"I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of all evils." --Sir Francis Bacon, 1835 Lesser Evils, part one Fox Mulder circled the block seventeen times before he finally found the courage to stop the car in front of her apartment. He cut the engine with a swift jerk but made no attempt to get out. Instead, he drummed restless fingers against the smooth leather steering wheel and tried to figure out exactly how he would explain himself. "Hey, Scully. I just dropped by at..." he checked the dash clock, "nine-fifty four on a Friday night to...uh...well, I have this file, here and..." He halted his monologue with a curse and slumped over the wheel. There was indeed a case file sitting on the seat next to him, though he couldn't have reported its contents. Bee swarms in Tucson, maybe. Or perhaps the poltergeists in Peru. It didn't really matter. He had grabbed it hurriedly from a pile on his desk just in case he chickened out at the last minute, in case he couldn't gain admittance to her apartment on his own merits. For he certainly had very few merits these days, at least where Dana Scully was concerned. He picked up the file and thumbed through it absently. We should start one of these on me, he thought darkly. Supernatural phenomena might be the best way to explain what the hell came over me that night. In the months since it had happened, he had replayed the words in his mind so many times that he was convinced the individual letters must now be spelled out in neurons across his brain. At night he would often say them aloud and marvel at how little time it took for the sounds to roll off his tongue. Just three seconds. He had calculated the precise timing of it on that first night, and had repeatedly checked his math since then. The total was always the same. Three very small seconds to utter one very big lie. How was it possible that he could have done so much damage in such a little amount of time? He glanced up the golden light streaming from her window. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this hallway, Mulder?" Dammit. He winced as the long ago conversation surged into his thoughts once more. No no no...Go AWAY, he thought desperately. I can't do this now. But the whispery words pricked at him relentlessly, ripping away each mental Band- Aid until the memory gaped open wide with fresh pain. Recollected emotion oozed steadily through his body, subsuming his resistance like a powerful hypnotic drug. He sat captivated as the scene played out in vivid detail against the back of his closed lids... She was especially pretty that warm October night, sitting curled on his sofa garbed in attire more appropriate for a college coed than a forensic pathologist. With the soft light of the floor lamp, she could have almost passed for twenty-two in her faded denim jeans and sea-foam green tee shirt. He had been sneaking many sideways glances at her during the evening, more interested in her reaction to the TV movie than the movie itself. Everything was more interesting when he filtered it through Scully. He was still floating with amazement from the fact that he had managed to convince her to spend the evening with him. He grew even more astounded as they flirted and teased their way through a pizza and Mystery Science Theater 3000. "I don't understand how this show can be any fun for you, Mulder," she said dryly. "That little robot thingie seems to be stealing all your opportunities for snide commentary." He flashed her a smile. "Ah, that's the beauty of it, Scully. It's pre-heckled for my convenience." For once she laughed. Not a belly-laugh, not some girlie giggle, but a delighted little chuckle that told him he had somehow, in some small way, managed to please her. The sound sent sparks dancing over his nerve endings. Why are you here tonight? he wondered. What did I say this time that I haven't said a million times before? He racked his brain, but no answer came to mind. Later, he told himself. Analyze it later when she's not sitting so damn close to you. Right now just count yourself a lucky sonofabitch and quit staring. "Quit staring." "Huh?" Shit, had he said that out loud? She rolled her eyes at him. "You're staring at me, Mulder. Do I have pizza on my face or something?" Or something, he thought, shifting uncomfortably on his end of the couch. Hold it together, you idiot, or you're going to scare her away. But then she shifted, too, and he nearly came undone. When she leaned over, slipped off her tennis shoes and wriggled ten perfect toes in the open air, he almost expired right there on the fucking couch. Scully barefoot in his apartment. Would wonders never cease. He was gaping openly now, he knew he was. And if the tiny curve of her mouth was any indication, Scully knew it too. Somehow he returned his eyes to the TV set, but he was no longer paying the slightest attention to his favorite program. His heart beat wildly, his every cell attuned to the woman sitting next to him. This was the Scully of his dreams. Relaxed, open and just a bit wild, with her usual ferocious intellect filtered though a rarely-seen mischief. She crackled with life and it was a contagious feeling. He wanted to lean over and take a bite out of her, she was that tempting. Warning bells went off in his head at the thought. Big trouble! they called. He snuck another look at her, her eyes alight with amusement, her hair tousled by the breeze flowing from the open window, and her tiny toes peeking out from under a denim-clad thigh. She caught him looking again, and arched one eyebrow. He swallowed and looked away. Yeah, this Scully was big trouble all right. He just hadn't guessed how much. ...From his car outside her window, Mulder scrubbed his face with sweaty palms, trying to freeze his memory while it was still rich with light and laughter. But the voices and images continued undiminished in his head... The evening over, he was doing the chivalrous thing and walking her out to her car. Well, it was partly chivalry anyway. Mainly it was a good excuse to spend five more minutes in her company. He turned from locking his apartment door to see her watching him, her clear blue eyes thoughtful and questioning. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this hallway, Mulder?" He froze, instantly grasping the meaning of her words. Oh shit. Not this. Not now. It had been so perfect until now. "Uh, we talk about it all the time," he hedged, trying to sneak past her to the elevator. How far was it to her car again? But Scully's reflexes were too quick for him, and her hand snagged his elbow as he made his escape attempt. "I don't mean part about the bee or the virus. I mean the events immediately prior to that." "Oh." At that point, he developed an enormous interest in the ceiling tiles. "I guess I don't think there's really anything to talk about," he said, hoping she would leave it at that. But Scully pressed onward. "Nothing to talk about," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest and stepping just that much closer to him. "That's an interesting sentiment, Mulder. Because I would have thought that our first attempt at physical intimacy--aborted though it was--would be grounds for some discussion." He shook his head widely for emphasis. "Ah, but that's precisely the point, Scully. It *was* aborted. Nothing happened. And it's always been my personal belief that discussions about nothing are best left up to theologians, philosophers, and maybe Regis and Kathie Lee." "No, Mulder," she replied softly, ignoring his lame humor with her usual equanimity. "You're not going to pull this on me now. You can't convince me that it was nothing." She licked her lips, hesitating, but then plunged recklessly ahead. "I...I wanted you to kiss me that night, and I think you wanted it, too." God yes. Rather desperately, in fact. She had been leaving him, so there was nothing left to lose. But then she had collapsed, had disappeared and then reappeared in his life with renewed strength and purpose like his own personal phoenix rising. And later, when she had clasped his hand and vowed to stay with him, to fight with him, he had been overcome with relief that he had not kissed her. Because that was the surest way to drive her from his life. This was a lesson he had learned the hard way, watching the retreating backs of women he'd professed to love and wondering why the strength of that love never seemed to be enough. He was like that kid from the old nursery rhyme...how did it go, again? Oh yes. Kissed the girls and made them cry. So he'd had to lie, if only to protect her from herself. And from him. Most of all from him. "That night was a fluke, Scully. It never should have happened." "But it did happen," she pointed out. "And ever since then, I've found myself thinking about it...wondering what it would have been like. Can you honestly say you haven't been wondering, too?" He'd scratched his head and avoided her eyes. "Honestly, no I haven't." She shook her head slowly, the light glinting off her hair. "I don't believe you," she murmured after a bit. He laughed without humor. "Ever skeptical aren't you, Agent Scully. What can I offer you for proof?" She hesitated just an instant before moving to stand directly in front of him, so close he could feel her breathing. She touched his face, her fingers warm on his cheek, and gently forced him to look directly at her. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about that night. Tell me you don't still want this." "Scully...." He squirmed under her scrutiny. "In the eyes, Mulder." This is it, he thought. Make it count. He steeled his resolve and met her azure eyes with a carefully schooled gaze. "I don't want this." He shook his head slightly. "I never have." Then he held his breath while she'd searched his face for the truth, the echo of his rejection still swirling in the air around them. .......I don't want this. I don't want you....... He'd known the instant that she'd believed him. Her eyes widened briefly in hurt before filling with tears, and the corners of her mouth twisted as she tightened her lips into a thin line. But she did not turned away. Oh no. She made him suffer the full impact of his stinging words, let him watch up close as every nuance of agony played across her expressive face. He welcomed her pain into his own body, using it to lash himself inwardly for the hurt he had inflicted. I'm so sorry, Scully. I am so, so sorry. If I knew any other way... She trembled slightly, anguish radiating from her small body in silent waves, and he fought the urge to pull her into his arms. "Okay," she whispered at last, her voice roughened by restrained emotion. "Okay, Mulder, you win." She had left then, leaving him to stand alone in the dingy hallway and wonder why, if he was supposed to have won, all he could feel was loss... It was a loss that remained unabated seven months later, having been spread wide and deep by the river of silence running between them. He had once tried to apologize, however awkwardly, but had quickly shut up when he saw the stricken look on her face. Clearly, discussing the matter only made it worse for her. He had ceased all attempts after that, unwilling to cause her further pain. From his car, he looked up again in the direction of her apartment, where the lights still shone brightly. It was well after ten now, and he knew if he just sat outside a little bit longer the lights would go out and he would be off the hook for the evening. But instead of inducing relief, this possibility brought him inexplicable sadness. I miss you, he thought as he watched the window. I miss you and I'm sorry. "As good an opening as anything," he murmured to the empty car. Maybe it wouldn't solve the problem, but at least she would know how he really felt. Maybe she even missed him, too. And maybe, just maybe, they could have the conversation over again and he could get it right this time. He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. One step at a mind, he reminded himself. If he was to convince Scully that he would cheerfully spend the rest of his life atoning for those lost three seconds, he first had to get out of the car. He glanced once at the file on the seat, and then left it sitting there as he levered himself out into the street. No excuses tonight. He bounded up the stairs to her building two at a time, eager to see her now that he had a fixed plan of action. It was a plan that included some serious kissing if all went well. He allowed himself a brief moment to imagine what she would look like after their kisses, with dreamy eyes smiling up at him from a face flushed pink with passion. It was a vision that made his heart constrict repeatedly in his chest. What a wonderful change it would be to bring her pleasure rather than pain. It was a phenomenon he found himself wishing for fervently as he tapped lightly on her door. A minute later he heard a muted sound...laughter?..just before the door opened with a flourish to reveal his still- chuckling partner. She stopped short at the sight of him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she assessed him with a puzzled look. When she spoke, her voice was low and breathless. "Mulder, what are you doing here?" He frankly couldn't remember at that moment, because all his brainpower was focused on what *she* had obviously been doing. As he stared at her, some small part of him acknowledged that his vision had been startlingly precognizant. Her cheeks were tinged high with color and her eyes had been transformed, chameleon-like, from their usual pale sapphire to an incredible smoky midnight blue. Though she still wore her work clothes, the white silk blouse was unbuttoned a bit lower than usual, and her short copper hair appeared hand-mussed. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Dana Scully had been thoroughly kissed. "Mulder?" she repeated. "What's going on? Is something wrong?" God yes. More than you'll ever know, he thought as the initial shock wore off and the stinging pain set in. He fumbled around for a story but the words slipped away from him like quicksand. "I...uh...I just..." He turned his gaze toward the ground, wishing like hell he'd brought the stupid file with him. Bare feet, he noted with a pang. Somehow this was even worse than the kissing, and he felt grief seize him anew. Tears clogged the back of his throat and he swallowed convulsively. It felt like someone had slit open his veins from the inside. Toolatetoolatetoolate, his brain taunted him endlessly. He was apparently beginning to worry his partner because she reached one hand out to touch his arm. "Mulder, are you hurt?" He jerked away like a wounded animal before she could make contact. "Mulder, what the...oh!" She broke off with a soft gasp and covered her mouth as if to hide the evidence. Clearly, she'd finally realized the picture she was presenting. That's right, Scully, he thought bitterly. Busted. A man's voice came suddenly from the room behind her. "Dana? Is everything all right?" A shadow moved in the room, and Mulder knew any moment he would be staring right at the man who had been kissing Scully. No no. Not a face. A face would make it real. The face appeared anyway, and he was stunned to see it was a familiar one. The two men stared at each other in a moment of mutual surprise before Scully cleared her throat to speak. "Mulder, I believe you know Aaron Littlefield." "Apparently not as well as you do." The icy words came out of his mouth unbidden as he scowled at the assistant district attorney. If Littlefield was perturbed by the cutting remark, he did not show it. "Agent Mulder," he said warmly. "It's nice to see you again after all this time." "Yeah, a year now, isn't it? The Pembroke case?" He stopped and looked down at Scully through narrowed eyes. "I have to say, Scully, when you invited him to 'drop by anytime' I always assumed you were referring to the Hoover building." This observation did get a rise out of Littlefield, who started toward him with a frown. "Hey, listen here..." "Aaron." Scully halted him with a murmur and one small hand. "It's okay. Mulder was just leaving." As frazzled as his senses were, Mulder did not fail to grasp the warning in her tone. "Yeah, I was just leaving," he echoed acidly. He jammed his hand into his jeans pocket and extracted his key ring. With two quick jerks he freed the small bronze key labeled "Scully." "Here," he said, grabbing her wrist and thrusting the warm metal against her palm. "This way you know I won't be coming back." He glanced from her pale face to the now-livid countenance of ADA Littlefield. "I'm sure you all will sleep better without fear of interruption." "Mulder..." Scully said, her eyes huge with shock. "Please don't do this." His heart clenched the way it always did in response to her pain, but he ferociously stomped the feelings down, steeling himself with seething anger. "Good night, Scully." he said, and stalked off without a backward glance. ******************** He watched with interest as the male agent strode angrily to his car and slammed the door shut. So, she had sent the intrepid Agent Mulder on his way. It was a good sign, but he knew better than to be overly pleased. Mulder's appearance at her door that evening was a wrinkle that he had not anticipated. In the weeks that he had surveiled her, he had quickly deduced that Mulder had the ability to ruin everything he had worked so hard to plan. He did not want to make the same mistakes again, but he was quickly running out of time. He was more certain than ever that she was the one. God knew it, he knew it, and soon she would know it, too. Tomorrow, he thought. The barest of smiles touched his lips as he glanced in the direction of Mulder's departure, watching as the twin taillights vanished into the night. He felt confident that his strategy could still work if he just pushed up the timetable. After all, the initial phases had gone smoothly with the others. He had no reason to expect that Dana Scully would offer any unique resistance. And if Agent Mulder proved to be an obstacle? Well, he was expendable. ********************* End Part One. Continued in Part Two. Lesser Evils, part two by Hannah Mason All disclaimers etc., found in part one ************************************** Scully blinked rapidly to clear the hot tears from her eyes as she slowly closed her apartment door. She tightened her fist around the key until the sharp ridges pressed nearly to the bone. The metal burned in her hand. Just when she'd thought he couldn't wound her any more deeply, Mulder managed a rebuff so profound it robbed her of breath. She fought hard to control the sobs rising within her, determined not to cry. Aaron was still hovering in her living room, and though he was a kind man, she was unwilling to share her tears with him. The intimacy was too great and the hurt was too personal. "Are you okay?" he asked finally, regarding her with sympathetic green eyes. She nodded mutely, not yet trusting her voice. He moved to stand behind her and rested two large warm hands gently on her shoulders. "I didn't realize that you and Mulder had such an...intense...personal relationship." She stiffened under his touch and pulled away. "My relationship with Mulder has never been anything other than professional," she told him briskly. Aaron cocked his head at her. "Are you sure he knows that? "Oh, he knows," she replied with a short, dark laugh. "He knows better than anyone." "I see," said Aaron softly, his eyes flickering over her with new understanding. "Then he's the greatest of fools, Dana." She raised her face to his and smiled sadly. "One of us surely is." Aaron reached for her then, and brought her into his arms with a gentle tug. Scully hesitated only a moment before relaxing against him, allowing the warmth of his body to drive away her chills. Eventually, he placed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I think maybe it's time for me to go." She nodded wordlessly against his chest, took his hand and walked him slowly to the door. "I'm sorry about all this," she said. "Mulder...well, he--" "--doesn't need you to apologize for him," Aaron finished firmly, giving her hand a squeeze. