***************************************************************************** This author's email address has changed to: tamarw@gateway.net ***************************************************************************** From parrotfish@ibm.net Sun Mar 16 00:48:17 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW-Trust 4: Air (1/4) MSR by Parrotfish From: Parrotfish Date: Sat, 15 Mar 1997 22:48:17 -0800 -------- Title -- Trust 4: Air Author -- Parrotfish (parrotfish@ibm.net) Rating --- R (moderately explicit sexual situations) Classification -- X (X file), R (Mulder-Scully romance) Summary -- Scully has barely recovered from her second abduction when she and Mulder are sent to investigate a series of mysterious deaths surrounding the charismatic figure of a televangelist. Realizing how much recent events have changed her, Scully decides to tell Mulder exactly what she wants and needs from him. MSR. Completed -- 3/15/97 Author's Note -- This is the fourth story in a series called "Trust." It's the long-awaited MSR, set firmly in the context of an X file. While this story is complete, two warnings are in order: first, it contains many references to events from the previous three installments. Second, it is a cliffhanger. Which, of course, means that there will be further installments, despite the fact that I've run out of elements. :-) Because this series was plotted well before the events of Memento Mori, it assumes that Scully has not contracted cancer. Yet. ;-) And one last note: PLEASE WRITE ME! I've cranked out about 350K in this series by now, and I'd love to hear what you think. Thank yous: To Chris Carter for creating The X-Files; to David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson and the entire cast and crew for bringing this marvelous series to life; and to Fox for putting it on the air. Trust 4: Air by Parrotfish (parrotfish@ibm.net) Part 1/4 A friend of mine who had just started law school at Stanford in 1989, the year of the big earthquake, told me what it was like. At first, he said, there was just a little shaking. He remembered thinking it wasn't too bad. Then the ground in front of him heaved up and tossed him into the air like a toy soldier. My friend, who'd spent all his life on the East Coast, vowed at that moment to go back home and stay there. If this was one of those "little California tremors," he'd be damned if he was going to stick around and wait for the big one. It wasn't until he saw the natives running out of the buildings, hysterical, that he realized this WAS the big one. Afterwards, he told me, he was terrified to go anywhere or do anything for weeks. "I felt like I couldn't even trust the ground under my feet," he explained. That was what it was like when I came back after the second abduction. While I was in the hospital, I still didn't really see the magnitude of the thing. I'd been through so many close calls and hairy escapes that this one didn't seem all that different. Unpleasant, certainly. But still just another tremor. When I got home, things began to change. The reality of it became clear. I had been snatched from my own living room, in front of a witness, held captive for a month and used in horrible experiments involving my brain. Not that I remembered much about it. But this time, I knew for certain it was real. Unlike the first time, now I had reliable, eyewitness accounts of the place I was taken and the procedures to which I'd been subjected. A dozen of my fellow agents -- Mulder -- even Skinner had been there. They'd found me naked, unconscious, wired into a complex network of testing devices. There were no aliens to be found, but some of the technology had been completely unidentifiable. I'm sure Mulder suspected it was of extraterrestrial origin. The technicians who'd been monitoring the test subjects couldn't or wouldn't say what the machines did or what they were testing for. Most of them apparently were quite convincingly ignorant of the big picture and claimed to have no idea that the test subjects were being held against their will. The circumstances of my second abduction were very real, and that absolute certainty robbed me of any sense of security, any confidence that I could control what happened to me. And then there was the threat of cancer hanging over my head like the proverbial sword of Damocles. It was only a matter of time. Mulder had told me of the Mufon women he'd met in Allentown. Every one of them had fallen ill. It would be no different for me. Like my friend, I couldn't even trust the ground under my feet. I have never felt so vulnerable as I did in those two weeks after my release from the hospital in Maine. I don't know what I would have done without Rachel. Somehow, she managed to stay with me throughout that time and never once make me feel that she was watching me. She was just ... there. Nearby. In comfortable proximity. Mulder was there a lot, too. He came by every evening and stayed as long as he could. Every night of those two weeks, there came a time when he'd yawn and flash me a look that begged for an invitation to stay. I didn't give it to him. I couldn't. He seemed somehow too much a part of the whole thing and not enough a reprieve from it. And besides, Rachel had already taken the couch. On the last night of those two weeks, Rachel shut the door behind Mulder, crossed the living room wearily and flopped onto her makeshift bed. "You don't have to go back tomorrow," she said. It was the first time in two weeks she'd made even the most oblique reference to my ordeal. I tensed. "Yes, I do." "Maybe you should take some more time." "I've lost too much time already," I said. "This is different." "No it's not!" I was snapping at her now. She backed down and changed the subject. "I'm sure Mulder will be glad to have you back." I didn't answer. "Why have you been so cold with him, Dana?" "I haven't." "Okay. Maybe not cold. Careful." I sighed, relieving some of the tension. "I don't know. It seems prudent to be careful." "Is that what you want to be? Prudent?" "No. I just don't know what else to be." "He was lost without you, Dana. It sounds trite, but it's God's own truth." "I know. That's what scares me." Rachel looked as if she wanted to say more. "Good night," was all she said. _______________________ The walk to the basement was surreal. I seemed suddenly to have acquired the properties of some bizarre physical phenomenon that could mute sound and slow movement by virtue of its proximity. As I moved through the hallways, conversations stopped on my approach, resuming in hushed tones when I was safely past. People hurrying along slowed down when they saw me, their eyes drawn inexorably to me, then flitting guiltily away. Safe at last in the basement office, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it as if to keep out a horde of invaders about to force their way in. It must have been all Mulder could to not to ask what was wrong. Instead, he just smiled and said, "Welcome back." It was perfect. Exactly the right thing. How often does the right word or gesture, given at a critical moment of transition, make possible things that would otherwise have been impossible? "It's good to be here," I replied sincerely. "Did you miss me?" Our eyes locked. "Yes, I did," he replied. ______________________ The summons to Skinner's office that afternoon was unexpected. I'd thought there'd be at least a couple of quiet days before we'd have to face another of the universe's mysteries. The universe was not cooperating. "Welcome back, Agent Scully," the A.D. said as we entered. "I'm extremely pleased your stabilizing influence has returned to the X files division." Coming from Skinner, that amounted to an emotional outburst the equivalent of tears and hugs in some more demonstrative cultures. He went right on to business. Five mysterious deaths. No signs of foul play. In each case, the victim's airway had spontaneously swollen shut, resulting in asphyxiation. And all the victims had been doing the same thing at the time of death: watching televangelist Isaiah Kolella on TV. "That's an admittedly odd coincidence, sir," I said. "But why is the Bureau involved?" "You have one Detective Weaver to thank for that," Skinner said. "He was not as willing as his colleagues to accept that natural causes and freak coincidence adequately explained the circumstances of these deaths. Apparently, he's heard of the X files, and he played a rather clever angle to get you involved." "Which is?" " He reported this to the FCC as a potential