Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: SMYTHJA@BRAVO.aston.ac.uk (SMYTHJA) Subject: Unrequited, 1/2, Culverson Danielle - xnet71.txt [1/1] Date: Mon, 26 Feb 1996 21:23:55 GMT This is a fiction story based on the characters created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by 10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognised characters and plot-lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep me as the author. Rating - R - (Some sexual content) Danielle Culverson. This is for Paul, for putting up with me bossing him around in Medicinal Chemistry practicals. Unrequited. (Part 1 of 2) Gases hissed into a large reaction chamber. A thin clear liquid in the bottom of the chamber bubbled and evaporated as it was heated. Through a small window in the side of the chamber, a nervous looking young man watched the reaction taking place, his eyes filled with anticipation. He moved away from the chamber and went to a control panel, where he pressed two buttons, and turned a dial up. He watched the monitor in satisfaction as the temperature reading for the reaction chamber rose. Harry Mingland could barely control his excitement. His work of the last three years was almost complete. There remained only a few more tests, and then he would be able to apply for market testing. Only five minutes with the temperature at 500'C, and the mixture would be ready. The minutes passed, and Mingland turned to the pressure release valve to return the pressure inside the chamber to normal. He opened the valve, and watched in horror as the pressure in the chamber continued to rise. Frantically, he started hitting buttons as his eyes watched the pressure gauge climbing towards danger level. As the needle entered the red danger zone, Mingland hit the evacuation bell, and ran from the room. He barely escaped the building before the pipes surrounding the reaction chamber fractured, and a cloud of vapour rose into the sky. * * * Dana Scully stood at the door of the X-files office, her right hand holding a briefcase, her left hand holding the door open as she watched her partner in mild amusement. Special agent Fox Mulder was storming around the small office they shared, shifting heaps of paper on his desk and the shelves nearby, dropping most of the to the floor. He stopped for a moment, and brushed his hands back through his tousled brown hair. It was then that he noticed his close friend and partner, trying not to smile. "Lost something, Mulder?" Scully asked, coming into the office, and closing the door behind her. "I thought I left it here." Mulder muttered, returning to his desk, and pulling the drawers open, "I wanted to read through that file, - you know, the one on the New Jersey case that I took over from Greeber and Walbrook. - I can't remember where I left it." He turned round and came face to face with the filing cabinet. "Maybe I filed it." he muttered, "What a horrible thought." Seeing Scully watching him, Mulder crept up to the filing cabinet on tip toe, and pulled the top drawer open with exaggerated caution, as though it contained a poisonous snake. He peered into the drawer from as far away as possible, and shook his head. "No, it's not in there." "It wouldn't be." Scully said, smiling, "You completed it last week and sent it back. You're getting forgetful in your old age, Mulder." "Other things on my mind." he muttered, and pushed the filing cabinet closed. He dropped into his imitation leather chair, swiveled it round to face Scully, crossed one leg over the other, and put his hands behind his head. Scully opened a drawer in her desk, and pulled out a notebook. She started to make notes in it. Without looking up, she said, "Mulder, you're staring." Mulder reddened, and turned back to his desk, sitting up as he did so. That was the problem with working with Scully. She always seemed to know what he was doing or thinking. He pulled a file from his "In" tray, and opened it, casting a sidelong glance at his partner as he did so. * * * Nevil Tinston straightened his jacket before the lift reached the floor his office was on. A tall, distinguished looking man in his mid-fifties, he had worked at "Morgan and Sons" solicitors for nearly forty years, and was well respected in his profession. The lift door opened, and Tinston smiled at his secretary as he breezed into his office. Kirsty Stanner was forty-eight. A sensible, hard-working woman, she had long brown hair which she braided before work, and had been Tinston's secretary for thirty years. He was a good, fair boss, always very understanding, and she liked working for him. The intercom on her desk buzzed, and Tinston's voice came through. "Kirsty, could you come in here for a few minutes, please." "Yes, sir." she answered, and picked up her notebook and pen, in case he wanted her to take dictation. Kirsty opened the door to Tinston's office, and went inside, closing it gently behind her. Her boss was standing by the open window, looking out across New York. He turned as she entered, and motioned her to take a seat by his desk. As she crossed the room, he went to the door, and locked it. "Now no-one can disturb us." he muttered. Kirsty looked around at him, her eyes wide and