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and then leaned down to kiss her lightly on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow," he murmured. After he'd gone, Scully leaned against the door and looked at the key she still clutched in her hand, suddenly too exhausted to cry. Maybe it's for the best, she thought sadly. Maybe this is exactly what I needed to make the break for good. With a shaky sigh, she placed the key gently on her mantle and traced its outline lingeringly with one finger before finally retiring to her bedroom. Later, as she curled in a ball under the covers, Aaron's words echoed back through her mind. *I didn't realize you and Mulder had such an intense personal relationship*. Intense hardly seemed strong enough a description for the emotional entanglement she shared with her partner. It was a complicated union that allowed no room for a third person, and therein lay the problem. Mulder had made his feelings painfully clear on that awful night when he'd looked her straight in the face and lied to her. Oh yes, she had known he'd lied. He had wanted that kiss just as much as she had, of that much she was sure. Standing together in the hallway that summer evening, foreheads touching and breath coming in unison, their mutual desire had been almost tangible. Still, he had lied. Yet in doing so, he had also told her an incontrovertible truth: He wanted her, but he didn't *want* to want her. And that was even worse. After so many years, he still couldn't trust her, not completely. He persisted in guarding pieces of himself, hiding his most tender parts and snarling like an angry bulldog if anyone dared get too close. She had tried to be patient. She understood he'd been hurt, had seen up close and personal some of the women who had trampled the heart of Fox Mulder. How can you think I would be like them? she wondered in the darkness, hugging her pillow for comfort. His lack of faith cut her deeply even now. Then Aaron Littlefield appeared in her life six weeks ago. She had been initially wary, uninterested even, because her all her thoughts and feelings were still bound up with Mulder and the night he had pushed her away for good. But Aaron moved slowly. She had met in the courthouse elevator twice before he had asked her out for coffee. Coffee had led to dinner. Four dates later, she was amazed to find how much she was looking forward to seeing him each evening. His emotional availability was a welcome change, and she warmed to his charming banter. He had a quick mind and easy smile, and conversed with her on everything from casefiles to chardonnay. She liked the person she became when she was with him. She was happier, lighter. But still not completely free. To give herself completely to Aaron, or to any man, she knew she would first have to extract Mulder from her heart. Was Aaron worth it the struggle? She didn't know. But it was a ugly chore that would have to be performed eventually, or she was be damned to be alone forever. Mulder himself had shown her that. She curled tighter into the pillow, the tears beginning to fall at last. Loosening her emotional ties with Mulder was a daunting prospect that left her feeling drained and lonely every time she contemplated it. It would be a messy and difficult excision, with bloodshed and heartache on both sides. She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his ashen face at her door. There was no pleasure in hurting him, only more pain. She wondered if she could ever be truly free of him, or if she would always feel his presence, like an amputee with a phantom limb. It was many hours before she slept. €€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€ The city morgue at eight p.m. on a Saturday night would not be considered a sanctuary to most people, but Scully felt overwhelming solace as she set about performing her first autopsy, a young woman found dead in her home for no obvious reason the local coroner could detect. The woman's husband had also died inside the house, his demise apparently due to the same mysterious cause. The lateness of the hour afforded Scully a luxurious solitude as she prepared to tackle the puzzle before her. Scissors and tongs in hand, she began the ritual investigation of death that she practiced with such skill. Minutes blurred to hours as she retraced the efforts of Silas Tewksbury, the coroner who had performed the initial autopsy. The familiar sounds and rhythms offered both comfort and escape, allowing her mind something to focus on besides the emotional roller coaster ride she had endured over the past twenty-four hours. The wall clock read ten-oh-eight when she finished labeling the blood and tissue samples for laboratory analysis. She stifled a yawn on the sleeve of her blue scrub apron. One down, one to go, she thought, rolling her head to relieve the ache that had begun to throb at the base of her neck. She let out a small sigh as the vertebrae shifted into place with a satisfying pop. "Late night, Agent Scully?" Mulder's chilly words caused her to jump in surprise. "Jesus, Mulder," she said, whirling on him with hands on her hips. "Don't creep up on me like that!" He stood leaning against the doorframe. "Just out of curiosity...when exactly were you going to tell me? When the wedding invitation arrived in the mail?" Scully wearily rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Mulder, could we please not do this now? It's late, and I still have one more body to examine tonight." "Really, would that be living or deceased?" he asked, one finger placed at the corner of his mouth in a look of exaggerated puzzlement. She felt her cheeks warm with growing anger. Damn him for doing this. "Mulder, if you value our friendship at all, you will stop this line of conversation immediately." But Mulder was on a roll now. "Oh, are we still friends?" he asked in surprise. "I wasn't clear. I thought friends were people who talked to each other about important stuff in their lives, kept each other apprised of any new developments, that sort of thing." Head down, she braced her arms on the autopsy bay and ignored him, hoping he would stop if she didn't rise to his baiting remarks. "Or maybe," he continued, walking fully into the room. "Maybe I've hit upon the answer. You didn't tell me, your supposed friend, about your relationship with Aaron Littlefield because it wasn't *important*. Is that it Scully? He's not Mr. Right, just a handy lay..." "That is enough!" she broke in angrily, whirling on him. "Enough! You are so far over the line here, Mulder, that one more word and you might never be able to cross back. I'm sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did, but that is not an excuse for your present despicable behavior. I don't owe you any explanation about what I do with my personal life or whom I do it with. You gave up any right to have a say seven months ago." She paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And Mulder, you *never* had the right to speak to me the way you just did. Never." "Are you finished?" he asked after she was done speaking. "Are you?" she retorted. "Actually no. Surprising at it might seem, I didn't really come here to discuss your social calendar. We've got a case out in Wyoming that needs immediate attention." He waved a file folder at her. "Our flight leaves tomorrow at 7 am." "Let me see that," she said, peeling off her gloves with a snap and reaching for the brown folder. She rapidly scanned the enclosed pages and photos. "You can't be serious," she told him when she'd finished. "I'm always serious about the files, Scully. You should know that by now." She ignored the jab and flipped through the folder once more. "Missing cows?" she asked incredulously. "A few dozen cows go missing from farms in Airsdale, Wyoming, and you think this is deserving of federal investigation? Cattle rustling is hardly an unexplained phenomenon, Mulder." "It is when it's accompanied by two UFO sightings within the last month." Scully rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "C'mon Mulder, alien cattle thieves? That's a bit too extreme, even for you." "We can argue about it on the plane, Scully," he said curtly. "Because it's my call and I say we're going to Wyoming. This is a legitimate X-file, and we have a duty to investigate." He stalked around the room, sulking like a small child, and suddenly the true motive behind the trip became clear to Scully. "Fuck you, Mulder." "Excuse me?" "You heard me," she said evenly. "You can take your lost cattle and go straight to hell. Or Wyoming, or whatever. But I am *not* going with you." "Scully, I don't know what your problem is here..." "What *my* problem is?" she interrupted in disbelief. She crossed the room to stand in front of him, shoving the folder roughly against his chest. "This isn't X-file, Mulder, it's a goddamm fidelity test and I won't stand for it." He held her gaze with dark, angry eyes as the air crackled between them. "You tell yourself that if you need to," he replied with deliberate softness. "You can tell yourself whatever the hell you want, Scully, but you had better be at that airport by seven a.m. tomorrow morning." He moved to leave and she called to him as she reached the door. "And if I do go with you on this fool's errand, Mulder? What exactly will that solve? Aaron will still be here when I get back, you know." His froze in the doorway, his back going rigid at her words. "This is not about your precious Aaron Littlefield," he said without turning around. "It's about disappearing cattle and unidentified lights in the sky over Airsdale, Wyoming." "Yeah right," she answered. "You tell yourself that if you need to, Mulder." Strange, she realized as she watched him leave, that she was becoming extraordinarily proficient in catching Fox Mulder's lies. Even the ones he told himself. €€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€ She checked the wall clock to note the time on her completed notes. Twelve thirty-seven. With a suppressed groan she jotted down what she considered the cause of death: carbon monoxide poisoning. It would have been a more obvious choice if the deceased couple had inhabited a building with gas powered heat or appliances. However, their modest home had been run exclusively on electricity, and thus while the cause of death might have been uncovered, the source of the toxin remained a mystery. One that will not be solved tonight, thought Scully as she scrawled her initials across the bottom of the form. I have to get at least a few hours rest if I'm going to be at the airport before seven a.m. Somewhere around midnight she had resolved to go along with his ridiculous charade, if only to see just how far he was willing to carry it. She bent her head in her hands. Admit the real reason, she admonished herself sternly. You just can't let go. He's like a drug, and you're hooked but good. A Mulderholic, that's what you are. Pulling off her glasses, she laid her head down on the desk and closed her eyes. The argument had left her shaky and drained of energy. One more case, she thought. Just this one more case and then I'll go cold turkey. "Dr. Scully? Are you okay?" She jerked her head up, startled to find that she was not alone in the dimly lit office. "Oh, hi Raymond." She forced a tired smile for the young man who kept the morgue well- stocked and spotlessly clean. They had developed something of a camaraderie over her tenure in the morgue, for he liked to pepper her with questions about forensic pathology in exchange for free candy bars from the vending machine. Recently, she had learned they had another connection-his mother was a regular attendee at her church. "I'm fine, thanks. Just a little tired." "It's pretty late," he told her earnestly. "You shouldn't be working so hard." "Tell me about it," she muttered and he laughed. "Are you gonna be in church tomorrow?" he asked shyly, leaning his chin on the end of the broomstick. "Seems unlikely," she answered with a sigh, thinking of Wyoming. "More work." She tilted her head at him. "How's your mom doing?" "So-so," he said with shrug. "The doctor's are going to operate on the tumor next week." "I hope it goes well," she murmured, standing and gathering her coat. "Please tell her I said hello, and that you'll both be in my prayers." He nodded slowly, watching her walk toward the door. "And you'll be in mine," he whispered after her. ************************************************* At last, she was finally leaving. He had been hanging around the morgue for several hours now, waiting with evaporating patience for her to finish. He watched her walk down the long corridor toward the exit. Another instant and she would be gone. Wait! He called to her just as she reached the door, and she turned round slowly, her expression questioning. Then she smiled as she recognized him in the murky hallway light. Yes, he thought. It's me. I've come for you. He smiled back and waved her over. She hesitated for a moment, checking her watch with a frown. But then she was walking toward him and his heart beat faster in anticipation. Yes, yes, Just a little closer. "What's going on?" she asked as she reached him, a puzzled look crossing her features when she saw the device in his left hand. It could have been an electric shaver, with its compact size and rounded curves. But then he switched it on, and when it crackled to life Agent Dana Scully's eyes grew wide with fear as she recognized its purpose at last. A second later he was grinning as she lay crumpled on the floor at his feet. Perfect. ********************** End part two. Continued in part three Lesser Evils, part three by Hannah Mason Disclaimers and other nonsense in part one *************************** Mulder shook his head tightly in response to the flight attendant's offer for beverage service. The plane was virtually deserted due to the early hour, and under normal circumstances this would have been a blessing. He and Scully would have usurped several seats across the aisle from one another, the added room allowing him to stretch out his long legs and read, her to curl up length- wise and doze. Scully could sleep just about anywhere. He turned his cheek against the scratchy fabric of the seat and regarded the empty row across from him. If he closed his eyes he could replace the ugly green and navy cushions with the image of his sleeping partner, one arm tucked beneath her head and her face half-hidden among a disarray of auburn tendrils. He massaged his temples between his forefinger and thumb, seeking to relieve the dull throbbing pain behind his eyes. His gripping anger had dissipated sometime after take-off, leaving him feeling spent and rubbery like a deflated party balloon. You've pulled some stupid-assed stunts before, he chided himself. But this one deserves a fucking special commendation. Yessir, the Grand Prize Asshole, that's what you are; go ahead and tell the man what he's won, Johnny... Mulder rubbed his head again. "A round trip ticket for one to Shitdale, Wyoming," he muttered under his breath. "Yee- ha." It's your own damn fault, the