threat to the public. The airwaves are under federal jurisdiction. You leave for Cape Alain, Missouri, tomorrow." ________________________ The mouth-watering aroma that greeted me when I got home made me wonder if I was in the wrong apartment. The music blasting from the stereo made me realize I wasn't. "Rachel?" I turned down the volume in order to make myself heard. "Rachel?" A row of dark bangs and a pair of brown eyes peered around the kitchen door. "Yeah?" "What is that?" "Brian Eno." "Not that. The wonderful smell." "Goulash. My Grandma's recipe. You're in for a treat." I smiled widely at her. "You're something else, you know that?" "Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Now set the table." I was nearly done when there was a knock at the door. Mulder looked hungry. "What, you smelled it all the way at your apartment?" "Must be a wormhole connecting your kitchen to mine, Scully." "Come on in," I sighed, gesturing dramatically. "Rachel, did you make enough for one more?" "Depends," she called back from the kitchen. "Who's the one?" "Mulder." "Definitely not. I'll have to stretch it with Alpo. He'll never know the difference." I added another setting, and Mulder and I sat down at the table. Rachel brought out a steaming casserole dish. For the next ten minutes, there were no sounds in my apartment but silverware clinking on china and the occasional, "This is delicious," mumbled with a full mouth. When I'd blunted the edge of my hunger -- Rachel must have known I'd forget to eat all day -- I allowed myself a good look at Mulder. Despite his obvious enjoyment of the meal, he seemed nervous. "What's on your mind, Mulder?" I asked suddenly. It worked. The question caught him off guard. He looked slightly guilty. "Nothing. Can't I just stop by?" "Of course you can. But there's something on your mind." He put down his fork but kept his eyes glued to his plate. "Look, I don't think I'll be needing you on this one, Scully. Why don't you stay and handle things in the office?" "You don't need me on this one?" My voice was quiet but menacing. "There's probably some perfectly logical explanation for the TV connection in these deaths, Scully. No big deal." "Let me get this straight, Mulder. You've got a series of unexplained deaths, all linked by circumstance but with no signs of foul play, and you don't think a forensic pathologist would be useful to have along?" "I can manage, Scully." "You..." I didn't get more than one syllable into an outburst before Rachel's strong, cool hand clamped down on my arm, stopping me. "Mulder," she said quietly, turning to him. "Surely you don't think this is a good idea." "I'm just being practical," he replied sulkily. "Bullshit!" Rachel was glaring at him. "You're being protective, and that kind of thing is not helpful." For the first time during this exchange, Mulder looked at me. His eyes betrayed deep concern. "I just didn't think Skinner would send us out on the road so soon," he said quietly. "Neither did I." I sighed tiredly. "But he did, and that's that. If it weren't tomorrow, it would be the next day or the day after that. It wouldn't have made all that much difference in the long run." "Yes, but..." "Mulder," Rachel interrupted. "Leave it alone." There was a long silence. "Okay," he said at last. We finished our meal in silence. I banished Rachel and Mulder from the kitchen, insisting I would wash the dishes myself. Twenty minutes later, I emerged to find the two of them standing together at the window, staring out into the night and conversing quietly. They hadn't noticed me yet, and I watched them, wondering what they were talking about. They looked comfortable together. The defensive flippancy Mulder so often displayed -- even with me -- was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, I saw, Rachel had gotten through Mulder's defenses. I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, her directness, her naked honesty had gotten through mine quite efficiently. This thing between them had grown in my absence, I realized sadly. My absence. The world had gone on -- their lives had gone on -- without me. Oh, I knew my abduction had been hell for both of them. I suspected it had nearly driven Mulder over the edge. But still, they'd gone on. I drew a ragged breath, shook my head to clear it and crossed to join them at the window. "I hope you two aren't gone too long," Rachel said. "Me too," I replied. We stood together and watched the night's black glow. _____________________ "Everyone thinks I'm nuts for calling you guys in." Detective Weaver was a very tired-looking man. He was extremely tall and tended to hunch forward so that, when seated across from him, his most prominent feature was the bald spot on top of his head. "And here I thought everyone was staring because of my boyish good looks," Mulder quipped. Weaver smiled humorlessly. "You noticed that, huh?" "They pay me to notice things," Mulder replied. "Can we get started?" I really didn't need to see another demonstration of Mulder's witty repartee. "Of course," Weaver said. I felt guilty for seeming impatient. "Here are the autopsy reports on the first four victims," Weaver said, handing me some files. "Victims?" I repeated. "You're convinced there's been a crime here?" "Frankly, Agent Scully, I don't know what to make of it. But I'm damn sure there's more here than five random deaths from natural causes. By the way, I saved the fifth body for you. It's waiting over at the hospital morgue." Suddenly, my heart was thudding so loudly I thought Weaver and Mulder would hear it. I sighed to disguise a deep, shaky breath and kept my eyes down. Autopsy. Shit. I hadn't really thought about that. "Thank you. I'll go get started." The steady voice that came from my mouth sounded to me like somebody else's. _____________________________ END 1/4 From parrotfish@ibm.net Sun Mar 16 00:50:55 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW-Trust 4: Air (2/4) MSR by Parrotfish From: Parrotfish Date: Sat, 15 Mar 1997 22:50:55 -0800 -------- Trust 4: Air by Parrotfish (parrotfish@ibm.net) Part 2/4 The tiny morgue at Cape Alain Memorial Hospital was glaringly white, the gleam of its tiled walls giving it the appearance of an absurdly clean bathroom. Morgues are such hard places, I mused, standing there in my starched, white lab coat. All porcelain and steel and blank. The dead don't need soft pillows or cheerful decorations. An orderly wheeled in a gurney with a white sheet covering the long, inanimate lump of a corpse. A chart was clipped at one end. I picked it up and studied it carefully. It was obvious at a glance that it contained little information of interest, but I spent a long time looking at it anyway. The moment I was waiting for refused to come. The knot in my stomach would not dissolve. The pounding in my head would not ease. I couldn't put it off any longer. I hung the chart in its place and pulled back the sheet. Male. About 35-40 years of age. Good physical condition. White. Very white. Deathly white. Naked. Cold. How long before another doctor in a starched, white lab coat pulls back a sheet to reveal ... me? I got on with it. Mulder came in as I was cleaning up. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" he said, gesturing toward the body on the table. "Joseph Forrester. Age 37. White male. Police officer. Cause of death, asphyxiation. No known allergies, but it looks exactly like an allergic reaction. We'll know when we get the results from the blood work." I didn't look at Mulder as I spoke, busying myself instead dumping instruments in the non-sterile bin and pulling the sheet up over what was left of Officer Forrester. When I'd finished, I sneaked a glance at Mulder. He was watching me in that way he has -- trying to look like he's not watching me at all. "What's next?" I asked, the edge in my voice conveying a different meaning. Back off. Don't ask. I'm fine. "What say we pay a little visit to the Reverend Isaiah Kolella?" Message received. "Let's go." _______________________ The Miracle Hand of God House of Worship and World Broadcast Center was located some twenty miles outside Cape Alain, in the town of Dowell. In fact, the modern, cement-and- steel structure seemed to be the only non-residential building in Dowell, conveying the sense that the town's main business was piety. We flashed our badges at the bright-eyed, clean-cut kid sitting behind the reception desk. "How can I be of service?" she asked in a tone of voice that indicated she used the very same