scared. She had heard her secretary friends talking about their bosses who always wanted them to work late, but had always thought her boss too nice to get up to anything like that. She watched him nervously as he approached her. He was loosening his tie. - She had never known him to do that before. - She sat down quickly. "You're beautiful, Kirsty." Tinston said quietly, "Do you know that? You're a really attractive woman." He sat down on the edge of the desk as he spoke to her. "I never really noticed before, but when I came in this morning, I said to myself, "Nevil, your secretary is incredibly attractive. How come you never tried to pull her?" Of course I know how come. - I'm your boss, it didn't seem right, - but now that doesn't seem to matter any more." Kirsty shrank back in the seat as Tinston put out his hand towards her. He pulled the band from her hair, and combed it loose with his fingers. Then he gently stroked her face with one hand. The skirt Kirsty wore came down just past her knees when she was standing, and just above them when she sat down. She had never thought it too short, but now, as Tinston's gaze dropped to her legs, it felt totally inadequate. With one hand still stroking her face, he lowered the other to her knees, and ran his finger over her bare skin. She stood up with an exclamation. "Sir!" "Kirsty!" He stood up, put one hand behind her head, and kissed her hard. She tried to move away, but his arms held her close to him, and he pushed her backwards onto his desk. His hand crept up her leg, dragging her skirt with it. She struggled, but it only seemed to make it easier for him. "Mr Tinston!" she cried, "Get off me!" It made no difference. She had never considered this could happen since she had started working for him thirty years earlier, but it was. She couldn't bring herself to call it making love. It wasn't. It was just sex. Lust. He took her on his desk, and when she realised she couldn't get away, she turned her head away from him, and fixed her eyes on the phone which was by her head. After what seemed like eternity, it was over. He stood up, and repaired the disarray of his clothing as though nothing had happened. Then, without any apparent change of mood or expression, he picked up the sharp metal paper knife that lay on his desk. He raised it high above her, and she saw the sun shining on it through the open window. Then he brought it down into her, again and again, and the last thing she saw was her own blood staining her shorthand notebook. * * * Mulder sat in front of Skinner's desk as the Assistant Director spoke to his secretary outside. He was nervous. He never knew what to expect with Skinner. Sometimes he was called in here to be told off, sometimes to receive a new case, - an X-file. Mulder firmly preferred the latter, but was unfortunately better acquainted with the former. He looked at the little plaque on the desk, - "Assistant Director Walter Skinner", - and frowned slightly, trying to remember what breeches of conduct he had made recently. Skinner returned to the office, and sat down. "Don't look so worried, Agent Mulder." he said, "If you've done anything particularly terrible lately, I haven't heard about it." Mulder relaxed slightly, but not much. He didn't trust Skinner. Not that he really trusted anyone. Except Scully. "I've got a new case for you. It's in New York City." Skinner continued, taking a file from his desk drawer, and passing it to Mulder, who began reading it dutifully, although he wouldn't have bothered if Skinner hadn't been sitting in front of him. "A solicitor raping and killing his secretary?" Mulder asked sceptically. "I know it doesn't look much at first sight," Skinner agreed, "but the solicitor, Nevil Tinston, claims he never had any sexual feelings towards his secretary until that day, and says he must have been crazy to do what he did. He's been tested by several well-respected psychiatrists, but they can't find anything mentally wrong with him. I know it isn't much, but I think this one needs your touch. There's something weird going on." "Thanks." Mulder muttered. He closed the file, and stood up. "Agent Scully has already been informed." Skinner told him, "I imagine she'll have made your traveling arrangements already." * * * Indeed she had, and early evening saw them in New York. They went straight to the crime scene, where they met "Gismo" Merringdon, the police chief in charge of the case. "I don't know what to make of this." "Gismo" told the agents, "Nevil Tinston is a really nice guy. I can't imagine him doing anything like this, but he admitted to it. He says he doesn't know what he was doing. Even having sexual relations with his secretary is something he would never do, I would have said. And murder... Well, I can only say I believe him when he says he musn't have been in his right mind." "Not many murderers are in their right minds." Scully said quietly. Merringdon looked at her. "You don't understand." he said, "Tinston just isn't like that." Mulder looked towards his partner, but she seemed convinced. After all, she had read the psychiatrist's reports during the journey. "I've arranged for you to visit him at the hospital tomorrow," Merringdon said, "I