voice in his head taunted. This piece of chicken-shit is your "legitimate case", remember? Your brilliant plan to lure her away from Aaron Littlefield. Just what exactly did you think was going to happen on this trip? That she would look at you over a cow- pie, realize her mistake and fall into your arms like some movie heroine? No. He closed his eyes and banged his head repeatedly against the back of the seat. No no no. I didn't lie, he thought viciously. This isn't about HIM. Don't you get it, Scully? I don't want you away from him, I want you with ME... he sighed glumly and shook his head...even if I have to order you around like a fucking a Captain Commando to accomplish it. He fiddled absently with the flight magazine sticking out of the elastic band in front of him and tried to ignore the feel of the empty seat at his elbow. It didn't work. Melancholy seeped steadily through his pores and took root deep inside, twisting like barbed wire in his gut. You wanted proof of her feelings? Well, you sure got it. Message received loud and clear. Fox Mulder and the X-Files can go straight to hell. He blinked back sudden tears. Stupid. He had really thought she would come. Stupidstupidstupid. Despite his horrible words, he had thought she would come with him. Right up until the attendant had closed the heavy door, he had hoped, had expected, that she would appear on the plane wearing her trademark dark suit and exasperated expression. She would have come to call his bluff, to show him up. She would have come to prove that she could handle any shit he threw her way. She would have come because deep down she knew that he was terrified and needed her reassurance. Because when all was said and done, they belonged only to each other. Or so he'd thought. He slowly traced the stripes on the seat cushion next to him. It had been a test, all right. However childish, however unfair, it had definitely been a test. And she had failed. Or maybe he had. At this point it didn't really matter anymore. ********************************************* He almost did not go to Sunday morning mass. What if she woke up while he was away? In the end, however, he gave into the urgings of his nagging conscience. God has been gracious with you, he lectured himself sternly in the mirror as he fastened his clip-on tie. You asked Him for His help and He has provided you with a fine woman. The least you can do is show Him the proper respect in return. At nine a.m. sharp, he slid into his normal seat in the sixth pew, looking astonishingly ordinary among the rows of worshippers. Heavenly Father, he prayed silently. Thank you for this most precious gift you have given me. I realize now that I was terribly wrong about the others. I believed they were my destiny, but thanks to your guidance I was able to recognize them for the harlots that they were. You were right to see them punished, Father. I know I questioned you at first, but I understand now that it was the only true way. Forgive me for my insolence and my arrogance. I will make sure to get it right this time. He left church immediately after mass, not stopping to chat with the other parishioners as he usually did. She would be waking up soon, and though he wasn't worried that she could escape, he wanted to be present when she opened her eyes, to be the first sight that greeted her when she awoke. He tried to keep his pace to a slow, deliberate walk, but it was hard when he knew that she was waiting. "Watch yourself," he warned with a mutter. The Father has done his part, don't you screw up your end now. He smiled and allowed himself a small increase in speed. Just three more blocks. ********************************************************** She awoke with a start, squinting and twisting away from the full morning sun that painted bright ribbons of light across her face. The terrible dream still hovered ghost-like in her brain. With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her pounding head as waves of nausea rolled over her. "I'm never going to understand why you do this." His voice came from above her, muffled by the intervening pillow. "Tequila does this to you every time, yet you go right ahead and drink it. This is exactly why I don't go with you." She pulled the pillow from her face and spoke to him through thick strands of brown hair. "Don't give me that shit, David," she said without animosity, her voice scratchy and tired. "You don't go because you can't stand Ramona." "Ellie, dear, *no one* can stand Ramona," he answered with a grin. "They just can't get her to shut up long enough to tell her." "You shut up. She's my best friend." She was lying very still, hoping that her lurching stomach would settle down. The bed bounced lightly as he plopped himself next to her, and she moaned and clutched her middle. "Ugh..don't do that..." He smoothed the hair from her face. "Poor baby," he teased affectionately. "I brought some water. Wanna try?" She took the water, sampled it with a few small, experimental sips, and then lay back down on the bed with her eyes closed. His face leaped instantly back into her brain. "Oh god, it was real..." Her eyes snapped back open. "Yeah, babe. Imaginary tequila somehow just doesn't have the same affect." "No no," she said, struggling to sit up. "Last night, coming home...I saw this man carrying a dead body out of the morgue." "What, like on a stretcher?" "Huh-uh. Like this, in his arms," she demonstrated with the pillow. "It was a woman with red hair." Her hand flew suddenly to her mouth. "God, David, do you think he stole her body from the morgue?" "Whoa, hold on a second," he said, patting her leg. "You didn't say anything about a dead body when you collapsed into bed last night. Are you sure you didn't just dream this whole thing?" "I'm sure, I'm sure," she answered, tugging impatiently on his sleeve. "I passed out last night before I could tell you, but I know what I saw. It was a big man, coming out of the side door of the morgue, you know the one off of Cedar Street? Anyway, he was walking out of the morgue, and he had a dead woman with him,...and...god, David, he was *smiling*! He was smiling and then he put her in a car and drove away." "Ellie..." His tone was filled with disbelief. "It's true, David. I saw it!" "Why would he steal her body from the morgue?" Her brow furrowed. "I don't know, experiments maybe. I think I should call the police." "Experiments?" he echoed with a chortling laugh. "Ellie, the police would laugh their asses off!" She thumped him with the pillow. "I'm glad you think this is so funny." "Ellie, come on. This story is a little ridiculous, don't you think? A man walks out of the morgue in the middle of the night with a naked, red-haired dead woman?" "She wasn't naked." "Huh? I thought you said it was a dead body." "I did! But she wasn't naked." "Ellie, bodies in morgues tend to be naked. They can't do the autopsies otherwise." "Well, maybe they hadn't gotten to this one yet...maybe that's why he was taking her away...maybe he KILLED her, David! Maybe he killed her and then stole the body so no one would find the evidence!" "And maybe you've been watching too many Lifetime movies," he told her with an eye-roll. "I'm completely serious." "Yeah, seriously hung over." She stuck her tongue out at him. "You wanna know what I think happened?" he said finally. "If you say I dreamed it again..." she warned threateningly. "No, no." He held up his palms. "I think that you just *thought* they were coming out of the morgue. I think that they were probably from La Casa and just using the morgue parking lot like other people do on weekends." "David, they weren't dressed for clubbing." "And you had how many drinks last night?" he shot back. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. "Anyway, I think they were at La Casa, and she probably had too much to drink, passed out, and then he carried her to the car." Ellie sat silently for a moment, trying to gel her memory with David's story. "It could have happened that way, I guess..." She was still unconvinced. "Of course it happened that way," he insisted. Then he grinned at her. "But if you want, we could always call the morgue and ask them to count the stiffs for us." "Ooo, you're gonna pay for that one." She pounced on him, and there was no more discussion of the red-haired woman from the morgue. ************************** He entered the small house through the back door and went immediately to the kitchen. Humming tunelessly to himself, he set about fixing her breakfast. Ten weeks of careful study had paid off, and he knew from memory exactly how to prepare it to her liking. One seven-grain bagel, sliced perfectly in half and lightly toasted, then slathered with a generous coating of cream. Peach yogurt and black coffee. The fresh squeezed orange juice was his addition, as was the lilac sprig he had plucked from a neighbor's yard on the way home. "Voila," he murmured with a pleased smile as he fussed over the tray. He hoped she would be pleased as well, but he also knew that the first day was the hardest. Best just to get it over with. Still humming, he carried the tray through the basement door, down the rickety steps and past the clanking of the old water heater. He flicked a wall switch with his elbow so that the room below his feet would be illuminated for his arrival. "Time to wake up," he chuckled, even though he knew she couldn't yet hear him. The room was purposefully sound-proof. I really hope she isn't a screamer, he thought grimly as he set the breakfast tray on the dank basement floor. That would be so unfortunate. He fumbled with his key ring, located the one he wanted, and then slipped the padlock open with ease. He displaced the round cover and climbed several rungs down into the hole, pausing to grab the tray with one hand before continuing his descent. She hadn't moved at all that he could tell. She lay motionless on top of the bedspread, limp and pale, with her hands and feet bound tightly behind her back. Her eyes were still closed. He set the tray on the small round table that stood next to the bed and studied with concern the petite woman spread prostrate before him. She should have been coming out of it by now. Too much drugs? he wondered, feeling for a pulse. She moaned softly at his touch, her eyes fluttering open and her limbs twitching slightly against their restraints. He smiled broadly in relief. "Good morning, sunshine." ********************************************************** Hurts, Scully thought sleepily as she tried to shake the heavy chains that attempted to yank her back into unconsciousness. She blinked rapidly as the room spun around several times and then finally came into full focus. Bare white walls. No windows. Where am I? she wanted to ask, but her tongue was thick and swollen inside her dry mouth and she could not form the words. Her head was throbbing and her body ached all over. I've been drugged, she realized slowly. Can't move... Behind her back, she flexed her fingers experimentally and groaned when pins and needles shot through the length of her arms. Shit. Tied up. Arms, legs, too...what the hell is going on? "I trust you slept well." She froze momentarily at the sound of his voice. Then she slowly twisted on the bed so she could look up at the man standing over her. Him again. Oh my God, she thought, her heart beginning to pound. It was true, not a dream. Trust no one, Mulder had told her, and he'd been right. Scully stared at him wide-eyed. "Why...?" she broke off with a wince, her voice like harsh sandpaper over her parched throat. He ignored her question, fretting over her like she was a sick child. "How rude of me," he chided himself. "You must be very thirsty. The chloral hydrate will do that. Here, have some juice." He reached behind her head to push her slightly up right and brought the glass to her lips. Scully turned away. "Come on now," he said. "I know you must want it." She still refused, and he sighed. "Are you worried about more drugs? Don't be. Those were just a precaution to get you here. See, it's perfectly fine. Tasty, even." He demonstrated by drinking a long sip of the orange liquid. She eyed him warily, swallowing reflexively as she watched him drink. So thirsty... "Here, try again," he offered, and this time she allowed herself a few small sips. A few drops dribbled down her chin and he wiped them away as she settled back against the pillows. Her head was beginning to clear, and the renewed awareness brought frightening questions. "I'm sorry about the cords," he said in a tone one might use to apologize for not having the dry-cleaning ready on time. "I realize they're uncomfortable, but you being a trained FBI woman and all, I had to be extra careful." "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?" she asked softly. Who the hell was this man she thought she knew? How long had he been planning this? Days? Weeks, maybe even years? She shuddered. "What do you want with me?" she demanded with a more determined voice. "What do I want with you?" he repeated, moving to sit close to her on the bed. He ran his fingertips lightly over her face and she tensed, eyes squeezed shut. "I want everything with you, Dana. Everything there is." Scully gulped a mouthful of air. This is not happening, she thought desperately. This cannot possibly be happening. He continued to touch her. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured as much to himself as to her. "It's so much softer than the others..." Her eyes flew open as she fought a gag. "Others?" she choked between shallow breaths. "Yes, well...let's not worry about them, okay? They don't matter any more." He kept on petting her, his hands firmer as they stroked the column of her throat. Then he squeezed her gently around the neck, and she realized abruptly the extent of her helplessness. "Please don't do that..." she said thinly, arching her head back into the pillow. Her words did not seem to register, and his large hands persisted in their invasion. He slipped open the top button on her cardigan sweater. Then another. "So soft..." he repeated to himself, his eyes on her chest. Oh shit. Oh, please not this, she thought frantically, trying to wriggle away from his hands. Her mind started to flash stark images of autopsies past, all dead naked women with their bodies battered and bloodied from sexual assault. Please, God, no... Scully panted and struggled harder, pushing at him with her knees and feet as her terror grew. "Stop it," he commanded sharply, halting her squirming with a painful wrench that left her lower body pinned tight under his knees. He grasped her chin roughly with his right hand and tilted her face up toward his. "I don't want to have to hurt you, Dana, but I will if necessary. Remember that." He gripped her chin a bit harder. "Now, then, are you ready to be a good girl?" he asked softly. Scully nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his. She knew, suddenly and certainly, that she would die in the stuffy, windowless room if she did not play her cards exactly right. "Good." He smiled and abruptly released her chin to smooth back her hair. "I knew you would cooperate." His hands went again to her sweater and Scully swallowed convulsively, fighting the rising tide of nausea. But she did not move. Whatever it takes to stay alive, she told herself as her breathing quickened progressively. Don't think about what he's doing. Think about getting the hell out of here. But she couldn't shake the feel of his hands roaming her body, squeezing and caressing at will. She blinked her eyes against the silent tears that slipped down the sides of her face into the pillow. He seemed oblivious to her distress, as if hypnotized by the act of touching her. Please God, just let it be over quickly, she prayed. He halted the process of undressing her. Instead, he slid one hand up her breast bone, feeling around until his fingers found the delicate gold chain that encircled her neck. Scully's eyes snapped open. Had she been praying out loud? She sucked in her breath in preparation for the POP when he yanked the chain off. But he didn't wrench the necklace from her; instead, he touched the tiny cross gently, then hooked it with one finger and pulled it along the chain toward him until it dangled between them in the air. They both stared at the pendant, he bemused and she panting lightly with residual fear. "He said He would mark you for me," he told her, his eyes still on the miniature cross. "I knew when I saw this that you were the one, my own perfect angel sent by the Lord Himself." He fingered the cross thoughtfully one more time and then replaced it carefully on her chest. He brushed his fingers through her hair. "Welcome to your new home, Angel," he whispered, his eyes gleaming down at her. His smile sent waves of fresh horror through Scully as it finally dawned on her that this man had no plans to let her go. Ever. *************************** End part three. Continued in part four. Lesser Evils, part four by Hannah Mason Disclaimer etc. in part one **************************** Mulder was driving through the backroads of Airsdale when his cell phone trilled softly from his coat pocket. Scully. His heart accelerated, and he groped with one hand until he located the slender black phone. "Hello," he said quickly, hoping against hope to hear her voice on the other end. Instead, Skinner's gruff greeting crackled through the phone. "Agent Mulder. Is Agent Scully with you?" Mulder sighed. Apparently he wasn't the only one with Scully on the brain that morning, "No sir," he answered ruefully. "Agent Scully is most definitely not with me." Probably never would be again, he finished silently. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" Skinner's tone was urgent. He checked his watch. "Two p.m. on a Monday? She could be at lunch I suppose. Why, did she miss a meeting or something?" "Or something," Skinner answered grimly. Then he sighed. "Just think hard, Agent Mulder. Are you absolutely certain you don't know where your partner is right now?" "I'm telling you I don't..." He halted as images from Friday night spun through his mind. "Uh, have you tried ADA Aaron Littlefield?" he said. "She might be with him." When Skinner did not immediately answer, Mulder frowned, suddenly realizing that this conversation was not about Scully being a few hours late to work. "Sir, what's with all the questions about Scully? Is something wrong? Did something happen to her?" He heard a deep breath from the other end of the phone. "I don't know what the hell is going on, Mulder," he said finally. "But I'm pretty certain Littlefield doesn't know where Scully is. He reported her missing at ten a.m. this morning." "What?" Mulder barked into the phone, bringing the Taurus to a screeching halt in the middle of the country road. "What the hell are you talking about, missing?" "Missing," Skinner replied in a clipped tone. "As in no one has seen or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, her car was found in the parking lot of the city morgue, and nobody can seem to account for her present whereabouts." "I don't understand." Mulder closed his eyes and shook his head in denial. This is not happening, he thought desperately. Notnotnotnot. "Agent Mulder..." Skinner's voice dropped to a tight whisper. "Consider this your fair warning. There have been some unpleasant reports surfacing about a few...heated discussions...between you and Agent Scully during the last few days. Detective Ripley of the six-oh-three was in here looking for you not ten minutes ago. I strongly suggest that catch a plane back to D.C. immediately." Mulder felt the bile rise in his throat. "Sir, you can't possibly think..." "Immediately, Agent Mulder." And the line went dead. ************************ Pulse pounding and adrenaline rushing, Mulder crashed through the swinging doors of police precinct six-oh-three with the force of a F4 tornado. "Where's Detective Ripley?" he demanded as he hurtled past the desk sergeant at top speed. "Hey, wait! You can't just go back there!" protested the young uniformed man, trailing after him into the stationhouse. "Detective Jack Ripley," Mulder repeated to the crowded room. Cops and criminals alike stopped their business to openly stare at him as he starting weaving unsteadily through the rows of desks. "I need to speak to Jack Ripley," he said with rising intensity. "Now where the hell is he?" He halted in the middle of the room and cast his gaze wildly over the sea of faces in search of the man in question. The desk sergeant caught up with him and placed one beefy hand firmly around his elbow, intent on dragging him back toward the door. "You're going to have to wait out here." "Get the hell off me," Mulder growled, twisting free with a sharp jerk. Another officer, older and dark-skinned but with a shock of graying hair, rose to join the argument. "Hey, pal, just cool down." Mulder held out one arm in warning. "I will not 'cool down'! I will not cool down until somebody gets me Detective Jack Ripley." "Agent Mulder." A tall, lanky man with pale eyes and short- cropped, black hair that sprung from his head at odd angles materialized in the doorway at the far end of the room. "Finally," Mulder muttered, glaring at the two officers who flanked him. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" he asked tightly as he pushed past them. He stalked across the room and came to a stop in front of Jack Ripley, shaking his proffered hand roughly. "Thanks for coming so quickly," Ripley said mildly. His disheveled appearance always reminded Mulder of Columbo, right down to the omnipresent rumpled trench coat. But Ripley's deliberate and precise style of police work was a direct counterpoint to TV detective's bumbling, rambling interrogations. In fact, there were rumors that he had gone to law school before joining the force eighteen years ago. Some said NYU, others laid their bets on Harvard. No Jack Ripley had ever registered at either institution, but that didn't stop the arguments. Ripley himself never weighed in on the dispute, content instead to season his conversation with terms like "heretofore" and "habeas corpus" and watch with a smile as the debate took fire once more. In the half- dozen times Mulder and Scully had crossed paths with Jack Ripley during a local investigation, he had impressed them both as a serious, no bullshit kind of guy. Mulder was relying on this candor now to get him a straight answer. "Just what the fuck is going on here, Ripley? What happened to Scully?" Pale blue eyes assessed him neutrally. "I was hoping you could tell me." He gestured to the room behind him. "Come on inside while we try to sort this thing out, okay?" Momentarily placated, Mulder followed him into the conference room and was surprised to find both Skinner and Littlefield pacing the floor on opposite sides of the long table. All three men froze simultaneously, and tension-filled silence gripped the room for long moments. "Why don't we all have a seat," said Ripley finally, but no one moved. "I don't want a seat," Mulder bit out, moving across the room to stand inches from Littlefield. "What I want are some answers." "What, from me?" mocked Littlefield, pointing at his chest. "I'd say you have some answering to do yourself, Agent Mulder. I understand you were one of the last people to see her." Mulder clenched his fists but somehow held himself in check. "Fuck you, Littlefield. I had nothing to do with this, and you damn well know it." He regarded the other man through slitted eyes. "But you...you puzzle me, Counselor. Scully misses a lunch date and you immediately call in the cavalry? A little sudden, don't you think? I'm wondering if maybe you know more than you're saying, if maybe you called in the cops so fast because you had good reason to worry about her." "I'd say I had reason, yeah." Littlefield held up his hand and ticked off fingers as he spoke. "First, she didn't show up for Sunday brunch. No call, no explanation, no nothing. She just didn't show. Then I can't get her on the phone--not at work, at home or at her mother's place. Finally, I drove past the morgue just to see if, for some unknown reason, she was still there. I found her car, but no sign of Dana. So, yes, Agent Mulder, when she did not turn up at home or at work this morning, I damn well reported her missing." "Well, pardon me if I don't have trust the word of a convicted felon," sneered Mulder. "What?" Littlefield blanched visibly. "That was...you're not supposed to...those records were sealed!" he sputtered. "What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" demanded Skinner. Ripley also shot Mulder an inquiring look, arms crossed over his chest. Mulder's eyes remained focused on Littlefield. "I made some calls on my way over," he said evenly. "Called in a few favors and found that Mr. Littlefield's relationship with the court system did not begin in law school. Turns out that the good Counselor has a juvenile assault record from 1979. Get your jollies knocking women around, do you Littlefield?" "One time," the ADA said through grit teeth. "It was one time, and it was an accident, dammit! I was sixteen and drunk and she was supposed to have been my girlfriend, but she was sleeping with my best friend and..." "Asked for it, did she?" Mulder broke in derisively. "Yes!" blurted Littlefield. "No! I mean, yes, I was angry but I never meant to shove her so hard..." "You god damn son-of-a-bitch," Mulder breathed as he lunged for the other man. He grabbed him swiftly by the shirt collar and pushed him back up against the wall. "Where is she?" he shouted, shaking him hard. "Tell me where she is! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!" "Mulder!" Skinner's large hands closed around his shoulders and yanked him off the ADA with one hard pull. Mulder still struggled ferociously, waving his arms wildly and continuing to rail at Littlefield. "You better look out. You better watch yourself, 'cause I'm gonna hit you so hard they're gonna have to scrape the pieces off the wall with a spatula!" "That's enough!" ordered Skinner, shoving him roughly in Ripley's direction. "Get him the hell out of here, will you?" Ripley nodded and began to pull Mulder toward the door. "Don't bother," Mulder muttered, angrily shaking him off. "I can see myself out." Once they had gone, Littlefield rolled his head around gingerly and began straightening his suitcoat. He glanced across the table where Skinner stood watching him. "Thanks," he said grimly. "I thought for sure he was going to snap my neck." Skinner raked his eyes swiftly over the other man. "Save your thanks," he said. "I did it for him, not for you." The ADA frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Skinner held up a hand to stop him. "Look, Mr. Littlefield, I don't know if you had anything to do with Scully's disappearance or not, but I can promise you this..." Littlefield lifted his eyebrows slightly. Yes? "If you so much as gave her a paper cut, I will personally guarantee you some quality alone time with Agent Mulder." He paused meaningfully. "And then your ass will be all mine." With that, he turned and stalked out of the room. ************************** Ripley scraped a chair along the floor until it was even with his desk, gesturing with an open hand for Mulder to have a seat. Mulder glared angrily at the wooden chair for a moment, then abruptly the fight drained from him and he slumped down with a ragged sigh. After a moment, Ripley spoke calmly. "You care to explain that bit of business back there?" Mulder jerked a shrug. "He *does* have a record," he pointed out, jabbing one finger on the edge of Ripley's desk for emphasis. "And he was in an awful goddamn hurry to report her missing. Tell me you don't think that's weird." "I think it's weird," Ripley conceded. "But not as weird as it might seem." Mulder looked at him sharply. "What do mean?" "In a minute. First I want to ask you ask you about the arguments you and Scully had," he stopped to check his notes, "Friday and Saturday night." Mulder's glare darkened. "I did NOT do anything to Scully, if that is what you're getting at," he informed him stonily. "And if that bastard said-" "Hey, leave him out of it for a moment, will you? After all, he's right about one thing-you were one of the last people to talk to her before she disappeared. I'd like to know what you talked about." Mulder sighed, then ducked his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. *You can tell yourself anything you want, Scully, but you'd better be at that airport by 7 a.m.* His cheeks flushed hot with the memory. "We...uh...we were talking about a case," he said finally, his voice sounding lame even to his own ears. "Is that so," murmured Ripley. "You two often holler at each other when discussing your work?" Mulder almost smiled. "More often than you might think," he answered dryly. "I'm, um, kind of...passionate about some of my views, and Scully...well, she can hold her own in the temper department." "Somehow I have no trouble imagining that," Ripley replied with a near-smile of his own. "But I have to tell you, Agent Mulder, that the man who overheard your argument with Agent Scully on the night she disappeared-Raymond Valente, I think his name is? He seemed to think that your disagreement was personal, not professional. More specifically, you were," he glanced down to quote from his notes, "'totally pissed off because she had a boyfriend'. And judging from Aaron Littlefield's story about your behavior at Scully's apartment on Friday night, I'm inclined to believe Valente's reading of the situation." "Which is what, exactly?" Mulder asked, annoyed. "That you were jealous of her relationship with Aaron Littlefield. Maybe even threatened by it." "Raymond Valente should keep his day job. Psychology is not a science for amateurs." Ripley said nothing, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach, apparently awaiting a real answer. Mulder fidgeted in his seat and toyed with a near-by pencil as he studiously avoided the detective's probing gaze. His feelings for Scully were something he kept under lock and key, relishing them in the privacy of his own mind and nurturing them every night with a new day's worth of memory. There was no way he was going to wax poetic about his partner while some detective jotted notes. He hadn't even told Scully how he felt. and now he was being asked to spill his guts in a run-down squad room amid ringing phones and urine- drenched vagrants? Not a chance. He leaned forward in his chair. "She's my partner, okay? And yeah, we disagreed sometimes. But you and I both know I didn't have a damn thing to do with her disappearance. So while we can sit here, sing kum-by-yah and talk about my feelings all fucking day, I personally think it would be a big waste of time." "Take it easy," Ripley said. "These questions have to be asked, and you know it." "Yeah, well, who's asking Littlefield questions?" Mulder demanded belligerently. "I promise no one has forgotten about him. We're checking his story very thoroughly. But let's put him aside for another minute, okay? Just to make sure we've covered all the avenues. What about work-related stuff, like recent cases you two have worked on. Can you think of someone with a grudge, someone who might want to hurt her?" Yes. Too many someones. All shadowmen with no names, no faces, and no mercy. Men who made Aaron Littlefield seem like the tooth fairy. Mulder rubbed his eyes, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. If Scully had been taken by one of them... "No one you're going to be able to haul in here for a line- up," he said at last. "I still say we need to go after Littlefield." You hope, the voice inside his head sneered. You'd just better hope it's him. "And we will," Ripley assured him. He paused and scratched his head, causing the angles of his hair to shift, kaleidoscope-like, into a new bizarre arrangement. "Agent Mulder..." Mulder raised his head up, his eyes narrowing when he read the obvious hesitation on the detective's face. "What? What are you not telling me?" Ripley took a deep breath. "Agent Mulder, did you ever ask yourself how I got this case? The city morgue is not exactly in six-oh-three's jurisdiction." Mulder blinked in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that; I just assumed that since you knew Scully..." "A fortunate coincidence," Ripley broke in. He paused again, and then shuffled some papers on his desk. "Just over two years ago, a woman named Lisa Marino disappeared." He handed over a manila folder for Mulder's inspection. Mulder flipped open the cover with one hand, peering over the contents as Ripley began to recite the facts of the case. "Twenty-nine years old, single, and a junior architect at Nernst, Townsend and Young," he said grimly. "She vanished in the middle of the night in April of 1997. Her roommate, Stephanie Stevens, reported her missing when she didn't come home from work one Wednesday evening. The local boys from the 'oh-eight investigated and found no trace of Ms. Marino, but did turn up her car still parked in the lot outside the office building." Mulder's heart skipped a beat. "Sounds...familiar," he managed. "What happened? Did she ever show up?" He turned abruptly to the last report, fearing the end of the story but needing to know all the same. No autopsy photos. Thank God. He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Nope, we never found her," Ripley was saying. "The officers who caught the case followed every possible lead, but this girl had no enemies, no vices or any of the usual signs of trouble. She worked hard, stayed in most nights, and went to church on Sundays." He shrugged. "Everyone liked her, and no one believed that she would have run off on her own, especially without taking any of her stuff along with her." "The case is still open?" Mulder asked, flipping back through the pages. He stopped when he found a black and white 8 x 10 photo of what was obviously Lisa Marino. It had been professionally done, showing her smiling slightly, dressed a well-tailored suit with a wall of books in the background. Office picture, Mulder's mind supplied as he took in her wide dark eyes and Mona-Lisa smile. "Her case was tossed in the missing person bin and everyone just sat around waiting for her body to turn up." Ripley scratched his head again. "I'm gather it never did." "Nope," replied Ripley with a frown. "But a funny thing happened. Eight months ago we had another woman go missing, this time right in the neighborhood." He stretched out another file folder in Mulder's direction. "Rebecca Seeton. Age 31. Worked full-time as manager of a day-care center downtown. Her fiancι Robert Glaser reported her missing when she didn't show up to meet him and his parents for dinner. I caught the case, and it's been a thorn in my side ever since." "Her car was found but Rebecca is still missing." Mulder quickly scanned the typed reports spread across his lap. Ripley nodded, sipping tepid coffee from a chipped gray mug. "You got it." Mulder lifted a candid shot of a pretty blond woman, laughing as she wrestled with a large, black dog on the grass. "So you think the cases are related," he said. "That the same person is responsible for both