words at least fifty times a day. "We'd like to speak with Reverend Kolella," Mulder said. "Do you have an appointment?" "No." "Oh, I see. Well, usually Reverend Isaiah is very busy, but I imagine he might be able to squeeze in a few minutes for the defenders of our great nation." I considered disabusing her of the notion that FBI agents served in wars, then thought better of it. If it got us some time with her boss, I supposed I could play the part. Besides, she was already on the phone. "Jeannie? It's Fran. There are two FBI people down here who'd like to speak to him. Any chance? ... That's great. Thanks so much, honey. Bye." Fran pointed us down the hall behind her. "Upstairs and to the right," she said with a smile. "Thank you." As we headed for the stairs, we passed a row of tall, heavy oak doors, one of which stood open. I stopped and looked in. The Miracle Hand of God sanctuary was cavernous. It looked like a cross between an old-fashioned movie palace, a cathedral and the auditorium of a Fortune 500 company. Every seat in the place -- and there must have been a thousand of them -- seemed individually focused on one point -- an imposing, carved-wood, Gothic-style pulpit that stood on a wide, empty stage. Behind the stage was a twenty-square-foot bank of video screens, which at the moment were coordinated to display one huge image of an ornate, stained-glass window. I hadn't realized how long I'd been standing there when I heard Mulder walk up behind me. "Looks like Jesus wants his MTV," he said softly. I smiled. "Let's go meet the star of the show," I said. ____________________________ Jeannie ushered us into a large, comfortably appointed office. "Reverend Isaiah Kolella?" I asked, flashing the badge again. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, and this is Special Agent Fox Mulder. We'd like to ask you some questions about some recent deaths." "The Lord is merciful and just," said the man behind the massive, imposing desk. He was an older man, probably in his 60s, with thick, white hair, a deeply lined face and piercing brown eyes. "Did you know a Joseph Forrester?" I asked. "No. Has he gone to judgment?" "He died two days ago." "The Lord's will be done." "What about any of the following people?" I consulted my notebook. "Delores Stacker. Janet McFee. Carl Anderson. Howard Limky." "I do not know the names." I found myself at a loss what to ask next. Why they had died while watching him on TV? That didn't seem like a great idea. Fortunately, Mulder jumped in. "Reverend Kolella, is your show taped or broadcast live?" "We bring the word of the Lord live to our cable television viewers three mornings a week." It was odd, the way he just answered our questions without asking why we wanted to know. Mulder, perhaps as much at a loss as I, went straight to the point. "Do you have any explanation why the five people we mentioned would have died in a similar manner, all while watching your show?" I examined Kolella closely. He didn't bat an eye. "The Lord is just," he said. "Well, if any additional information comes to mind, please give us a call," Mulder said, the sarcastic edge in his tone obvious. He handed over his card, and we walked out. _________________________ Our evening meal was a diner affair, a typical one for Mulder and me. I was picking at a Greek salad, lost in thought, until Mulder's voice broke in. "Scully? Is that okay?" "Umm... Is what okay?" There was a long, uncomfortable silence. At last, Mulder decided to repeat his question. I was grateful he chose not to ask what I'd been thinking about. "I said, why don't we split up tomorrow? I'll talk to friends and relatives of the deceased, see if the victims have anything in common. You can review the medical histories. Is that okay?" "Sure. That's fine." I didn't say anything for the rest of the meal, and afterward, I was grateful to get back to my motel room despite its depressing, softer-side-of-Sears decor. After two hours, I accepted the fact that sleep would not come and turned on the television. Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. "Come in." Mulder entered and stretched out on the spare bed. "You seem to be taking a page from my book," he said. "Hmm?" "Two AM Twilight Zone fix." "Can't sleep." "Why not?" "Does there have to be a reason?" I snapped. "I just can't." Mulder gave me that look I hated -- his I'm-the-psychologist- and-you're-the-patient once-over. "Go back to bed, Mulder. I'm fine." "If you were fine, you'd be sleeping." "You never sleep." "That's how I know." I sighed. "Look, Mulder, it's going to drive me crazy if you mother me. Can't you just let it go?" "No! I can't just let it go." After the kid-gloves treatment I'd been getting from him for weeks, his peevish reply came as a surprise. I responded in kind, standing and facing him. "Well, either you let it go, or you let me go! I won't have you treating me like an invalid!" This seemed to soften him. He reached out and gently cupped my cheek in his hand. "No, Scully," he said softly. "I won't let you treat yourself that way." I backed away and crossed my arms. "I have got to get back to normal, Mulder," I said tightly. "I can't do that with you hovering over me." He sat down and patted the bed next to him. I sat. He reached for the remote and turned off the TV. "Tell me what you mean by 'normal,'" he said. I swallowed. "I have to work. I have to concentrate and do my job well." "And what makes you think that will be a problem?" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, thinking. Weighing. Deciding. "I'm afraid," I whispered, taking the plunge. "I barely made it through the autopsy today." I felt his hand take mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "You are the most courageous person I know," he said. "You will conquer your fears." He said it with such conviction that I almost believed it. I opened my eyes. "Until then," he went on, "please let me help, if I can. Scully, I can't even imagine what you've been through. They took you twice, and they did things to you that you couldn't control. You don't even know what the long-term effects will be, if any. How can you expect to just pick up your life where you left off?" "I did it last time." "You did it by pretending nothing had happened." "Well, what was I supposed to do? Quit my job and join an alien abductee support group?" "It's not for me to say what you should or shouldn't have done. But it's different now. For one thing, we know a lot more about what happened to you." "I'm not so sure that's a good thing." "Nothing about this is a good thing." His voice quivered, betraying the emotions behind his concern. That did me in. Tears came to my eyes, and I felt my face twist into an expression of the grief and fear I'd been trying so hard to deny. "I'm so tired," I said as I collapsed toward him. "I know." His arms came around me and held me tightly as I shook with sobs that forced their way around the painful lump in my throat. He stroked my hair and my back, rocking me gently and murmuring words of comfort. "Shhh. Don't cry. It'll be all right. You're okay now. I'm so sorry." He slid back onto the bed, pulling me along with him until we lay side by side. He wrapped himself around me, creating a cocoon of warmth with his long arms and legs, my face buried in his T-shirt. I felt as though I would fly apart into a million pieces if he let go. He didn't. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep. I don't know if Mulder slept at all that night, because when I woke up, his eyes were open and watching me. I tried to squirm away, suddenly uncomfortable at the memory of the weakness I'd displayed the night before. He reached for me and pulled me to him almost roughly. Pinned up next to him, I went stiff. "Scully," he whispered. "It's just us here. Don't you trust me?" I raised my head and looked him in the eye. "You know I do." "Then why run away?" "I don't know. Habit, I guess." He smiled, and I found to my surprise that I was smiling, too. "Okay," I said. "I'll try to break it." I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his neck, smelling the salt and warmth of him. "Thank you, Mulder," I whispered. "Don't ever thank me, Scully," he replied. And then he got up and left. _______________________ I didn't see Mulder again until evening. It was just as well. I spent the day immersed in work I understood, work I knew I was good at. And I was able to think. Clear my mind. Make some decisions. "So what did you get, Scully?" Mulder asked as he slid into the booth across from me. "Cheeseburger." "I meant from the medical records." "Oh. Not much." "What does that mean?" "It means I couldn't find anything in any of those people's records that might explain sudden, severe airway edema. The blood work didn't turn up anything, either -- no allergies, no toxins, nothing. There was just a random assortment of stuff you'd expect to find in any five people from this socioeconomic group." "Such as?" "Well, one of the victims had recently had an abortion. One of the males had been treated for syphilis. And one of the females had a number of relatively minor conditions usually associated with alcoholism." "Hmm." Mulder didn't volunteer any more than that. He just eyed his menu thoughtfully. "So what did you come up with?" I asked after the waiter had taken his order. "Well, they're a mixed bag. One was a waitress, single, age 37, three kids." I nodded. "She's the alcoholic." "Then there's a male, 26, single. Works in an automotive parts factory. Another male, 44, is a truck driver with a wife and two kids. They say he's never home much." "That's the syphilis case," I said around a mouthful of the cheeseburger that had appeared before me. "Charming," Mulder said. "Maybe someone ought to tell his wife." "What else?" "Well, there was a seventeen-year-old, female stripper." "Abortion." "And a 32-year-old cop. Male." "My autopsy. And they had nothing in common?" "I didn't say that." "You mean you found something?" Mulder smiled his most smug smile, the one that was equal part annoying and endearing. "They all met Kolella within a week before their deaths." "You think Kolella was lying when he said he didn't know them?" "Kolella didn't say that. He said he didn't know their names." Trust Mulder to remember the details, I thought. He went on. "Kolella meets a lot of people every day. They line up after the service to shake his hand, maybe exchange a few words. That's how he met each one of these people. But he was probably telling the truth when he said he didn't know their names." I thought this over as I ate the last of my burger. "Granted, it's a strange coincidence," I began. "Strange coincidence? Scully, five people died watching the guy on TV, and it turns out he'd just met each of them. That goes well beyond a 'strange coincidence.'" "Okay, maybe it does. But it doesn't implicate him in any way. We don't even have any evidence that foul play was involved at all." I waited for the outburst to come. Mulder was about to ask me how I could deny the obvious connection. Pitch me some crazy theory about God knows what. He didn't. ________________________ END 2/4 From parrotfish@ibm.net Sun Mar 16 00:52:25 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW-Trust 4: Air (3/4) MSR by Parrotfish From: Parrotfish Date: Sat, 15 Mar 1997 22:52:25 -0800 -------- Trust 4: Air by Parrotfish (parrotfish@ibm.net) Part 3/4 I went back up to my room and changed from my no-nonsense, professional attire into a T-shirt and sweatpants. I was trying not to think too much. If I thought any more, I might not do what I'd decided to do. And damn it, I wanted to do it. I needed to do it. It was time. I walked out into the motel hallway and down to Mulder's room. I was about to knock when I noticed my feet. I'd forgotten to put my shoes on. Somehow, it seemed appropriate that I do this barefooted and unadorned. He opened the door and I went in. "What's up?" he asked casually, pulling on a sweatshirt over his jeans. I noticed he was barefoot, too. Good, I thought. We come to this moment both alike. "So what's your theory?" I asked. "I'm not sure yet." "Yes you are. You're just not telling me." He ran a hand through hair still wet from the shower. "What difference does it make? You'll only tell me that I have no evidence, which of course is true." "The difference is that you usually tell me your bizarre theories without waiting for the evidence." "That only irritates you. You don't need that right now." "That's not for you to decide!" I stopped and made an effort to check my anger. Then, more quietly, "I told you yesterday, Mulder. I need to work. That means working the way I always have. The way we always have." He looked at me for a long moment, sizing me up. I imagined the worst -- that he was probing for signs of weakness. Then he looked away. "Okay, you want to know what I think? I think Kolella has the ability to project some kind of psychic energy. Energy that can kill. I think he can only do it on the air. I'm not sure of the motive yet, but I suspect he believes he's acting as God's messenger." He looked at me again. Confusion crossed his features. I was smiling at him. "Yup. That's way out there, Mulder. Even for you." "Aren't you going to point out all fifty good reasons why my theory is not only impossible, but insane?" "Not this time. That's actually not what I came here for." "No?" "No." I paused, searching for the courage to go on. "I came here to talk about my abduction." He drew in a sharp breath, betraying his surprise. I crossed slowly to a chair by the window, collecting my thoughts. "Not really about the abduction itself," I said as I sat, "but about what it's done to me." I waited for him to say something. When it was clear he wasn't going to, I went on. "Everything seems so fragile to me now." I could hear my voice change, tremble. I cursed myself mentally. This wasn't the face I wanted to show. I wanted him to believe that I was speaking not from fear but from self-knowledge. It was important that my words convey honest conviction, not frightened confusion. I paused, willing my heart to slow and my mind to calm itself before continuing. "They've stolen so much from me. My sense of security. My sense of control. But most importantly, my time." My eyes wandered, drawn to the sliver of a moon that hung in the night sky like a bit of lint on a black sweater. "I don't know how much time I have, Mulder," I went on quietly. "None of us does," he said. "But especially me," I replied. Unspoken truths hung in the air. More abductions. More danger. Cancer. "There's something I've been thinking about a lot since I got back," I continued. "I thought about it a lot today, and I made a decision. That's why I'm here." "What is it, Scully?" he asked gently. I swallowed. Here goes. "I've been thinking about time. About all the long, sleepless nights I've spent, feeling lonely and frustrated. I look back now and I realize all those nights were so much time wasted. Precious time. Limited time. Time I could have spent ... with you. Time I did spend thinking about you and wondering what this thing between us is really all about. So I decided to ask you." "What exactly are you asking me?" I looked up at him, standing so close to me as I sat there, and shook my head. "I don't even know the right words, Mulder. Do you need me? Want me? Love me? None of those is right." I paused, at a loss. "I'm sorry, I'm not doing this very well. But the thing is, I don't have all the time in the world any more. And I'm no longer willing to waste it not knowing." He knelt down, bringing his eyes level with mine, sliding his hand down my arm to rest lightly on my wrist. "I understand the question. And the answer is yes." I searched his face for any telltale signs of pity, guilt or reservation. I found none. I closed my eyes, suddenly afraid to look at him as I told him the truth. "I want to make love to you, Mulder," I whispered. "I want to make love to you as though this were the last night of my life." "But it isn't." "I don't know that." I opened my eyes. Mulder's face was scant inches from mine. "There are good reasons we never crossed that line before," he said. "Don't you see, Mulder? We've always been afraid that what we do now will be used against us tomorrow. But tomorrow may never come. There's only now." Emboldened by my own words, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. They were soft and still warm from the shower. He didn't move a muscle. I pulled away, stood and turned my back to him, looking out the window at the waning moon. "Scully." I felt him move in close behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. "I've always gotten the sense that you thought it would be a terrible mistake for us to become sexually involved. The fact that you're changing your mind at a time when you're especially vulnerable makes me wonder if you'll regret it later." "Don't do that!" "Do what?" "Don't talk to me like that! I am not an emotional cripple. I'm not a traumatized witness, or the subject of one of your psychological profiles. You know who I am." "Yes. I know you. I'm sorry." His voice was sincere. I turned. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my cheeks, on my lips. "I used to believe in a lot of things I don't believe in any more," I said, my eyes begging him to hear all the things I was really trying to say. Asking him to believe that I was sure. That I was right. "I used to believe that there was justice within our system of law and government. I used to believe that time was a universal invariant. I used to believe that true love would inevitably lead to courtship, marriage, children. I no longer believe any of those things." "What do you believe?" "I believe I am here, now, with you. And that I want to make love to you." I leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "Tell me the truth. Do you want me?" "Yes." It came out a ragged whisper. "Why is it," I went on, still whispering, "that in all other things, you act immediately on your desires and needs, without stopping to think -- but not in this?" "Because I have resisted this for so long. I've convinced myself that I am not allowed this." I drew back just enough to see his eyes. "You are." I poured all the conviction in my soul into those two words. You are permitted to feel. To experience joy. We both are. I brought my hands up to his face and drew it down to mine. Our mouths met again. This time, his lips moved hungrily over mine, his arms wrapped tightly around me, and he pulled me to him so hard that I exhaled sharply into his mouth. We spoke very little the rest of that night. There was, after all, nothing to say. We made love quickly, with furious passion, then slowly, opening ourselves to each other. The touching is what I remember most. The quick, tentative touches we'd used with each other for years were transformed into long strokes, gentle caresses, firm grasps, all suddenly without limit. We couldn't stop ourselves once we'd started. It gave us a sense of freedom, touching each other without restraint, that was exhilarating. When at last we knew we were ready to sleep, we wrapped each other up in a twining embrace, like two trees that had grown together through the years to become one. _________________________ Morning light had just begun to leak under the window shades when I awoke. There was the usual moment of disorientation I always experienced when waking up in a generic motel room. Then there was another, less familiar sensation of confusion when I registered the touch of warm flesh pressed against my back and thighs. Mulder. Shit. I slept with Mulder. Years of mental reinforcement had conditioned me to greet that thought with a mixture of panic, denial and irrepressible arousal. God, this was complicated. I closed my eyes and let the memories of the previous night slide through my mind, down into my belly and out across my skin. They warmed me, inside and out. The panic eased. I turned slowly, tickled by hairs on the arm draped bonelessly across my middle. He was not yet awake, and I saw again something I'd noticed many times before: Sleeping, Mulder was almost a different person. Gone were the forces of intellect and emotion that animated him, gave his face character, informed his bearing. Asleep, he was a much simpler person. Just warm flesh and steady breath. Just there. Reassuringly alive, but unfamiliar. Before, I'd always been disconcerted when confronted with a sleeping Mulder, as if the man I knew had been snatched and replaced by a clone. But this morning, the sight of his relaxed form brought me a sense of peace. I was almost sorry when his eyes opened. "Good morning," I said, propping myself up on one elbow. And then there was this smile, a smile such as I had never seen on him before, and I was not sorry at all that he was awake. I'd have woken him up sooner if I'd known what treat was in store for me. "Good morning. Sleep well?" I nodded. "What are you thinking?" I asked, wondering what was behind that grin. "That waking up in bed with you is not at all what I'd imagined it would be." "And what did you imagine?" I asked suspiciously. Visions of cheesy skin flicks danced in my head. "I'll never tell. But I promise you, the reality is much better." I never got a chance to probe that cryptic statement. The phone rang, and I reached for it. He grabbed my arm. "My room," he said, picking up the receiver himself. Funny, I thought. A few days ago, neither of us would have thought twice about answering the phone in the other's motel room at any hour of the day or night. I wondered how many other things would be different now. "We'll be right there," he was saying. Then he hung up. "Another death," he said. I nodded and turned to get out of bed. "Wait." He stopped me. "What?" He sat up and leaned toward me, kissed me, ran a hand down my naked torso to settle at my hip. "Just that," he said. I smiled. "Exactly." _____________________ A worn, weathered sign proclaimed: Frank's Top Dollar for Old Cars We Sell Parts Cheap. Acres of rusting old junkers surrounded a rickety shack that bore the rather optimistic label, "Garage." Mulder and I picked our way around piles of decaying parts and leaky old car batteries toward the lopsided little structure. We found Detective Weaver inside with a couple of uniformed officers and a teen-aged kid in greasy coveralls. The body was lying on the floor under a table. The only other pieces of furniture in the grimy room were a chair and a TV that sat on a counter. The rest of the place was cluttered with randomly strewn car parts. I knelt by the body and did a cursory exam. "Looks like the others, but I'll have to do an autopsy to be sure. He's been dead maybe twenty-four hours." "Kolella's time slot," Mulder observed. "The TV was on when the kid found him," Weaver offered. "Tuned to the right channel." I sighed in frustration. This really was weird. "Why don't you get on with the post-mortem, Scully?" Mulder said. There was no implied, "If you're up to it" in his words or his tone, and I was grateful. Perhaps he had taken my words of the previous evening to heart. Heaven knew he'd taken much more than that. "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Watch some television." _______________________ There were those eyes again. Eyes that watched me as I stood, followed me as I walked. Cold, hostile eyes. And I was in no mood for it. The autopsy had been bad enough. So when the desk sergeant at the Cape Alain police station turned those eyes on me, I felt more like shooting him than speaking civilly. "I'm looking for my partner." "Good luck," was the icy reply. "Have you seen him?" My trigger-finger twitched as I spoke. "Yeah." I was ready to threaten the bastard with obstruction of a federal investigation when Weaver appeared. "Agent Scully? He's back here." I shot the most menacing glare I could manage at the singularly uncooperative officer as I followed Weaver through a door. "What's with these people?" I asked when we were out of earshot. "I told you. Everyone around here thinks I'm nuts for calling you guys in. I guess it's rubbing off on you." "That's a change. Usually it's the other way around." "Excuse me?" "Never mind." "Agent Mulder is in here." Weaver indicated a tiny office and walked away. I heard the singsong cadence of full-tilt fire and brimstone within. "Same as before?" Mulder asked as I entered. "Yes." No need to go into details. I knew Mulder would remember them. "Check this out, Scully." Mulder hit the rewind, sending the Reverend Isaiah Kolella into a self-parody that reminded me of something I'd believed as a child -- that Satanists conducted their worship by reciting Mass backwards. Mulder hit play, and the singsong returned. "As the prophet Zechariah told us: 'Then I turned, and lifted up my eyes, and looked, and behold a flying scroll. And he said to me, What seest thou? And I answered, I see a flying scroll; the length of it is twenty cubits, and the breadth of it is ten cubits. Then he said to me, This is the curse that goes out over the face of the whole land; for every one who steals shall be cut off henceforth according to it, and every one who swears falsely shall be cut off henceforth according to it.' So I say, cursed be the thief! Let him know the Lord's justice!" "What did you get for time of death, Scully?" Mulder asked, turning the volume down. "Between 6:00 and 7:00 AM Wednesday." "This aired at 6:22. And guess what our friend Weaver found at the junkyard?" "The '57 Chevy of his dreams?" "Pieces of just