant were gone and he could trust himself again, when he wanted her at his side, she would be there for him. "...The above named agencies and departments will continue to research the bizarre properties of the Venus plant. This case is considered closed by this investigator." - - - - - Florida February 23, 1995 Ten inches deep in the warm sandy soil, the being readied itself for its long sleep. Its active time, ephemeral on its home planet, was prolonged in this place of moisture and heat. And the power - the power and control were so much greater here, so much more satisfying. Every time it awakened, it grew stronger, had more influence, touched the lives of more of the Terrans. The future looked promising. But now it was time to sleep. End of Personal Favor