disappearances." "I don't know anything for sure," Ripley replied. "But yeah, I think the similarity between the two stories suggests that we're looking for one perp. I sent out a teletype to all local divisions asking that any other cases like this be routed through me, so when Littlefield went to the 'oh-nine this morning, they directed him over here." "He knew about the others?" Ripley slugged the rest of his coffee in one gulp. "Yeah. The Seeton woman's fiancι, Glaser, he went to see Littlefield when we told him that there wasn't anything else we could do for him. Littlefield tried to explain to him that you can't prosecute without a defendant." He shook his head. "Poor bastard. I talked to him a dozen times, and every blessed time he told me their wedding date. November eleventh. He was so damn sure she would be back in time." He fell abruptly silent, but Mulder filled in the ugly blanks for himself. There wasn't going to be a wedding. Not on November eleventh, not ever. Finally Mulder cleared his throat, twitching uncomfortably in his chair. "Do you...do you think that Scully..." he broke off, unable to finish the thought. It had been bad enough when he thought Littlefield was responsible, when he had a solid lead and a target for his anger. But this...this was a nightmare of epic proportions. Even the Smoker would be preferable to a psychopathic stranger. At least then he would have some sense of where to start the search. Ripley was saved from a reply by the appearance of Skinner, who flipped his cell phone closed with a deep frown as he approached the desk. "I'll have a list of every one who was at the morgue on Saturday within the hour," he said. Then he glanced from Mulder to Ripley. "Have you shown him the tape yet?" Mulder sat up with a start, his heart lurching into his throat. "What tape?" Ripley was silent for a moment. Then he rose, chair squeaking in protest, and palmed video cassette from his desk. "Come with me," he said. Mulder went. ********************* End part four. Continued in part five Lesser Evils, part five by Hannah Mason Yadda yadda yadda in part one *************************** He had left her a few battered paperback mysteries to read, but Scully ignored them, lost in thought as she paced the concrete floor of her prison. The last thing he had said to her was that he would be back, and she wanted to be ready for him. He had finally untied her that morning, indicating that he was beginning to let down his guard. Good. Soon he would make other mistakes, and she knew she would have to be prepared to strike instantly. Choose carefully, she told herself. You may only get one chance. In the hours since he had gone, she had examined every inch of her cell for anything that might be used as a weapon. The results of her search were disappointing, for the tiny room had been stripped bare of anything remotely dangerous, containing the just a narrow single bed, small round end- table and the oak chair he sat in to watch her eat. The minuscule bathroom equally spartan, with only a toilet and small sink. Certainly there was nothing that would be effective against him and the gun he wore tucked in the waistband of his pants. She halted her pacing to climb again the eight rungs that led up to the circular portal in the ceiling. Just as before, the solid metal cover did not budge at all when she pushed against it. "Locked from the outside," she murmured, tracing the edges with her fingers. "That must mean that he leaves it unlocked when he's down here." Filing that bit of information away, she climbed back down and went to sit cross-legged on the bed, her back to the concrete wall. She absently traced the ugly fuchsia flower pattern on the bedspread, mentally reviewing her limited options. He was big, perhaps too big for her to over-power without help. If she tried and failed... Scully shivered and moved so she hugged her knees close against her chest. Think, she willed herself. There's got to be a way out of here. Her eyes went to the ceiling where air hummed softly through a small vent. Maybe...? She stood up on the bed for a closer look. No, it only eighteen inches wide and less than a foot long. Far too tiny for her to fit through. Where's Tooms when you need him? she wondered with a sigh, and then suppressed a giddy laugh at her sudden longing for the heinous mutant. She plopped back down on the lumpy mattress, curling into a ball and closing her eyes. Mulder. He had shown up in the nick of time that night, when Tooms had oozed into her home intent on making her his latest snack. Somehow, he had known even before she had that she was in trouble. Does he sense that now? she wondered. Does he even know I'm gone? He's not coming for you this time. Her eyes snapped open in surprise, but there was no one in the room. The words had come from within, and she accepted their truth with a heavy heart. There was not going to be any eleventh hour rescue. Not this time. Even if Mulder still possessed the desire to traipse around looking for her, he would never think to search here, he would never suspect... She blinked back the welling tears and scooted off the bed with fresh resolve. He would be back at any moment. Thinkthinkthink. What has he overlooked? She walked around the room slowly and finally halted in front of the heavy oak chair, inspecting it with a critical eye. She turned it upside down and twisted around to hold the bottom closer to the lone light bulb that hung from the ceiling. With one fingernail, she prodded the tiny screws that held the legs in place, and a plan began to take shape in her mind. ********************* The three men stood in a close semi-circle within the darkened AV room, hovering around the TV screen like campers around a fire. "This is from the security camera posted at the doorway," Ripley said as he slipped the cassette into the VCR. "I had it pulled this morning." The screen flickered once, then displayed a crisp black-and- white image of the dimly-lit entryway and double glass doors that marked the front entrance to the city morgue. The running time stamp in the lower right corner read twelve- forty six a.m. A few seconds later, Mulder watched riveted as Scully slowly crossed the screen and paused, her arm against the bar on the door as if poised to push it open. Her shoulders drooped with a tired sag, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt, remembering again the harsh words he'd left her with that night. "Watch this here," murmured Ripley. It was needless comment, for Mulder couldn't have torn his eyes away. Scully turned suddenly from the door, her features set in a puzzled expression. She raised a hand to her hairline, squinting in the direction from which she had come. Then she smiled, checked her watch, and retraced her steps across the screen until she was out of range of the camera. "That's all there is," Ripley said quietly. "We've played the tape until the end. If she left the morgue that night, it wasn't through the front door." "Again. I want to see it again." Mulder fell to his knees in front of the TV, his eyes wild and unfocused as he dragged the TV cart forward until it was level with his face. "Of course." Ripley hit the rewind button and Scully swiftly reappeared on screen, moving jerkily in reverse. Mulder pressed even closer to the screen as the scene began to play once more. "Wait, stop it there!" he called sharply when Scully first turned around from the door. Her image froze abruptly and Mulder tapped a finger against the far left of the screen. "Look at that. See that shadow on the floor? There's someone there in the hallway, just off camera." "We figured as much," said Skinner. "It seems like someone stopped her from leaving." "Someone she knew..." Mulder breathed, his face millimeters from the screen as he gazed at the frozen profile of his partner. He traced the curve of her face gently before finally rising to his feet. "I don't understand," he said, turning on Ripley. "I thought you were pushing a link between Scully and those other cases, that you said there was one person responsible." Skinner looked away. Ripley scuffed the floor with his shoe. "Yes, well," he hesitated. "We don't know for sure that it isn't the same person." "Oh, that's just great. Terrific," Mulder ground out, his anger returning full force. "So what the hell DO we know for sure?" "We're doing everything we can," said Ripley. Not good ENOUGH! Mulder screamed inside, but he held his tongue. He turned back where Scully was still captured, silent and unmoving on the screen. "She's alive," he blurted suddenly, his eyes widening with the knowledge. "She's alive, I know it." He whirled on Skinner and Ripley, as if challenging them to contradict him. Neither dared. Ripley cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper off the top of the TV set. "I sent the A.P.B. out personally this morning," he said quietly. "Every cop in the city is on the alert. If she's out there, we'll find her." Mulder grabbed the paper but did not immediately read it. Four years melted into four seconds, and he was suddenly back in another tiny, gray room surrounded by law enforcement personnel as he read the sparse lines that reduced his most trusted confidante into a series of dry statistics. Not again, he thought desperately. How can this possibly be happening again? He closed his eyes briefly, the sheet crinkling in his too-tight grasp. Finally, he took a deep breath and forced his gaze to the paper in his hand. The bold print screamed out at him from the stark white background. NAME: DANA KATHERINE SCULLY DOB: 02/23/64 HAIR/EYES: RED/BLUE HEIGHT: 5'2'' WEIGHT: 102 lb. LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS: 5/2/99 IN WASHINGTON, D.C. CITY MORGUE AT APPROX. 1 a.m. DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, PINK SWEATER AND WHITE TENNIS SHOES. The words blurred on the page, and Mulder crumpled the paper with one hand. "This isn't going to work," he said bitingly. "She's not going to be wandering the street like some lost puppy. We need this sort of information on HIM, not her." He jerked a nod at the shadow on the screen, and then stalked past the other two men and out of the room. "I can't fault his logic," Ripley remarked to Skinner a moment later. "But I don't see what he can do that isn't already being done." Skinner glanced once at the gray smudge cast along the morgue floor. "I expect Mulder will have new insight soon," he answered cryptically, striding toward the door. Ripley's words stopped him at the threshold. "How? By investigating our phantom shadow?" Skinner turned around slowly. "No," he said, his soft tone an odd blend of respect and fear. "By becoming him." *********************** The sky was streaked with wide crimson and gold bands when Mulder pulled his car into the city morgue parking lot. The scene of the crime. It was an obvious place to start, but somehow he could not make himself get out of the car. Precious seconds ticked by as he sat staring out the windshield at the setting sun. It had seemed like such a good idea a short while ago, to try to climb inside the head of the monster who kidnapped his partner, to try to imagine what he was thinking when he had grabbed her, what he was planning to do with her, what he might have ALREADY done with her... Mulder swallowed back a dry heave. Focusfocusfocus. He repeated the words to himself in a silent litany. You're gonna get her back. Just concentrate. You're gonna get her back. He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally recalled the first rule of behavioral profiling: start with what you know for sure, the facts of the case. It was simple logic that had been drilled into him relentlessly at the Academy. Every action has a cause. Every crime scene tells a story. Read the perpetrator's actions, and you can determine the motivation behind them. Find the motivation and you will find the killer. The killer. Mulder's eyes flew open. Not yet, he thought. But soon. With new determination, he finally pushed his way out of the car and hurried up the steps into the morgue. The heavy glass door closed slowly behind him while he stood rooted to the floor just inside the building, approximating Scully's position on the tape. Though deserted, the hallway was better lit than it had been that night. He walked back and forth a few times, casting his eyes about for any trace of Scully or the man who had abducted her. Eventually, he stopped back in front of the doors and turned his head to squint up the ceiling, fixing his gaze on the large black eye of the security camera. He took a tentative step in its direction, his mouth parted as if to speak, then halted. His neck was craned all the way back as he studied the camera, and finally he shook his head. "Something's not..." He weakly a finger weakly at the lens, turning back around to study the empty hallway. "Something's not right about that tape." He crossed back over to stand by the door and gazed down the length of the vacant corridor. "Who was it, Scully?" he murmured under his breath. "Who did you see here? Who was that smile for?" At that moment a door opened and a tall young man in blue coveralls stepped out into the hall carrying a large sack of garbage. Busy in his work, he did not immediately notice Mulder's presence. "Hey, I know you." Mulder moved in a flash, reaching the other man in a few quick strides. "You're Raymond Valente, right? Amateur psychologist extraordinaire." "Yeah, that's right." His answered sullenly as his eyes raked Mulder from top to bottom. "And I know you, too." "You seem to know a lot of things," Mulder said, stepping a bit closer. The young man lifted his chin defiantly and did not back away. "I know what I know," he countered, eyes narrowed. "What I heard." Mulder did not back down either, matching the other man's intense gaze with one of his own. "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's impolite to eavesdrop, Raymond?" Raymond snorted. "Who was eavesdropping? I could have heard you a mile away, you were yelling at her so loud." His tone dripped with disapproval. Mulder winced reflexively at the rebuke, and Raymond caught it, his eyes gleaming black with triumph. It was a short- lived victory, however, because Mulder regained his footing quickly. "If you're so well-informed then you must have also heard me leave long before 1 a.m.," he said. He paused and circled the janitor slowly. "But you, Raymond," he murmured. "You were actually in the building when she disappeared, isn't that right?" Gotcha now, he thought as Raymond looked away, squirming uncomfortably. "You like to hang around here, don't you?," Mulder continued softly. "Especially when she's working. You like to watch her, talk to her. I understand you also ask her all sorts of questions about the dead bodies." He pushed his face right up into Raymond's, his tone icy cold. "You have a thing for stiffs, Raymond?" The young man's mouth tightened into a white line but he did not reply. "Or maybe," Mulder said backing off to circle him once more, "maybe you just have a thing for my partner. Is that it?" "No, that's you." Raymond spat, suddenly finding his voice. Mulder ignored him. "Hey, I can see why you would like her, Raymond. She *is* quite pretty. And smart, too." He advanced a bit closer. "And She's nice to you, isn't she? Talks to you, acts like she's really interested in what you're saying. Yeah, Scully's like that. Always taking pity on people." "We're friends," said Raymond through gritted teeth. "C'mon, Raymond, you don't actually believe that!" Mulder scoffed. "A woman like that chooses you as a friend?" He shook his head. "I don't think so." "Better me than someone who screams at her..." Raymond tried, but the jab fell short. He was breathing hard, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "What happened that night, Raymond?" Mulder asked softly, his faced pressed so oppressively close that he could smell the younger man's sweat. "Did you ask her out and she said no? Did you finally realize that she was never gonna like you back, not the way you wanted her to?