hope that's okay." "Fine." Mulder muttered, and looked at the blood-stained desk. He had seen photos of the scene in the case-file, and even without them, it was obvious what had occurred. "Miss Stanner's notebook and pen, and the murder weapon were sent for analysis, I presume?" "Yes," Merringdon replied, "The results should be back tomorrow, but we don't expect they'll show anything unusual. Tinston has admitted what happened. His story fits the scene, and he appears to be telling the truth." "Yes," Mulder said quietly, now looking out of the office window, "but who can be sure what the truth is, even when the facts are known?" * * * Abigail Erin sat near the front of her English class, her eyes fixed on the teacher. She was a bright fifteen year old, with black hair and green eyes. She loved English, although not just because of the subject. Her teacher was thirty-three year old Timothy Luton. He made the lessons really interesting, and was always making jokes. Abigail sighed as the bell went, indicating the end of the lesson, and packed up her work slowly, watching the teacher filling in the register at his desk. These lessons always went far too quickly, and those between them dragged on for ages. She left the classroom with the last of her colleagues, and went to the library. She sat there for half an hour, wondering what to do. Then she heard two girls near her talking. "I couldn't understand it at all," the first girl said, "I thought I would never be able to do it, but I went to his office, and he was really nice about it, and went through it all with me." "You went to a teacher's office to ask about homework?" the second girl asked incredulously, "Weren't you embarrassed?" "Yes, but he was okay about it, so it was alright." Abigail smiled to herself. Now she knew what to do. A few minutes later she was outside Timothy Luton's office door, a piece of homework in one hand, and what she hoped was a worried but sincere-looking smile on her face. "Abigail! Come in." the teacher greeted her. She entered the small room, and sat down, putting her homework on his desk as she did so. "What's the problem, Abigail?" he asked. "I was having a bit of trouble with my homework, sir. I wondered if you could show me how to do it?" "Oh?" Luton leaned over her to look at the work, and she felt his arm brush against hers. It was fairly dark in the small room, as the window blinds were closed, and there was so much furniture in the room that it was difficult for him to reach the desk while she was sitting where she was. "Hmm." Luton muttered, "First of all, if I'm going to help you with your homework, you should call me by my first name, - Timothy, or Tim if you like, - rather than "Sir". I'm not that old." "Er... okay. Tim." "Second, I don't believe you have any problem with this work. You're a very bright student. I think you had something entirely different on your mind when you came here." "No... I didn't..." Abigail protested. "I think you did. I've seen you watching me in lessons. I guessed why. I wondered how long it would be before you came. So, now you're here, I'll give you what you came for." He leaned forward, and kissed her hard on the lips. Her eyes widened in surprise, and when he release her, she stood up, and tried to get to the door. He blocked her way, and before she knew what was happening, he had pushed her up against his filing cabinet, and was kissing her again. His hands rose to her blouse, and ripped it open as he held her in place with the weight of his body. Suddenly his hands were on her skin, and she realised that what she thought she had wanted, she didn't really want at all. "Tim!" she cried, "Sir! Get off me!" You can't do this, you're my teacher!" "I'm sorry, Abigail," he whispered, as he fumbled for the zip on her skirt, "I didn't mean this to happen, but you're so pretty,... and seductive... and sexy..." his words broke up between his kisses which lasted longer and longer, and it was all she could do to breathe as she lost her virginity to him while he held her against the filing cabinet. When it was over, tears were running down her face, and he held her head in his hands lovingly as he kissed away her tears. then suddenly he slammed her head backwards into the corner of the filing cabinet, and the world punched out. * * * Mulder and Scully sat in a small hospital room, Scully at the side of the bed, Mulder on a chair by the wall. Nevil Tinston was sitting up in bed, two pillows behind his back. He wore pale blue pyjamas, which looked business-like. His face was pale, and his hands trembled slightly as he fiddled with the sheet on the bed. There was a calendar on the wall opposite the door, and a window in the wall opposite the bed. Scully held a medical report in her hands, and her eyes dropped down to this every so often as Tinston spoke. Mulder leaned forward on his chair, his elbows resting on his knees, listening intently to everything that Tinston said. "I've no explanation for what I did," the solicitor was saying quietly, "I'd never consider taking advantage of Kirsty. She was a close friend, and as I'd known her so long, she was more like my colleague than my secretary. I've never once, in thirty years, considered even