about every car on the hot list in a twenty-mile radius." "Mulder, that's a perfectly understandable coincidence. Kolella probably rails against stealing about as regularly as Pamela Anderson runs down the beach in a low-cut swimsuit." "I never figured you for a Baywatch fan, Scully. But that's not all." He popped the tape out of the VCR and inserted another one. As he pushed play, Kolella's voice again filled the room. "Marriage is a sanctified state," he was saying. "It brings a man and a woman closer to God. It is His will that we couple only with the blessing of righteousness. For the Lord said, 'And the man that commits adultery with another man's wife, that commits adultery with his neighbor's wife, the adulterer and the adulteress shall surely be put to death.' So I say, cursed be the adulterer! Let him know the Lord's justice!" Mulder hit another button on the remote, and the image froze. Kolella's face was staring directly out at us, the picture of smoldering, self-righteous fury. I wanted to hide from that gaze. "This diatribe was on at the moment of Carl Anderson's death," Mulder was saying. "The truck driver." "Yes. The one who had recently been treated for a venereal disease." "Still..." I began. "Scully, they all fit. Delores Stacker? The 'abortion is murder' sermon was on that morning. Janet McFee? Kolella cursed the dissolute that morning. It's him, Scully." "All right. Let's say Kolella intuits all this personal information about these people and somehow uses it to cause their deaths. We still don't have a shred of evidence. What are we going to do? Arrest him on charges of casting the evil eye?" Mulder was silent. I could see his frustration in the grim set of his mouth. It always seemed to come down to this. He was sure he'd solved the case. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. "We're going back to the church." He didn't look at me, afraid I'd fight him on this. "To do what?" "Confront him with what we know." "You're hoping he'll confess?" "I don't know. All I know is that Isaiah Kolella killed those people." It was a statement, but I heard the question in it. This, too was something we always seemed to come back to. It wasn't the question one might have expected. Not, "Do you believe me?" That wasn't important. But, "Do you think I'm mad?" That was a question Mulder asked me again and again, in a thousand ways. I took comfort in that moment. It reminded me just how much Mulder needed me. Despite all that had happened to me, this had not changed. "All right. Let's go." No. You are not mad. __________________________ This time, we didn't stop to chat with Fran. She had this stunned look on her face as we breezed by, a result, I supposed, of our unthinkable audacity. The doors of the sanctuary were open, and a lone figure stood on the stage as we entered. "How do you do it, Kolella?" Mulder's voice echoed in the vast, empty space as he walked slowly up the center aisle. I stayed back, instinctively covering the exit. Kolella merely stared at Mulder. Even from where I stood, I could see in his face the same ferocity that had been evident in the paused image that had glowed in a dingy back room of the Cape Alain police station. Now it made the fine hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. "Is it the words? The gestures? Something else? Tell me how you do it." Mulder stopped some twenty feet from the stage. Kolella moved to stand behind the ornate pulpit, lit from behind by the garish stained-glass video. He glared down at my partner, who looked childishly small before him. "I don't know what you mean," he said, his voice resonant and emotionless. "How do you kill, Kolella?" There was a long silence before the minister spoke. "The world is a sinful place." My heart thudded in my chest. "That may be so. But you have no right to judge," Mulder said. "I do not judge. The Lord judges." "I know you believe that. But it's not true. You have a power no one else has, so you believe it's an expression of God's will. It isn't. You're not an instrument of divine justice. You're a vigilante." "The Lord is my shepherd!" Kolella thundered. "The Lord is your excuse!" Kolella ignored him, raising his eyes to scan the hall. He stopped when he found me. "Your judgment is already upon you. It is within you." My heart was racing now, the sound of oceans rushing through my head. Words eluded me. "You must stop this," Mulder said, a pleading quality in his voice. Kolella's gaze returned to him. "You are an unrepentant sinner, and your presence fouls the sanctity of this place. Leave now." Mulder turned on his heel and stormed out. I followed. ____________________________ It was late in the afternoon as we pulled up behind the motel. Neither of us had said a word since leaving the Miracle Hand of God House of Worship and World Broadcast Center. We went up to Mulder's room. He didn't turn the light on, just stood in the dimness. "I'll go back over the autopsy reports again," I offered. "Maybe I missed something." It was a feeble attempt, and I knew it. Mulder said nothing. "There must be a reason all this started so suddenly," I tried again. "Maybe if we trace Kolella's actions around the time of the first death, we'll turn something up. Some physical cause, maybe, like Modell." "We'll never be able to prove a thing." His voice was flat. He turned slowly. "Kolella told you..." "I know what he told me. He's a lunatic, Mulder." "But you're scared. I can see that." Damn. How could he possibly tell? His simple statement upset my equilibrium. "I'm fine, Mulder." When in doubt, cover. The corners of his mouth quirked up. "Are we back to that?" "Well, what about you? You stand there quietly seething, and then you chide me for my reticence?" He sighed and shook his head. "Why is it that so much between us is so easy, but some things are so difficult?" I moved close to him and rested a hand on his cheek. "Because we've always been in such difficult circumstances," I said. "We've had to adapt." "Do you think we can change that?" I put my arms around him and pressed my face against his chest. "We already have." _____________________________ END 3/4 From parrotfish@ibm.net Sun Mar 16 00:54:11 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW-Trust 4: Air (4/4) MSR by Parrotfish From: Parrotfish Date: Sat, 15 Mar 1997 22:54:11 -0800 -------- Trust 4: Air by Parrotfish (parrotfish@ibm.net) Part 4/4 The room was gray with early morning light. I had a sense that something had awakened me, but I didn't know what. I reached across the bed to find Mulder. He was gone. Was that it? Had he just gotten up, his movements disturbing me? No. I could smell the trace of him and of the scent we'd created together overnight. But his spot was cold. He hadn't been in bed for a while. A tiny sound reached my ear, like the gurgle of water in a clogged drain. It came from very near me. I reached for the lamp on the night table, groped for the switch and turned it on. Mulder lay sprawled on the floor by the bed. One look at him, and I could tell he wasn't breathing. The door to the adjoining room -- my room -- was open. From his position, he seemed to have dragged himself across the floor from that direction. I could barely hear the sound of the television in there, turned way down low. I was out of bed in a flash, moving across the chilly room. Goosebumps rose on the flesh of my thighs, bare below my T- shirt. "Hang on, Mulder. Just hang on. I'm here. I'm going to help you." It was in the suitcase somewhere. I was pulling things out and tossing them aside, hunting for it. There. The medical kit. At the bottom. I grabbed it and yanked the zipper on the large pouch as I ran back to the bed, turned the whole thing over and dumped out its contents. My shaking hands rummaged through the pile. Glass ampule. Plastic-wrapped package. I ripped at it, freeing the syringe. My fingers felt like dead twigs, clumsy and useless as I worked to break the slender neck of the ampule, insert the needle and pull back on the plunger. "I'm going to help you. You'll be okay." I tried to keep talking. Done at last. As I kneeled down beside him, I saw Mulder's eyes, wide and frantic with the panic of a drowning man. I rammed the needle into his arm. The plunger seemed to take forever to move all the way down underneath my trembling thumb, pushing the clear liquid through the tiny opening at the needle tip buried in Mulder's biceps. When the syringe was empty, I pulled it out and grabbed my watch off the night table. Fifteen