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "I think you do. I think you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about." Raymond swallowed hard. "I don't," he whined. "I didn't do anything to her, I swear." "You swear," Mulder taunted back. "Well, I guess I should believe you then." He reached out one finger and hooked the crucifix that hung around the custodian's neck. "You a religious man, Raymond? Lying's a sin. You could go to hell." "You go to hell!" His voice was harder and he jerked from Mulder's grasp. "You're crazy, man," he waved a shaky hand at Mulder. "You really are nuts. I told the cops what I heard, but I didn't really think you would..." He was cut off by Mulder slamming him up against the wall. "You think that was crazy?" he demanded. "I'll show you crazy. How's this?" he shook the man roughly, rattling his teeth. "I have a reputation to uphold here. Don't want to disappoint you." "Sss...sstttop...plll..leeease." Mulder released him abruptly and Raymond sank against the wall to the floor. "Where is she?" Mulder said, looming over him. Raymond shook his head weakly, cowering under his hands. "I don't know," he replied hoarsely. "I swear to God I don't know." Mulder watched him coughing and sputtering for a moment longer. "You better pray that's true," he said at last. "You better pray hard, Raymond, 'cause if you did something to Scully, not even the Almighty himself will be enough to protect you from me." ************************** End part five. Continued in part six. Lesser Evils, part six by Hannah Mason Disclaimer and all that in part one **************************** "Not only is she a complete motor-mouth, but she can never be anywhere on time," David complained in annoyance as they sat on a plush bench in the waiting area of Allegra, the popular, newly-opened sea-food restaurant. "She'll be here soon," Ellie soothed, fussing with his tie. He lightly slapped her hand away. "It's fine already," He muttered. She smiled sweetly at him. "You look terribly handsome this evening," she said. "I'm sure I am going to be the envy of every woman in the room." "Yeah, yeah..." he answered with an eye roll, but she could tell his black mood was lifting. He took laced their fingers together and set their joined hands on his knee. "Who is it I'm being dressed up for this time? Stockbroker, congressman...?" She laughed and he shrugged. "Sorry, babe. I just can't keep up with the revolving love life of Ramona Jones." "Well, you better have dressed up for *me*," she teased with mock indignation. "But Ramona's bringing Brad Somebodyorother. He's a DC cop." "So, she's slumming with us working class boys for a change?" David answered dryly. "How 'au courant'..." "David! Be nice." He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Honey, I'm aaaalways nice," he drawled. "You should know that by now." Ellie's cheeks turned pink as remembered how nice he had been just one hour earlier. And how naked. He was apparently remembering the same thing, because he pressed his lips to the side of her neck in an echo of the gesture that had begun an intense bout of lovemaking. "Mmmm," he breathed into her hair. "Let's blow this joint and order in Chinese. They'll never miss us." Oooo, so tempting. But no. "David...I promised Ramona that we'd be here to meet Brad." He sighed, pulling away from her. "Right. Brad the cop." Ellie giggled suddenly. "You know, I understand from Ramona that he packs, um...shall we say, a pretty big gun," She laughed again. "Long arm of the law and all that." "Okay, that's information overload right there," he informed her, shaking his head. "Now I won't be able to look the guy in the face." "I wasn't talking about his *face*..." "Enough!" David cried, rising as if deeply offended. "I will not be party to this crude conversation any longer." Ellie laughingly tugged him back down. "Sorry, couldn't resist," she murmured, and snuggled against him in apology. He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed a warning. "Well, you better be on your best behavior this evening, missy, or I'll tell Brad the Cop about your sighting Dr. Frankenstein at the local morgue. He and Ramona would sure get a kick out of that story." She pinched him. "You wouldn't dare." "Try me." "David, you know how I rescued you from that awful bachelor pad with the cracks in the walls and the rusty water coming out of the sink?" He nodded, his eyes alight with merriment. "Good. Remember that every time you get the urge to open your mouth this evening, 'cause you can always move back." They were still laughing and trading threats of divorce when Ramona and Brad arrived--only forty-three minutes late--for dinner. *********************** He was agitated when he descended into the basement with her latest meal. Then he stood over her imperiously until she began to eat. "That's a good girl," he praised, but his tone was still marked with irritation. He began to pace the floor in front of her. "They're looking for you," he informed her with a frown. "I knew this would happen, of course. It's nothing new. I'm sure they'll hunt around for a good while before they finally give up." He stopped suddenly, and leaned over to stroke her hair. "And they always give up eventually." Scully remained silent as she struggled not to spit out the partially-chewed carrots in her mouth. He resumed his pacing, with one hand clutching the gun tucked in his pants. "I bet I know what you're thinking," he said bitterly. "You're thinking that HE'S going to come find you." "He?" Scully echoed softly, putting down her fork and avoiding his eyes in an effort not to appear challenging. "You know. HIM. Mulder." The last word he ground out with such hatred that her eyes flew to his face in startled horror. "Yeah, that's right," he told her with a sneer. "He's looking for you, too. Running all over the place like a fucking madman." Scully fought a shudder, surprised that she wasn't more pleased to learn he was searching for her. Instead she was afraid for him. Careful, Mulder, she begged silently. Please be careful. You don't know what you're dealing with here. "He thinks he's pretty hot shit, doesn't he? Mr. FBI man with the fancy Oxford education. Well, he doesn't have a clue now." His voice was filled with triumph. "He's just spinning his wheels in the mud, and I intend to see that he stays good and stuck there." He moved to sit close next to her on the bed, his breath on her face. "I know you care about him." Scully ducked her head instinctively. Don't let him see how much, she thought wildly. He began stroking her hair again, and she went rigid, holding back a flinch. "It'll pass in time," he murmured in her ear. "Ultimately you'll understand that he's no good for you. You'll see that you are the chosen one. I'm a patient man, I can wait...for a while." The stroking stopped abruptly and he stood once more. "But your partner better back off soon," he warned. "I'll let him run circles for now, but eventually I will find a more...permanent...solution to his interference." He smiled then, and she stared at him mutely in response. Time was running out faster that she had realized. "You should eat more," he scolded gently as he cleared away her tray. "I like a woman with a little meat on her bones." He leered openly and Scully shivered. "Wish I could stay longer," he continued as he eyed her chest with appreciation. "But I have some work left to do. Maybe tomorrow night we can...get to know each other a little more intimately, huh?" Over my dead body, she thought automatically, and then winced when she realized the expression might actually be prophetic. "Uh...yeah. I'd, uh, like that." She forced a tight smile. With any luck, she would be long gone by the next evening. He nodded with a goofy grin, turning to leave, and Scully's eyes slid to the oak chair in the corner. Thank God that he had not noticed anything was amiss. Tomorrow morning, she thought. I'll show you the true meaning of intimate contact. ************************ Mulder felt a twinge of guilt as the lock sprung free with a slight twist of the tiny tools. He realized that he had no right to be invading her space this way, not after the tirade he had performed the other night, but he simply couldn't help himself. He pushed the door of her apartment open and stepped slowly inside. It was silent as the grave; not even a ticking clock disturbed the impressive quiet. He moved soundlessly through the room, touching as he went: her bureau, her lamp, her stereo, her ridiculously large floor plant that he always liked to tease her about. He stroked each object in turn, observing the strange, personal ritual he had established the last time she had vanished. Touching her things had grounded him then, given him proof that she had actually existed. That she wasn't just some imaginary friend he'd dreamed up in a moment of complete lunacy. It had given him hope that she would return one day to listen again to the Brahms CD, open [The Physician's Desk Reference], and water the goddamn plant. Now seeing her things just made him ache. Whoever had Scully this time had no intention of returning her, this he knew for certain. This latest threat was not the work of the conspiracy artists, the powerful men who so often jerked her life around like a yo-yo. She was not being dangled carrot- like in front of him, a pawn used callously to keep him in line. No, for once, this was not all about him. And yet it was. In the way it always was where Scully was concerned. He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers lightly over her bookcase. When at last he had made contact with virtually all her possessions, he sat down on the sofa with his head in his hands. He had never told her that he'd done this before, when she had vanished into the night without a trace, leaving him to weave through life like a boat with no rudder. Not that the subjection of her abduction came up in routine conversation. Scully did not seem to want to discuss it, and he generally followed her lead. When they did speak of it, he kept the conversation trained fully on her and what she had endured during those missing months. Partially it was to push her to remember, to glean further information from her that might aide them in their efforts to unravel the conspiracy swirling around them. But mainly it was out of fear that he had refrained from sharing his side of the story. He didn't want her to know lost he had been without her, didn't want to scare her with the strength of his need. And he hadn't wanted to tempt fate into stealing her again, punishing him for his love and leaving Scully to suffer the consequences. But fate won out anyway, having devised a more exacting kind of torture. He had thought that the worst thing would be for her to know how much he cared, how pathetically grateful he was for her presence in his life. He had been very wrong. The not knowing was much, much worse. "Fuck," he muttered into his hands. He rose from the couch to wander once more around the apartment, mentally chastising himself for the bout of self- pity. This isn't giving you jack shit in the way of information. Think harder. Who the hell is this animal? Where does he have her? His trip to the morgue had not given him much insight into who had grabbed Scully or why. He knew only that it was not a spur-of-the-moment job; whoever it was had been planning it for quite some time. He patted around until he found his coat pocket and reached in to pull out a copy of the security camera video. There was still something about the sequence that bothered him, but he could not verbalize what it was. He ventured into her bedroom and punched the power button on the TV. There's got to be something more to this. What the hell am I missing? he wondered. The question kept niggling at him as he slipped the cassette into the VCR, watching again as it played his own personal silent horror film. The short scene appeared just as it always had, with Scully turning around each time and walking off screen with a smile. "NO!" he wanted to shout at her. "Keep going, don't turn around!" But Scully's image always ignored his advice and crossed the screen to meet the shadow. ******************************************************** She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrestling with the oak chair once more. It was a struggle, and sweat had begun to gather between her shoulder blades, trickling in rivulets down her back. "Come on, come on..." she coaxed in annoyance. Her efforts were hampered by the pitch black darkness that he had left her in after dinner. At least he left, she thought grimly as she worked. Finally, she heard a tiny tinkling sound as the small screws slipped from their confines to land on the floor near her feet. "Ha-ha!" she cried with a grin, delighting in her momentary triumph. She had broken three nails in the process, but the damn things were free at last. "Now for the moment of truth," she muttered, and with a sharp twist, yanked one heavy leg off bottom of the seat. She tested its weight in her hands. "Perfect.". Then she grabbed the end of the wrought iron bed frame and dragged it into the center of the room. She set one foot on the mattress and hoisted herself, still standing, until she was as close to the ceiling as possible. Next, she swung the chair leg like a bat. It took several tries, but at last the leg connected with the light bulb, shattering it into many pieces. Scully shielded her eyes as glass shards rained from above, then hopped down and moved the bed back into its original position. Next, she felt her way across the room until she found the metal rungs in the wall. Setting the chair leg at her feet, she climbed the make-shift ladder until she reached the portal at the top. Not fast enough, she thought, and tried it again. And again. And again. She practiced until she had the rhythm down flawlessly. There would be no time for fumbling mistakes. Breathless, she finally picked up the leg again and returned to the bed, where she sat down to wait. *********************** The chirping of his cell phone woke Mulder from his doze. He lay half-sprawled across her bed, coat still on and feet planted on the floor, where he had nodded off in front of the TV somewhere around 3 am. He blinked against the harsh white light of the screen and felt around on the bedspread for his phone. "Yeah," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. "Agent Mulder. Where are you?" To his addled-brain, Skinner sounded both irritated and concerned. "I'm at Scully's. Why, did something happen?" He sat up quickly, all traces of sleep evaporating instantly. "No, there's no news yet." He paused. "Mulder, Detective Ripley informed me that you had a run-in with a janitor down at the morgue. Raymond Valente actually lodged a complaint." "Uh, we had a talk, yeah." "Yes, well...It would seem the conversation was rather similar to the one you had with ADA Littlefield yesterday afternoon." Mulder did not answer. Skinner sighed deeply. "You can't keep doing this, Agent Mulder. I realize this is a difficult situation, but you've got to keep control or I'll be forced to pull you off this case." "I'd like to see you try," Mulder shot back. It was Skinner's turn to fall silent. A few tense moments passed before he spoke again. "This Valente guy," he ventured finally. "You get anything from him?" Mulder rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Other than he thinks *I'm* the one behind Scully's disappearance? Not really. He's definitely strange. A quiet religious type-shy, even. But he's also got a temper. Probably has a major crush on Scully, too. I don't know that he has the balls to pull off a stunt like this, but I can't rule him out. Not when he was the only one we know for sure was there when she was attacked." "About that..." "What?" "The police found a jimmied window in the basement. No one seems to know when it happened or how long it's been there, but it's possible that's how the guy got in." Mulder closed his eyes. "So his face wouldn't be on any of the video tapes." "Exactly." There was a moment of silence as the two men digested this latest piece of bad news. Mulder picked up the VCR remote and played the tape again. Nothing new jumped out at him. "I'm going to lean on Littlefield some more," he said as he watched Scully smile for the shadow. "This asshole is somebody she knew and trusted." "Fine." Skinner hesitated. "Agent Mulder..." Mulder braced himself for another warning. "Lean hard." He smiled. "Yes, Sir." ********************** End part six. Continued in part seven Lesser Evils, part seven by Hannah Mason Just story here, see part one for legal stuff **************************** Her arms and legs ached from the unrelenting tension. It felt like she had been crouched on the bed waiting for days rather than hours. Finally, she heard the scrape of the heavy metal lid being pulled away. It was time. A funnel of light shone through from the ceiling and she squinted, her eyes stinging with the sudden brightness. "Dana?" he called, sounding puzzled. "What's going on with the light?" Her heart rate accelerated to an almost painful pace. It was now or never. "Bulb's burnt out," she answered loudly from the bed. Then she slipped silently along the wall until she stood, clutching the chair leg in hand, on the far side of the metal rungs. "I just changed it a week ago..." his voice was laced with suspicion and he made no move to climb down into the room. Ohpleaseohplease...Scully waited barely breathing. "I guess I'll have to get another one," he said finally. "Be right back." The lid clamped down once more. Scully licked her lips and tightened her hold on the chair leg. "Just a few more minutes," she assured herself in a whisper. "He's gonna come down here in a minute, so just be ready." No sooner had she spoken than the ray of light appeared from above once more. "Okay, I've got one," he announced, and she saw his foot come down on the first rung. "But I'm warning you, Dana, this had better not be some kind of trick on your part. I would hate to have to punish you." She heard the deliberate cock of the trigger on his gun and her mouth went dry. She raised the leg in the air. "Here we..." She whacked him as hard as she could across the back of the neck. He cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the gun and stumbling away from her. But he did not fall down. Scully barely had time to register this fact as she scrambled up the ladder. The eight rungs seemed to take forever, but at last she poked her head up into the basement. Freedom! She placed her palms on the dank ground, prepared to hoist herself clear of the hole, when a hand clenched a fistful of her hair. He yanked hard, and tears of pain sprang up automatically in her eyes. She jerked from left to right but couldn't break free. "That was very bad." He joined her on the ladder, pressing close against her as he continued to pull her head back so far she feared her neck would snap. Then he wrenched her left arm behind her back and tugged her sharply down the ladder into the cell. "Very bad indeed," he growled, his breath hot in her ear. "I hope you enjoyed that little prank, Dana, because now you have