making advances on her. And as for... the rest of it..." "The murder." Scully said pointedly. Tinston winced. "Yes... the murder. I remember it all happening, but it was like I was in a dream, all of it. I wasn't really there, just watching, and I wasn't in control. The doctors... they say I'm not mad, but how else can I explain this? I'd rather be mad than know I was sane and did that." "You say then, that you were not in control of your body when you stabbed Miss Stanner, thirty six times?" Scully emphasised the number of wounds. "Does that sound controlled?" Tinston pleaded, "Surely only a few would have been fatal? Hacking a woman apart is not something sane people do." "Angry sane people do." Scully said quietly. "They call it temporary insanity." Tinston pointed out, "And I wasn't angry anyway. I just came into my office and... whatever. I don't know what happened to me. You can't understand... I can't put into words how I feel about this." "Try." "I..." he paused, "Horrified, sick, grieved, shocked... just... total disbelief." "And yet you know what happened." Mulder pointed out. "Yes, and I can't believe it. - So why should you?" There was a knock at the door. A nurse beckoned through the small window in it. Mulder excused himself, and left the room. A few moments later, Scully joined him. "Chief Merringdon wants a word with you." the nurse told them, "He's down there." She pointed along the corridor. Mulder thanked her, and the partners went in the direction she had indicated, and found "Gismo" Merringdon. "There's been another murder." he said, "A teacher killed his female student after having sex with her. It seems similar to this case. I thought you'd want to know." End of part 1. I'd greatly appreciate any comments or constructive criticism from fellow X-Philes. Email me at . Danielle Culverson. =========================================================================== Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative From: SMYTHJA@BRAVO.aston.ac.uk (SMYTHJA) Subject: Unrequited, 2/2, Culverson Danielle - xnet72.txt [1/1] Date: Mon, 26 Feb 1996 21:24:45 GMT This is a fiction story based on the characters created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by 10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognised characters and plot-lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep me as the author. Danielle Culverson. Unrequited. (Part 2 of 2) * * * Mulder and Scully moved carefully around the small office, rubber gloves on their hands. The teacher had been taken to the police station, the body to the hospital, but otherwise the room was how it had been at the time of the crime. The blinds at the windows were closed, and the semi-darkness of the room made it even more eerie. the chair by the desk was tilted back against the wall, as though someone had stood up in a hurry. There was blood, brains, and hair on the top corner of the filing cabinet into which Timothy Luton, an apparently gentle English teacher, had slammed the head of his fifteen year old student, Abigail Erin, seventeen times. According to what the agents had heard, when Luton had killed Erin, he released the body, and sat down for a few minutes, his head resting in his blood-stained hands. Then he had realised what he had done, and run out of his office, screaming for help, with Erin's blood still all over his hands and face. "What kind of sick person does it take to do this?" Scully mused as she looked at the dried blood which had run down the side of the filing cabinet. "How can anyone lose control so suddenly?" Mulder wasn't paying much attention. "Penny for your theories?" Scully smiled. "I was just thinking of the similarities in the two murders." Mulder replied, crouching down to pick up a blouse button and deposit it in an evidence bag. "Both murderers were thought of as nice, respectable people. In both incidents, sexual intercourse took place just before the murder. The murders were sudden, with no warning, and excessively violent. In both cases, sexual relations are against human moral codes." he shrugged, "I don't know what all this means though." He pulled off his gloves as he left the room. * * * Timothy Luton sat on a wooden chair, his hands handcuffed in front of him. The chair was the only piece of furniture in the interview room. Light came in through the high, barred windows, and from the naked light bulb in the ceiling. An emergency alarm pad ran at hip level around the edge of the room. Muffled sound from the rest of the police station filtered through the closed door. Scully stood in one corner, facing Luton, her arms folded, her heels together. Mulder paced slowly up and down. Luton sat with his eyes downcast, tear stains on his face, which was red from the duty nurse scrubbing the blood from his skin. "So," Mulder said finally, "tell us what happened." "I... I don't know." Luton moaned, "I did something... awful." "You raped one of your pupils, and then smashed her head into a filing cabinet." Scully said sharply. "No..." Luton paused, "It wasn't me... I wouldn't." "Tell me about Abigail Erin." Mulder cut in. "Abigail... She's... was, a very bright student. She had a gift for English. She... had a crush on me. I'd known