seconds. Twenty. Thirty. It's not supposed to have worked yet, I reminded myself, battling panic of my own. Forty-five. Sixty. Eighty. I heard it again. The gurgle. Ninety. The sound became a steady wheeze. One hundred and twenty seconds. He was breathing. I lifted his head gently and slid my bent knees underneath, stroking his hair and watching as the color in his face returned to normal. "You're all right now. Try to relax. Take deep, even breaths. In ... out ... in ... out ... in ... out." "Reminds me of last night," he whispered. I smiled. "This is your doctor speaking." "My doctor has an impressive sense of rhythm." His voice grew stronger. "Timing is everything. They taught me that in medical school." He sat up, now breathing easily. "What was that?" he asked, nodding toward the syringe lying on the floor. "Epinephrine. It acts as a bronchial relaxant, and it's used to treat severe allergic reactions that cause airway closure." "I didn't know you had allergies." "I don't. I brought it along because of the nature of this case. I figured it might come in handy." "You figured right. That was close." Mulder brought a hand to his throat and rubbed gently. "What happened?" I asked. "He was on. I got up to watch. He cursed me." Mulder's eyes met mine, and I was hit with a horrifying realization. "You knew he would." "I wasn't sure." "But you suspected. Mulder, you could have died!" I was furious. "I know. But how else could I be absolutely sure?" "What good is being absolutely sure if you're absolutely dead?" "But I'm not." God, he was exasperating. "So what was your sin? Self-destructive curiosity?" Much to my surprise, he grinned wickedly. "Nope." "Then what?" "Apparently, the Lord hates a fornicator." I smiled despite my better judgment. "God, Mulder. The weirdest things happen to you." "Tell me about it." His expression changed, sobered. "This is our chance, Scully." "Our chance for what?" "To stop the killings." "It is? How?" "Kolella no doubt thinks I'm dead by now. When he finds out I'm not, he may believe he's lost his power. And if he doesn't believe he has the power, I suspect he won't be able to use it successfully." "What do you propose to do?" "Go see him again and act as though nothing has happened. That should rattle him some." He stood up and began to move toward the bathroom. "Hey!" I called from my seat on the floor. He turned. "Won't you give a fellow sinner a hand up?" _________________________ Our timing couldn't have been better. Kolella had not yet gone off the air when we left the motel. When we got to the Miracle Hand of God, the last of the faithful were piling into their Dodge Rams, Pontiac Grand Prix, Ford Tauruses and Plymouth Dusters. The parking lot was already almost empty. We opted for a back door by the dumpsters rather than the main entrance with its alert, perky receptionist, figuring the element of surprise might be helpful. Once inside, I raised an eyebrow at Mulder as if to say, "Which way?" He headed up a back stairway. As luck would have it, we emerged at one end of a corridor at the same moment Kolella appeared at the other end. He froze in his tracks, one syllable echoing through the empty hallway. "You!" We walked toward him slowly as Mulder spoke. "We'd like to ask you a few more questions, sir." His voice was innocent, even deferential, as though he were addressing a person of some importance and great dignity. Mulder excelled at playing a part. Kolella stood as still and silent as the proverbial pillar of salt. "Where were you on the night of June 7th?" I suspected the date had absolutely nothing to do with this case. I knew it didn't matter. Mulder was just getting in the man's face. Still Kolella stared. "June 7th?" Mulder repeated. "Do you know where you were?" "What are you doing here?" The words came from Kolella's throat like the rumble of distant thunder warning of a gathering storm. "I told you. We had some more questions." "But ..." Kolella's voice died on the word. "But what?" Silence. "Sir? June 7th?" " I don't know." "I see. Well, if you do recall your whereabouts on that night, please give us a call. You have my card?" Kolella didn't reply. Mulder reached into his pocket, removed a card and held it out to him. He didn't take it. "Sir? Are you all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost." Mulder shrugged and turned to me. "Come on, Scully. I think we're through here." We retreated the way we'd come. Neither of us spoke until we were once again outside in the parking lot. "I think that had the desired effect," Mulder said. "We'll never know for sure. If the deaths stop, it might be an unrelated coincidence. If they don't stop, we won't know whether your little charade failed, or whether Kolella was never responsible in the first place." "Never responsible? You know what happened to me, Scully. Just now, Kolella was completely shocked to see me. The deaths will stop." "Let's hope you're right," I said, starting across the lot toward our now-solitary car. A shot rang out, shattering the crisp autumn morning. I spun around just in time to see Mulder fall and to spot a figure in an upstairs window. By the time I drew my weapon, he was gone. "Mulder?" I crouched beside him and saw blood welling through a tear in his coat sleeve. "I'm all right. Go!" "He might come back." "I'll be fine! Go!" With that, I raced back into the building. Inside, I heard footsteps running somewhere overhead. I dashed upstairs, stopping on the next to last step to brace my weapon, listening. Nothing. The hard smoothness of the wall slipped across my back as I eased my way up. When I felt my shoulder blade at the corner, I pivoted around it and brought the gun down. The corridor was empty. I was advancing cautiously when another sound came to me -- a heavy, metal door closing somewhere ahead. I broke into a run. Around a corner, at the far end of the hall, were three doors. I eyed each one. None seemed right. I turned slowly, trying to work out what was wrong. There. On the wall. A ladder. My eyes drifted up, found what must have caused the sound I'd heard. Not a regular door. A trap door to the roof. Interesting problem. This position made me Bugs Bunny to Kolella's Elmer Fudd. Once I poked my head up through the hole, there would be nothing to prevent him from blowing it off. Okay, time to be a clever rabbit. Think. I approached the ladder and started up. It was just a few rungs. A short drop. I grasped the handle, praying the door wouldn't be as heavy as it had sounded, and pushed with all my strength. It swung up and open, falling aside with a loud clang. Without waiting to see what would happen next, I leaped off the ladder, down and away, letting myself roll to the floor, bringing my gun up toward the opening. And waited. Had Kolella already escaped through another roof door? Possibly. But I couldn't just stick my head through that opening to find out. He could be behind me, in which case I would be offering him an easy target. Not a risk worth taking. I listened carefully. Nothing. I imagined Kolella standing up there, frozen, gun aimed at the opening, listening just as intently. Standoff. But I had the advantage. Right now, Mulder would be calling for backup. All I had to do was wait. If Kolella was still up there, he had every reason to try to get away before the cavalry arrived. The next couple of minutes felt like hours. I tried not to move, not even to breathe. There it was. The faintest scuffle. He was up there, and he was moving. I sprang for the ladder and up, facing the direction from which the noise had come. "Federal agent! Freeze!" Kolella had been heading away, probably toward another exit, but my order brought him wheeling around. He fired wildly. My first shot brought him down. I'd aimed low, thinking a leg wound would be the end of it. I underestimated him. His next shot was wide. But the one after that whistled so close I felt the breeze on my ear. So I finished it. My bullet ripped through his heart at about the moment I heard running feet in the hallway below. I ducked down the ladder to see Mulder skidding to a halt. A second of eye contact told the story. Then we headed up together to confirm that the Reverend Isaiah Kolella had indeed gone to judgment. _____________________ Familiar landmarks slid past, illuminated by the early evening glow of the dying sun. Everything the same as ever. Everything brand new. Mulder and I had taken this route together dozens -- no, hundred of times. This time was different. The accustomed routine had been broken. Before