to face the consequences." Tears fell from her eyes in earnest now, both from the pain and the realization that she had failed. He shoved her roughly down on the bed, pinning her with his knees as he produced the nylon cords from the back of his pants. She struggled as best she could, but he easily trapped her hands above her head with one arm. "Very bad," he repeated, more to himself than her. He flipped her over suddenly and she arched in pain, her breath caught in her throat. She coughed and sputtered into the pillow as he tightly bound her wrists to the iron bar at the head of the bed. The bed lifted abruptly when he moved off her, and for a second she thought he might be leaving. Then the light came back on as he replaced the bulb, and she heard him retrieve the gun from the floor. I'm sorry, Mom, she thought wildly, squeezing her eyes shut. And she began to pray. He loomed over her again, using the barrel of the gun to brush the hair from her eyes. "I could kill you right now, you know that?" he asked lightly. "Just one pull of the trigger and it would be all over. You could join the others lying in Potter's field. Would you like that? Huh?" Scully shook her head against the pillow. Please God, no. "Me either," he said with a sigh. "I would hate to see all my hard work wasted in just two days. Besides, the Lord rewards those who are patient. Jesus himself had to endure forty days and forty nights of trials." He ran the edge of the gun over her cheek. "So I'll tell you what, Dana. If you promise to be a good girl from now on, I'll overlook this little transgression, okay?" Okayokayokay. She nodded as vigorously as she could. "Say thank you," he commanded. "Thank you," she whispered obediently. "Very good." She felt him set the gun down on the bed and move to straddle her backside, his knee pressing painfully against her leg. She stiffened and stifled a cry. "You didn't think you were going to get off without your punishment, did you, Angel?" He reached under her to undo the snap on her jeans. Oh, please no. Scully twisted her head into the pillow, hot tears of shame trickling down her cheeks. He undid her jeans fully and then moved his hands back around to push up her sweater. He froze. "Well, well, well," he murmured. "What have we here?" He traced her tattoo with one cold finger, and Scully shivered. "This explains a lot," he said at length. "You've got the devil in you, Angel. That's why we're having such a rough time together." He reached under her again and refastened her pants. "But don't worry," he finished softly. "I know just the thing to get him out. It will hardly hurt at all." ********************************************************* It hurt so much. Hours later, she lay alone in the dark, face down on the bed dressed in only a bra and jeans. Her sweater was on the floor somewhere, but she could summon the energy to look for it. She moaned softly into the pillow. Everything hurt. Her neck and arms ached unbearably from her struggles against the restraints, and he had done something to her left knee during their original tussle on the bed. She could feel it swollen and throbbing under her jeans. But all of these injuries, painful as they were, paled in comparison to the blinding agony of the fiery burn on her lower back, where he had tried to rid her of the devil by searing the serpent tattoo off her body. The room still stunk of hot wax and singed flesh. Scully began to shake. So cold, she thought dimly. Should be hot, why cold...? She trembled for several long minutes before it occurred to her that she was probably in shock. Her teeth chattered as she made a feeble effort to crawl under the blankets, but in her weakened state she couldn't lift herself enough to pull the covers free. Instead, she clenched one side of the bedspread, rolling over gingerly until she was cocooned on top of the bed. Was it like this for the others? she wondered, shivering with pain and trying to picture the women who had come before her. Had they, too, struggled against their fate only to realize the futility of their actions? When had they known that they were going to die? Had they screamed? Begged? Prayed for loved ones left behind? Stop it! a voice in her head commanded. You're giving up, and that's *exactly* what he wants. Don't have a choice, she answered back, knowing it was true. If she had been outmatched before, her new injuries rendered her an even less formidable opponent. There was no way she could win a fight now. Use your head, the voice urged. Keep alert. He's beginning to lose it, can't you see? He's going to make mistakes, you just have to wait and pick your chance! I had my chance, she thought glumly. So tired now. Can't think. Just want to sleep. And the voice faded away. *************************** Wednesday morning dawned in shades of gray, and by seven a.m. a light rain had begun to fall over most of D.C. Mulder killed the windshield wipers as he came to a stop two blocks from St. Mary's Church. Three cars down he spotted Riggs and Delacourt, the two blues who had been assigned to tail Littlefield for the night. Mulder himself had shadowed the attorney for most of the previous day, abandoning the project only when it became apparent he had settled in for the night. At that point, Mulder had returned the job to the local cops while he spent long hours at the FBI computer lab, forcing a young technician to analyze the security tape frame by frame. Still nothing. With a sigh, he slammed his door shut and jogged amid the raindrops until he came to the green Chevy that housed Riggs and Delacourt. He opened the left rear door and slid behind Delacourt, who was driving. "Anything?" he asked tersely. "Naw," said Riggs with disgust, twisting in his seat to look at Mulder. "He left the house about twenty minutes ago, came straight here. What's up with that, I'm asking you. Church at seven a.m? This cat's a regular choirboy." "That's police code for 'loser'," quipped Delacourt, and the two partners dissolved into chuckles at their own wit. "There was no movement at all last night." Mulder did not share the merriment. "Nope." Delacourt checked his notes. "It was lights out at twenty-three hundred hours and then nothing 'til he left the house a few minutes ago." "Dammit," Mulder sat back in his seat with a huff. He glanced out the rain-streaked window in the direction of the church. "I'm going in there," he announced at last. "I want to talk to him again, face to face." "You think that's such a good idea?" Riggs asked, but his eyes belied his excitement. Finally, there was going to be some action. "If he is the perp, you could spook him." "Good," Mulder answered shortly as he moved to exit the car. "I hope I do spook him. Maybe then he'll lead us to Scully." A few minutes later he was brushing raindrops from his overcoat inside the Church foyer. He entered the large main hall cautiously and was surprised to find there was no service in progress. His eyes adjusted to the dim light as he took his surroundings. A large organ sat silent at the front of the hall and the pews were sprinkled with an occasional worshipper, but there was not a priest in sight. Neither did he see Littlefield. Mulder strode quickly up the center aisle, his head swaying like a pendulum from left to right as he searched out Littlefield. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath. "Where are you?" He reached the front and stared out at the questioning faces in the rows before him. No Littlefield. "Shit," he said, starting back down the aisle once more. "Shitshitshit." He was about to send up the flare to Riggs and Delacourt when he spotted a small alcove at the back of the church that glowed with candles. Standing solemnly in front of the candles was Aaron Littlefield. Mulder stood frozen for a moment, then glanced once at the rest of the worshippers. They had apparently returned to their private reveries. Mulder slowly approached the alcove and stepped inside. Littlefield tensed with his arrival. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a controlled whisper. Mulder gave a purposefully casual shrug. "Oh you know, I thought I'd drop by, say a few Hail Marys...see if you were finally gonna tell me the truth about what happened with Scully." Littlefield was quiet for a long moment. "Do you believe in God, Agent Mulder?" "No," Mulder answered shortly. "But I believe in evil." "Ah, that's half the battle won, then." Littlefield smiled and walked over to gaze out of a small round window. "What about redemption?" he asked without turning around. "Do you believe a man, once plagued with darkness, could somehow be reborn?" Mulder felt his chest tighten. "I...yes." He had proven that one himself six years ago. "Me, too." Littlefield nodded slowly. He turned around. "Karen Kittering, the girl I...assaulted..." he barely forced the word out, "she and I are friends, now, did you know that?" Mulder shook his head. No, he hadn't known. "Her parents were actually the ones who pressed the charges. Karen knew I hadn't meant to hurt her; that's why I got off so lightly." He paced the room with measured steps. "Don't get me wrong, I was plenty horrified by what I did, how I'd hurt her. I promised Karen that I'd spend the rest of my days making up for it, and sweet girl that she is, she let me." He gave Mulder a half-smile. "We still exchange Christmas cards every year." "That's a truly touching story. Let me get out my violin." Mulder folded his arms over his chest, still suspicious. "Look, I told you in the hopes that you would understand," Littlefield said with a sigh. "I'm not the monster that you seem to think I am." He cocked his head at Mulder. "Or that maybe you want me to be." "All I want is my partner back." "And I wish I could help you, I really do. But Agent Mulder..." He waited until he had Mulder's full attention. "I'm telling you this now in front of God...I didn't have anything to do with Dana's disappearance. I would *never* have hurt her. And I don't know where she is." Mulder held his eyes for a long time, deciding whether to believe him. Then at last he saw the truth. "Son of a bitch," he murmured. "You didn't do it, did you?" "No," said Littlefield again, his voice tinged with relief. Mulder sank down weakly on the wooden bench. "I was so sure..." "Yes, I gathered that much," Littlefield huffed a small, humorless laugh . "The police car parked outside my home last night was a pretty strong tip off." "But..." Mulder was still struggling to wrap his brain around this new information. "But if it wasn't you, then who..?" Littlefield joined him on the bench. "I have my theory, but I don't think you're going to like it very much." "The kidnapper," Mulder said immediately. "The one who took those other women." "Exactly. The pattern fits perfectly. It's got to be him." "But Scully knew this guy...you can see it on the tape." The tape again. Always back to the tape. What the fuck am I not seeing? he wondered angrily. "...don't' know that he was a stranger to the others, either," Littlefield was saying. "That has been the most frustrating part of this case. We don't know how he chose them, why he took them or what he did with them." "They're dead," Mulder interjected with flat certainty. "Yes. Yes, I believe you're right." They were silent for a moment, each staring at the flickering candles as if hypnotized. Mulder closed his eyes and visualized Scully as she walked down the hallway of the morgue, trying to see her as the killer might. Almost gets away, he thought. Almost...but then I stop her. I call to her. "Scully!"... no-Dana... "Dana, wait!" She turns around and recognizes me. She smiles and I'm glad. Yes, that's right. I'm glad because I've been thinking about this moment for so long, anticipating it with such pleasure, and now it's here and I'm happy and she's happy... Thank you, God. Mulder's eyes snapped open. He stood, very slowly, and walked over to the wooden cross that hung on the wall over the rows of candles. He stared at it for a long moment. "I think...I think I know why he chose them." Littlefield sucked in his breath. "How?" "No, not yet. I have to see the photos of the others again. If I'm right, we may still have a little time left." *********************** End part seven. Continued in part eight. Lesser Evils, part eight by Hannah Mason Disclaimer etc. in part one *************************** He shook her shoulder gently to rouse her. "Rise and shine," he said cheerfully. "I've got a special treat for you this morning." Scully moaned low in her throat, rolling her head groggily on the pillow and shifting her limbs carefully beneath the bedspread. She had not moved in nearly twenty-four hours, having passed out from pain sometime in the middle of the night. It had been a delicious escape, and she now shrunk back under the covers, trying to recapture the tantalizing numbness of unconsciousness. But given even a small window of awareness, the pain asserted itself with a vengeance, using her increasing lucidity as a weapon of torment until Scully was biting her lip to keep from crying out in agony. Her joints were swollen and rigid, and her lower back still burned fiery-hot, as if flames continued to smolder beneath the tender skin. Where she had once been shaking with cold, she now felt smothered in heat. Her tongue was thick and dry in her mouth, and the pillow was damp beneath her tangled hair. Fever, she diagnosed easily. Big one. Infection, maybe? She swallowed twice in an effort to moisten her parched throat. "Wha.." The word came out like a needle scratch over a record. She swallowed once more, tried again. "What now?" "Breakfast, of course." He swooped the blankets off and she shivered in response to the cool air. "You've been so well- mannered for the last day that I thought you deserved some reward." He nodded in the direction of the ladder and grinned down at her. "Home-made waffles with all the fixings." "Upstairs?" she croaked out, suddenly completely alert. Her heart rate picked up, the surge of adrenaline taking the edge off her pain. "Yes ma'am," he replied. "If you can promise to behave yourself." Scully still didn't move from the bed. It could be a trick, she thought with sudden panic. He could be taking you to Potter's Field, just like the others. "C'mon now," he coaxed, holding her rumpled sweater out with one hand. "Get dressed and get moving. I've got to be at work soon." Scully took the garment from him slowly, her eyes searching his face for any trace of malevolence. "You didn't really think I meant to keep you down here forever, did you?" he asked with a short laugh. Scully froze with the sweater part way over her head. Yes. That was precisely what she had thought. What exactly was his plan, then? She eased the soft cotton down over her back very gingerly, wincing when it scraped over the inflamed skin there. He caught her grimace and made a tsk-tsk sound. "Sorry about that," he said. "But you left me no other choice. The devil had to come out." He extended a hand to help her off of the bed. "You're all better now, Angel. You'll see...we're going to be so good together, you and I." She took the hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her heart was pounding full force now. She still wasn't sure whether he meant to feed her breakfast or finish her off entirely, but she sensed something was about to happen. He stood at the based of the ladder, gesturing for her to begin the climb out. She studied him a moment longer, her eyes drifting from his uneven eyebrows to his full mouth, down over his neatly pressed shirt to rest at last on the gun still tucked in his pants. "That's right," he said, following her gaze. He patted the revolver almost lovingly. "Just remember who's in charge here and everything will be fine." He jerked his head in the direction of the ladder, and took hold of the cool metal rungs. He's almost giddy this morning, she thought as she climbed. Maybe that mistake is coming yet. She lifted herself rather ungracefully out into the basement, dusting her hands off on the back of her jeans as he followed her into the open air. "Ready?" he inquired with a smile. "Yes," she said, and prayed it was true. Together they mounted the dusty basement stairs. ************************* The alarm went off at precisely seven-thirty three, set as always to allow her the maximum amount of sleep. "...other news, the search continues for FBI agent Dana Scully, who disappeared from the city morgue sometime last Saturday night. Ms. Scully is the third such woman to go missing from the DC area in the last two years. Sources close to the investigation say..." The monologue halted as David automatically hit the snooze button. "Mmm...needa geddup," he muttered, rolling over on her. "Uh-huh," returned Ellie, squinting at the gray morning light. Then she gasped and sat up with a start. "David, what was that?" "Waz wha?" She shook him hard. "On the radio just now. Did you hear it? Some woman is missing from the morgue! An FBI agent or something. You see? It's just like I saw!" He blinked at her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Just now?" he repeated. "Ellie, are you sure?" "Yes, dammit." She was already reaching over him for the phone. "I'm calling the police." *********************** Scully eagerly drained both the water and orange juice he had laid out for her, not even caring if they were drugged. The cool liquid flowed down her raw throat, soothing away the tight pain and calming her rising fever. "Good?" he asked in a pleased voice. She nodded vigorously. Keep him talking, keep him happy, she coached herself mentally. "This is a nice house you have," she offered, chewing