for some time. She used to watch me all the time in lessons. I knew that eventually she'd start making excuses to come and see me when I was alone." "You were looking forward to that?" Mulder asked. "No!" Luton cried, anguished, "I never wanted anything to happen between us, - not just because she was a pupil, - I didn't want a relationship with her." "Obviously you changed your mind." Scully stated. "No." Luton answered, "I didn't change... something changed me. I wasn't in control of my body when I... you know... it was like I was watching someone else." "And when you killed her? When you slammed her head against a filing cabinet seventeen times?" Scully asked, "What happened then?" "It wasn't me." Luton insisted, "I had nothing against Abigail. Why should I kill her? I... can't explain what it was like. It was just too awful to describe." "What did you do afterwards?" Mulder asked. "I just sat there for a while. Then I realised what I had done, and that Abigail was dead, and I ran to get help." "Why didn't you clean yourself up first?" Scully asked, "Why not try to cover your tracks?" "I never even considered it." Luton answered, "I'm not used to killing people." * * * Scully walked back towards the hotel alone. Mulder had wanted to wait at the police station for the test results on Nevil Tinston and Kirsty Stanner, so they had agreed to meet back at the hotel. It was a cold evening, and she walked quickly, her heeled shoes tapping smartly on the pavement. There was a man walking ahead of her. She was gradually catching hgà up. As sho'/¶¡sed*o6ºþ he(gave an exclambion.  "Hey! Don't I know you? You're staying at the Plantation Hotel, aren't ynl? I saw you in the breakfast room this morning." the man smiled sincerely, and quickened his pace slightly to match Scully's. "I'm on my way back." he told her, "You too?" She nodded. "My name's James Cuskow, by the way." "Dana Scully." she acknowledged. "So Dana, what brings you here?" "Business." she said shortly. "Right! I'm on business. I work for the sales company, Gringham and Sons. I've been away from home for four months. I miss my family like anything. I've got a wife, and two sons. You got any family, Dana?" "No." she answered. "But, who was that man I saw you with this morning?" "My... colleague." Scully replied, and then added, "We have separate rooms." She paused a moment, and then asked a question of her own, "How old are your sons?" "Danny's six, and Peter's nine." he answered proudly, "They're two fine lads." Soon Scully and Cuskow were deep in conversation, and they arrived back at the hotel before they realised where they were. They got into the lift together. "I'm on the third floor." Cuskow told the liftman. Scully looked up, surprised. "So am I." she said. They arrived at Scully's room a few minutes later, and stopped outside the door. "Do you want to come in for a while?" she asked as she opened the door. "Well, we were just getting to know each other." Cuskow smiled. He followed Scully into the room, and sat down in the armchair which stood near a two seater settee on one side of the room. Scully hang up her coat and bag, discreetly removing her gun as she did so, and leaving it in the bag. Then she went over to Cuskow, and sat down on the settee. They chatted for some time, laughing and making jokes like old friends. Scully barely noticed Cuskow move next to her on the settee. Suddenly he was whispering words of affection in her ear. She stood up quickly. "Er... James, I think perhaps you ought to leave." she said carefully, "I don't know where you got the wrong idea, but I only let you in here for a chat." Cuskow stood up, and followed Scully to the door. She reached out to open it, and Cuskow caught hold of her arm and pushed her down onto the floor. Scully tried to pull away from him as he knelt over her, but it appeared he'd had combat training, and he countered her every move. He kissed her savagely, and she bit into his lip, tasting his blood, hot and bitter. He pulled back quickly, and looked down on her. Then he ripped her blouse open, and began trying to force her skirt up her legs. She struggled harder, and he punched her in the stomach, winding her, and for a few moments she could only lie still, trying to catch her breath. Suddenly the door flew open under the impact of Mulder's shoulder, who entered the room, his gun out and aimed at Cuskow. "Get off her!" he ordered angrily. As Cuskow slowly got up, Scully rolled away to one side, and tried to repair the disarray of her clothing. Her blouse was torn open, her skirt around her waist. She stood up shakily, holding her blouse closed, as Mulder took the now handcuffed James Cuskow out of the room. He came back a few minutes later. "Are you okay?" he asked. Scully nodded shakily. She had sat down on the settee again, and was still clutching her blouse to hold it closed. Mulder sat down next to her. "Who was he?" he asked. "A man... I met him while I was walking back. We talked, and got on well. I asked him in for a chat when we got here, and everything was fine for a while. He started saying things, and I told him to leave, but when I tried to open the door, he grabbed my arm, and pushed me to the