Cape Alain, Mulder would have stopped the car in front of my building, popped the trunk and said good night. Now, on our way back from Cape Alain, I had no idea what would happen. No, that wasn't altogether true. I had some idea. "Scully?" The car had stopped. "Hmmm?" "You okay?" "I'm fine, Mulder." We looked at each other, both of us unsure of the next move. The situation suddenly struck me as funny, and I laughed out loud. "Would you like to come up?" Mulder looked grateful. "Yes." Inside my apartment, we dropped bags and hung up coats, then sank onto the couch. I leaned my head tiredly against his shoulder. "Ouch!" "Oops. Sorry." I sat up. "How does it feel?" I asked, indicating his bandaged arm. "Not bad, if you don't lean on it." I moved around to his other side and eased my weight onto his good shoulder. He stroked my hair, taking up a slow rhythm. "We should call Rachel. Let her know we got back okay." The gentle movement of his hand stopped. "Mulder?" "Hmm? Oh, yeah. You're right. We should call her." I moved back and looked at him. His eyes flitted nervously away. "Can I ask you something, Mulder?" "Sure." "Did you sleep with her while I was gone?" "No!" His answer was sharp and too quick. Was he lying? No, I didn't think he would lie about something like that. But there was clearly more to it. "You didn't." "No." "But you wanted to?" A long pause. "Yes." He swallowed before more words would come. "I even tried to. She stopped it." "She's pretty wise. I suspect under the circumstances that neither of you would have felt very good about it afterward." "No." His voice dropped with remorse. "But you wanted to. You still do." "No! I..." "Mulder ... it's okay." I lay a finger on his lips to silence him. "It's okay. She's ... she's a lot like you, in a funny way. More than I am. Intuitive. Impulsive. But she has this uncanny knack for grounding you. I've seen her do it." "But..." "But what?" "But I love you, Scully." I smiled fondly. "I know. But the rest of the world doesn't cease to exist because of that." He looked unsure. "She's a good friend, Mulder. To both of us. That's a good thing, not a bad one." He sighed wearily. His confession still bothered him. I decided to drop it for now. "I'll go make some tea." I moved to the kitchen. As I filled the kettle, I felt him move up behind me, press himself against me, his hips nestled up against my lower back. "Can I make another confession?" he asked softly. "Feel free." "I've had the most outrageous fantasies of making love to you here." "Up against a sink?" "Not exactly. In your apartment." "Really?" "Really." "Why?" "Because it's yours." I put the kettle down on the counter and turned in his arms. "I've had the same fantasy." "You've fantasized about me?" "Oh, yeah." I smiled , remembering. "Tell me." "Yeah, right." "No, I'm serious. Tell me one of your fantasies." So I did something I'd never thought possible. I spoke aloud my fantasies of Mulder. To Mulder. God, how quickly things can change. "Do you like Chopin, Mulder?" "Yeah, I guess so." I slid out of his embrace and led the way to the living room. I didn't have to rummage for the CD. I knew exactly where to find it. I slipped it into the player and waited for the gentle piano strains to spill from the speakers. "The Preludes always make me think of you." Mulder's face grew tense with concentration, his eyes unfocused as he listened to the music, trying to tease out the connection I'd made. He shrugged. "I don't get it." "No? Then I'll explain. Listen to the languid sound of the solo instrument. The rich, suggestive melody. The wide dynamic range, slipping from quiet introspection to bold insistence." My voice was deep. I walked slowly toward him. "And then there are the endings." "What about them?" His voice was gravel and sand. "They're not really endings. There's no sense of finality. No resolution. It's as though every Prelude ends with a question." I was standing inches from him now. His eyes were glazed and misty, as though I'd hypnotized him with words and music. As if to illustrate my point, the piece drew to a close at that moment with a long, low note. I stood on tiptoe and reached behind his head, pulling his lips to mine, our kiss lasting exactly the duration of the dying melody. "I have listened to this music and thought of you a hundred times," I whispered as the next piece began. "Thought of me?" "Yes. Touched myself and thought of you. Imagined you touching me there." "I never knew." There was a charmingly naive note of honest wonder in his voice. I smiled. "I never really has the opportunity to tell you before. What was I supposed to say? 'Here are those toxicity reports, Mulder, and oh, by the way, I climaxed last night alone in my apartment, listening to Chopin and screaming your name.'" He inhaled sharply, and a hot blush spread across his cheeks as he reached for me, pulled my hips firmly to his so I could feel the effect I was having on him. "I wish you had," he said. "Oh, really? And what about you? Have you ever thought of saying, 'I think the perpetrator was acting under the influence of an alien mind-probe, and, oh, Scully, by the way ..." "...By the way," he interrupted, "last night, for the smallest fraction of a second, my fist turned into you, and I was wild with the thought of planting myself in you that way, and I could actually smell you and see you and feel you because I've memorized all those things about you." It was my turn to inhale sharply. "Have you really done that, Mulder?" "A thousand times." He leaned in to nip at my neck, and my head fell back to give him better access as he slid his hips sensuously across mine. "God, we've wasted so much time." I felt a tear well from the corner of a closed eye. "No," he said. "You were right, Scully. We always have right now. And right now wouldn't be so sweet if we didn't have all these stories to tell. No regrets. Right?" I snickered softly. "Would this be the king of remorse talking?" "At your service, my queen," he growled, maneuvering us both toward the couch. That evening, Mulder proved that I'd been right all along. Chopin came quite naturally to him. __________________________ The phone rang, and I picked it up groggily. "Scully?" "Mulder? Where are you?" I remembered moving from the couch to the bed, but nothing after that. Mulder was supposed to be next to me under the covers, not on the other end of the phone. "Scully, I need you." I was wide awake. The anxiety in his voice blasted the fog from my brain. "Where are you?" "At my place. I just got here." "Are you okay?" "Yes. but I need you here. Fast." "I'm on my way." I was dressed and out the door in two minutes. I was banging on his door in another fifteen. He opened it immediately. "Mulder, what is it? Has something happened? Did you ..." My words faded as he stepped away from the door, allowing me to see into the apartment. A young woman sat in a chair by the window, staring at me. She was Samantha Mulder. "Oh my God!" I approached her slowly. "Samantha?" She didn't reply or even indicate she'd heard me. "She was here when I got home. Just sitting there, exactly like that. She hasn't said a word." I knelt in front of her so that our eyes were level. "Samantha? Can you hear me?" Nothing. Her eyes had a vacant, hollow look. I stood and walked behind her, clapped my hands loudly in her ear. She flinched. "She can hear us," I said, coming around in front of her again. "Samantha?" I held up a finger and moved it from side to side. Her eyes tracked the motion. But there was no other response. No recognition of our presence. No attempt at communication. Nothing. "Scully," Mulder said in the choked voice of a frightened twelve- year-old. "What's wrong with my sister?" _____________________________ END TRUST 4: AIR Please write me! I'm eager for feedback. parrotfish@ibm.net Series Note -- The first story in this series, "Trust: Fire," is a straight X file. It introduces the character of Rachel Sachs, who appears throughout this series. "Trust 2: Water" is a cliffhanger that puts our heroes on the road to learning some truth about the conspiracy, about their past, about themselves, and about their feelings for each other. "Trust 3: Earth," resolves the cliffhanger, trading heavily along the way in Mulderangst and UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension). "Trust 4: Air," is another straight X file in which our heroes finally express and act on their feelings for each other. While the X file is resolved, Trust 4 has a cliffhanger ending.