floor... I... don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come when you did." "I can take a fairly good guess." Mulder answered grimly, "You might have ended up like the other two we're investigating." "You think it's the same?" "Probably. It's the same set-up. A married man and an unknown woman. Not morally correct." "How did you know he was married?" Scully asked. Mulder pointed to the fourth finger on his left hand, which in his case bore no jewellery. "He wore a wedding band." he replied. * * * A thin shaft of moonlight shone between the curtains in Mulder's hotel room. The curtains were thick, and let in no other light. A crack of orange showed under the door. Faint outlines of the furniture in the room were visible. Mulder lay in bed, his breathing quiet. He couldn't sleep. The clock on his bedside table said 12.30am. Mulder turned over, and gazed at the clock. He'd been thinking about the case, and what had happened earlier with Scully. Something was seriously wrong in this area of New York, but he couldn't figure out what it was. The phone on the bedside table rang, startling Mulder from his thoughts. He reached for it, and lifted it before it rang a second time. "Mulder." There was a silence at the other end, then, "Come to Jacob's Warehouse on 127th street. If you are followed, I won't be there." A dialing tone. Mulder stared at the faint silhouette of the phone for a moment, and then put it back on the cradle. He swung his feet out of bed, and sat up. Apparently the chase would soon be on. * * * Mulder walked into the warehouse slowly, a torch in one hand. His other hand was at his side. He had taken all precautions to be certain he wasn't followed, and now he waited for his night-caller to materialise. The warehouse was almost empty. A few boxes were piled near the wall on the far side, and it was from behind these that the man emerged. Mulder had met this man several times. He only knew that the man had influence and knowledge of things far above him and Scully. He kept his torchlight on the floor, not attempting to discover the identity of his old source, "Deepthroat"'s replacement. The man had a cigarette in one hand. Mulder could see the tip glowing, and moving slowly up and down. Small clouds of smoke rose above the outline of the man. "There's something you should know." the man said, "At a research centre near here, - "Nitrotech", - they've been working on producing synthetic pheromones. There was an accident a few days ago. A reaction chamber was put under too much pressure, and the feed piped exploded. There was an uncontrolled release of the experimental product." "I presume these experiments would be kept secret from investigating FBI?" Mulder asked. "You are correct. However, the drugs released will dissipate in a day or so, therefore further investigation will be unnecessary." The shadowy figure turned and disappeared again behind the stacked boxes. Mulder turned and headed back towards the hotel, thinking as he walked. He would have to talk to Scully. * * * Scully sat on her bed. She was fully dressed, having changed after the incident with James Cuskow, and not yet feeling ready to sleep. She had tried to read, but had been unable. She supposed she was still partly in shock from what had happened. She sat staring at the wall, trying to work up the enthusiasm to do something. There was a knock at the door, and Mulder entered. "I saw your light on." he said, by way of explanation for his late visit, - it was now past 2am. "I had a phone call earlier." "Oh?" Scully asked. Mulder sat down on the edge of the bed. "From our friend at the Bureau. He wanted to talk." "You've been out just now?" Scully sounded surprised. She blinked, and wiped her left eye with her hand. "Yes, I went to a warehouse on..." Mulder stopped as Scully had become distracted by something. "What is it?" "A bit in my eye." she replied. She poked unsuccessfully at the offending organ. "Here, let me do it." Mulder suggested, and tipped her head up to the light with his finger so he could see better what was bothering her. Cupping one side of her face with one hand, he wiped an eyelash from her eye with the other. Looking into her eyes, he combed her hair gently with his fingers, and stroked her cheek with one hand. She gazed steadily back at him, saying nothing. Mulder put one hand behind his partner's head, and kissed her gently on the lips. She began to respond to his kisses, and before either of them realised what they were doing, they were lying on Scully's bed. Mulder undid her blouse, and kissed her neck and stomach, while she stroked and ruffled his hair with her fingers. Mulder sat up suddenly, his eyes widening in horror at what he was doing. He pulled his hands away from Scully's body as though her skin burned him. "I... I'm sorry." he whispered, his voice shaky and shocked, "I don't know what I was thinking. I guess... maybe I should go to my room. I can tell you what I found out in the morning." Looking rather embarrassed and very shaken, Mulder hurried from Scully's room. She lay on the bed without saying a word as he went. She too was surprised at what had just happened, and wondered why it had. Perhaps she would find out when she saw her partner in the morning. Of one thing she was certain, - neither of them would sleep well that night. * * * Mulder came down to breakfast after Scully the next morning, looking very embarrassed. Scully looked clean and neat despite the night's incidents in her navy blue jacket and skirt. Mulder, like his partner, had been awake most of the night, and on him it showed. He sat down at the breakfast table without a word, and started on the meal which Scully had ordered for him, - strong coffee, toast, and bacon and eggs. - Scully herself was just eating toast and coffee. She watched her partner as he ate. He kept his eyes down on the food in front of him. Around them, waitresses in white blouses and black skirts moved silently, and other guests of the hotel ate their meals. Finally, Scully broke the silence. "Mulder, about last night..." "I'm sorry." he interrupted her, "I should have realised." "Realised what?" "What I came to tell you about. What our friend in the Bureau told me. I just didn't consider it happening to us." Mulder paused, and took a mouthful of coffee. "He said that a research centre near here has ben working on synthetic pheromones. There was an accident. The drugs aren't safe yet. It appears that they tend to cause people who morally shouldn't to engage in sexual relationships. - More specifically, it causes the man in such a relationship, such as boss and secretary, teacher and pupil, married man and strange woman, working colleagues, to initiate a sexual encounter, and then kill the woman afterwards." he took a deep breath, "That's what really scares me about last night, - not just what I did, but what I might have gone on to do, how it would have ended. - I could have killed you!" Mulder sounded appalled at the thought, although it appeared he had worked all this out earlier. Scully took a drink from her cup, and looked at Mulder over it as she cradled it in both hands. "So what happens now?" she asked. "First, you will have to decide if you are still able to work with me after last night. I'm not sure if it will affect our working relationship." "Of course I can." Scully replied indignantly, "You've explained what happened, not that much did. I was as much at fault as you. From your theory so far, the synthetic pheromones wouldn't have significantly affected me, but I didn't stop you." "No." Mulder agreed quietly, and then added, "You were still in shock from your earlier encounter though." Scully reached across the table and took her partners hand, squeezing it reassuringly, "Let's just forget it ever happened." she said. "Then we should clear up the loose ends by interviewing James Cuskow, and then we can return to Washington." * * * Two days later the partners were in Assistant Director Skinner's office with their completed field report. Interviewing Cuskow, now fully recovered from the effects of the pheromones, had been an embarrassing experience for both Cuskow and Scully, but waiting for Skinner's approval of the two personal reports on the case was even more nerve-racking. Scully sat on Mulder's left, straightening her grey skirt with her hands. Mulder picked fluff from his trousers, and examined the marks on the floor of Skinner's office. The Assistant Director raised an eyebrow when he read Scully's report on the incident with James Cuskow, and quickly turned to Mulder's account of the same event. He raised both eyebrows when he found out what had happened later on, (with a careful omission on Mulder's part of what had led to him visiting Scully past two in the morning). He came to the end of the report, and cleared his throat. "So, Agent Mulder... can you account for the difference between the first three incidents, and the fourth?" "Er... Which difference would that be, sir?" "The fact that you were able to... halt the progression of your encounter with Agent Scully, whereas the others were not." "Ah. It appeared that only the man in each relationship was affected, and the woman's feelings did not enter the situation. For example, Kirsty Stanner had no feelings for Nevil Tinston, while Abigail Erin did have a crush on Timothy Luton." Mulder began, twisting his fingers nervously, "However, none of the men in the first three incidents had any feelings of a sexual or romantic nature towards the women they assaulted." Mulder had been looking down until this point, but now, as he came to the most difficult part, he raised his head, and looked Skinner straight in the eye. "I, on the other hand, do have feelings of a romantic nature for Agent Scully, and I believe that somehow this made the crucial difference." "Hmm." Skinner nodded, and glanced at Scully, who was blushing, and keeping her head as low as she could without actually slouching or bending forward. "i suppose this is all in order then. The atmospheric test results...?" "Were negative." Mulder answered, without waiting for Skinner to finish. "Good. Then the two of you can continue with your work, - with no more "incidents"." The Assistant Director dismissed the red-faced pair from his office, and began re-reading the personal reports, a smile growing on his face. The End. I'd greatly appreciate any comments or constructive criticism from fellow X-Philes. Email me at . Danielle Culverson.