a bit of waffle. "You like it? I'm so glad. It's not much, really, but it's the best I can do for now on my meager government salary." He flashed her a grin. "But don't you worry, Angel. I'm saving away for a nice country home for us." "Mmm-hmmm," she answered non-commitally. Did he really think that they would live happily ever after in the country? He was nuttier than a squirrel's lair. Time to get the hell out of here, she thought. "May I use the rest room?" she asked, aiming for wide-eyed innocence. He looked at her sharply. "What, up here?" "It would just take a minute." She hesitated, then choked the word out. "Please." He paused, considering. "Around the corner and down the hall on your right," he said at last. "You have exactly one minute." Scully flashed him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and forced herself not to sprint from the room. She found the small blue bathroom with ease and instantly tried the window. It was nailed shut. "Dammit," she muttered, and left the bathroom in favor of the bedroom across the hall. It was strikingly reminiscent of the tiny room she'd been locked in for the past four days, painted stark white and containing precious few furnishings. No decorations adorned the walls, and the floor was cold and hard. There was a neatly-made bed, a dresser, a night-stand and a mate to the oak chair from the basement. There was also a phone. Scully picked up the cordless handset and dialed nine-one-one with shaking fingers. No time, no time, she thought as it rang and rang. He was going to be looking for her any second. "Hello, this is nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" There was no time to explain; her minute was almost up. So she set the phone carefully on the end table, making sure to leave the line open. Then she scrambled frantically back across the hall, flushed the toilet and then hurried toward the kitchen, taking several calming breaths as she approached the door. "There you are." His tone had an edge to it, and Scully slipped quickly into her seat. She could feel his eyes on her as she picked up her fork once more. She resumed eating in an effort to convince him all was well. If he got suspicious and decided to check the back of the house... Somehow she managed to swallow the waffle without gagging. Trace the call, she thought with rising desperation. Hurry up and trace the damn call. "Would you like another one, Angel?" he asked, his manner once again relaxed. He reached out to touch her cheek. Scully shook her head more vehemently than necessary. Don't touch me! she raged inwardly, but somehow held herself still. A few more minutes...just hold on a few more minutes. "So soft," he murmured, stroking her face as he had that first night. Then he felt her forehead with some concern. "Are you sick, Angel?" "I'm...I'm fine," she lied, pulse picking up. Where the hell were they? "Hmmm...maybe I should get you some aspirin." He started to head for the door. "NO!" Shit. She hadn't meant to yell. He turned around quickly, his eyes narrowed. "I mean that's really not necessary, thank you. I'm really okay. It's just that it's a little warm in here and..." She realized that she was babbling, but she couldn't seem to shut up. Anything to keep him standing in the kitchen. "...I'm always kind of hot and..." "What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "You swallow something funny when you were in the bathroom?" "No, no..." But she couldn't stop him from leaving the room this time. Oh God, no. Please no. This time her prayers were answered, and the doorbell rang. He swung his head back into the kitchen to glare at her. "What's this?" he asked. "I never get any visitors." He yanked her roughly by the arm and marched her into the living room, where through the window they could both see a black and white cruiser with lights flashing as it sat parked in the driveway. Scully let out an involuntary laugh of joy. At last! "Shut up," he growled, jerking her arm to emphasize his threat. "Shut the hell up." The doorbell sounded again, and was followed by a loud pounding against the door. "Open up, police!" He moved in a flash, shoving her in a nearby closet. "Make a sound," he said menacingly, "Make one itty bitty sound and I swear I'll shoot him dead." Then the door slammed shut on her face. Breathing hard among the coats, Scully listened as he answered the front door. "Yes?" He sounded astonishingly calm and collected. "Detective Ripley!" exclaimed the surprised man on the other side of the door. "I didn't know this was your house, Sir." "Well, the secret is out now, Jenkins. Is there something I can help you with?" "I..uh..." the young man stammered. "We traced an nine-one- one emergency call to this address," he said in a rush. "Did you call it in?" "Can't say that I...oh, wait. Nine-one-one, did you say? I must have rolled over on the blasted phone again. There's an automatic emergency button, see, and I've hit it once before by accident." "Oh," said Jenkins with obvious relief. "That explains it then. Sorry to bother you." "Not at all. I apologize for wasting everyone's time. Gonna have to stop sleeping with the damn phone." He chuckled. Scully felt her heart sink into her stomach as she heard the front door click shut. Wait! she wailed inwardly. At least search the house! But outside an engine roared to life as her last chance at rescue backed down the driveway. A moment later the closet door opened and he stood before her, his livid face purple with restrained rage. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly controlled. It sent chills racing down her spine. "I don't understand," he said with deliberate softness, still clutching the door with one hand. "I don't see where I could have gone wrong. You were supposed to be the one. He told me so clearly, there could be no mistake." Scully remained mute, afraid to provoke him further with a misspoken word. "I watched you for weeks," he continued, his tone becoming louder and more accusatory. "God said you were the one, but still I waited just to be sure. HOW CAN YOU NOT BE THE ONE?" His bottled anger escaped and she jumped back in startled surprise. "You better cower from me, you bitch," he spat, stepping closer. "I thought you were different from all the other tricksters and whores in this city, but underneath you're just like all the other scum I see every day." His fingers bit into her arm as he tore her out of her hiding place. He pulled her hard against him, yanking her head back by her hair so he could press his face into hers. "Harlot bitch," he breathed softly. "Just like all the others. Well you're gonna die like them, too." He began dragging her toward the basement door. "No, please..." Scully called on every scintilla of strength she had left, engaging in a death struggle with reserves she hadn't known she possessed. "Stop it!" he commanded, shaking her until her vision blurred. "One more word and I'll do you right here in the kitchen." They hovered at the top of the dark basement steps, frozen. And then his cell phone rang. He jumped with surprise and then cursed. It rang again. And again. Finally he shoved her down into kitchen chair, placing his gun at her temple as he extricated the phone from his pocket. "Yeah, Ripley," he said gruffly Rapid shallow breaths filled her lungs, the gun cold against her skin. "What?" he barked. Then a long pause. "I see. Okay, I'll get the stuff and meet you there in half an hour." He closed the phone and regarded her with a twisted smile. "Well, Angel," he said, teasing the side of her face with the gun barrel. "That was your partner on the phone. He thinks he's got a lead on your case. Isn't that precious?" Scully felt tears sting her eyes. "Oh, come on," he taunted with a laugh. "Surely you can see the irony in this. It's *great*, don't you think? I could shoot you right here and then go spend the rest of the day helping Mulder follow his stupid 'leads', or whatever you want to call that psychoshit he was prattling on about." "You'll never get away with it." Amazingly, there was no quaver in her voice. "Oh, won't I?" he sneered. "Let's go ask Lisa Marino and Rebecca Seeton about that one. Oh wait, we can't ask them anything...'cause they're dead!" He broke off in a laugh. Then he checked his watch. "You know, I just had a GREAT inspiration!" he exclaimed with false cheer. "Why not have Mulder join us for this little party? Wouldn't that be just the most fun?" A fresh wave of nausea rolled over her. "Yes, the more I think about it, the more I love the idea," he said, his eyes focused past her as if he were visualizing the scene. "What a stupendous punishment that would be, to have to watch your loverboy die..." He paused to give her a tight grin. "But don't worry, Angel, you won't suffer for too long." "No," she whispered. "You can't do this." "Ah, Angel...it's too late," he crooned as he opened a kitchen drawer to reveal more nylon cord. "I already have." *********************************************************** End part eight. Continued in part nine Lesser Evils, part nine by Hannah Mason Legal dance found in part one *********************** Mulder breezed past the secretary to burst into the AD's office, print-outs in hand. "I think Littlefield and Ripley are right," he announced, waving the sheets at Skinner. "I think Rebecca Seeton and Lisa Marino were abducted by the same man, and I think the same individual kidnapped Scully as well." Skinner looked at him with interest. "What makes you so sure?" He hesitated. "Instinct, mainly. But look check this out: I called both Lisa Marino's parents and Rebecca Seeton's finace, and both confirm that the missing women were practicing Catholics." "Same church?" "Unfortunately no. Lisa attended St. Joseph's and Rebecca went to Sacred Heart." He paused. "Scully's been attending St. Matthew's lately." "So there is still no link between the victims." Skinner removed his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. "No, this *is* the link, I'm sure of it. I just don't know yet how he selected these women, but I'm certain there is a tie in to their religious faith. I think this guy has some sort of religious fixation." "What are you talking about, religious fixation?" "I'm saying that our kidnapper has some sort of God complex," Mulder explained impatiently. "He sees the world in absolutes. Good versus evil, just like the bible says. And he definitely feels he in on the side of good. He probably thinks that he has a special connection to God, maybe even believes that he can divine God's will." "Which is to kidnap women." Skinner was still skeptical. "Right. But I don't think the kidnapper sees it as a misdeed. He cares for these women to the point of obsession. He...he worships them in a way, as kind of an extension of his religious faith. They are like gods to him, and he might go as far as to think that they *are* gods, or at least a sign from God. Perfection on earth...that kind of thing." "So why does he kill them?" Skinner leaned farther across the desk, becoming more involved in the story. "Because they ultimately disappoint him," Mulder answered softly. "They turn out to be human after all." At that point there was a knock on the door. "Come," Skinner called gruffly, and Detective Ripley entered the room. *********************** Scully arched her wrists back and forth against the cord in an effort to loosen the restraint. She was tired, feverish and the skin on her wrists was raw and bleeding, but she attacked her task with the determination of a combat warrior. Suddenly it was more than just her life on the line. He's got a gun, Mulder, she thought as she struggled. He's got a gun and he is *not* your friend. Please, please, don't go with him. She knew it was a futile hope. Never very adept at sensing danger, Mulder would be too focused on his new lead to pay attention to any potential warning signals. Would leap without looking, just as he always did. Damn it, Mulder, she cursed silently. I will NOT watch you die. Not like this. She groaned and tugged her arms ferociously, nearly tipping the chair sideways onto the floor in the process. The world went momentarily black, and she feared she might pass out from the exertion. Finally her vision cleared and she rested, panting until some of her strength returned. "Yesss," she hissed between clenched teeth as she moved her wrists once more. The cords had loosened. *************************** "Sorry I'm late," Ripley murmured taking the chair next to Mulder. Scully's chair, Mulder thought automatically, and fought the urge to tell the man to get the hell out. "You brought the files?" he asked instead. "Everything I have," Ripley replied, handing them over. He watched as Mulder began pawing through the reports. "Mind if I ask what you're looking for?" he inquired eventually. "The photos," Mulder muttered in return, tearing through the folders with increasing speed. "Here they are." At last, he extracted the two photographs of the missing women. "You still have that magnifying glass?" he asked Skinner. Skinner nodded and withdrew it from the desk drawer. Crossing the room to the light, Mulder examined the images carefully. "Just as I thought," he said after a moment. "They both wore crucifixes." He turned, blinking owlishly at Skinner. "That's how he picked them. These women were marked for death by their jewelry." Ripley shifted in his chair. "I don't think I follow you." "I'll explain on the way." Mulder was already heading for the door. "What way? Where are we going?" "To see to a man about a cross." Ripley followed him as he moved top speed through the hallways of the Hoover building. "You think you know who it is?" he asked as he caught up. "Maybe," Mulder answered, hitting the elevator button. "The guy is a religious freak who knew Scully pretty well. The nighttime custodian from the morgue, Raymond Valente, matches that description with reasonable degree of accuracy." He punched the elevator button again. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath. Then he turned back to Ripley. "I'm just gonna duck down to the office to check one thing. We can get the address on the way." Ripley glanced at his watch. "Tell you what," he offered. "You do your stuff and meet me out front. I'll get on the horn and dig up Valente's address." "Great," Mulder said as the elevator doors slid open. "Meet you there." Five minutes later they were peeling out of the FBI parking facility, Mulder at the wheel. "Got the address?" he asked. "Two eighty-seven Sequoia Ave," confirmed Ripley. "We should be there inside of twenty minutes." "Fifteen." Mulder stepped on the gas. After a bit, Ripley inquired, "So, did everything check out okay?" "Huh?" "In your office. You said there was something you needed to check on." "Oh that. Yeah, it's fine." He did not reveal the whole story, which was that he wanted to check his e-mail for a message from the Lone Gunman. Yesterday he had assigned them the task of analyzing the morgue videotape for any anomalies. Like him, however, they had come up empty. "So tell me more about the kidnapper," Ripley said. "You did a whole profile on him?" "Uh, not really," Mulder hedged, glancing at his companion. "I was in this church today and all of a sudden I just got a reading on him, that's all." "And you think he's some right-wing, religious nut." "Well, I don't know about his political affiliation, but yes, I do believe he cares deeply about religion. Most likely he's Catholic." "Like me," murmured Ripley with a ghost of a smile. "You and about a hundred thousand other people in the city," Mulder agreed. "But this isn't your average parishioner we're talking about. He's highly intelligent, but rigid and controlling. He also obsesses over labeling people, trying to categorize the entire world into good and evil, black and white. There is no in-between for this guy." "Black and white, huh?" Ripley was still smiling. "It should all be that easy." They drove along in silence for another minute, nearing their goal. Black and white...black and white. The phrase continued to linger in Mulder's mind and he couldn't discern why. Then all at once he saw an achromatic Scully, turning from the door and smiling at her would-be abductor. Black and white. He frowned, remembering back. No, it couldn't be. Could it? He fumbled with one hand, searching his pocket for a wadded up piece of paper. "What is it?" Ripley asked. Mulder ignored him, pulling the crumbled ball onto his lap and smoothing it flat with his palm. He glanced down at the words. "Agent Mulder?" Sure enough, there it was. God damn. "You sent out this A.P.B. on Scully yourself?" Mulder queried. "Yeah. I told you that before." "It says here that she was wearing a pink sweater when she disappeared. How did you know that?" "The tape--" "--is black and white, you fucking bastard!" He glared at Ripley. "You god damn fucking BASTARD! The ONLY way you could have known the color of her sweater was if you'd seen it for yourself, and the only way you could have seen it is if you were the one who took her!" A strange little smile flashed across Ripley's face. "I sensed you were going to be a problem," he mused, almost to himself. "Right from the beginning, I could feel it in my bones." "What have you done with Scully?" Mulder demanded heatedly, barely cognizant of the road in front of him. "Where is she?" "All in good time, Agent Mulder." Ripley's tone had hardened. He pulled out his gun and aimed it directly at Mulder's middle region. "Just keep driving." Mulder glanced down at the weapon and then back at the road. "You shoot me and we both die," he pointed out with rigid control. Ripley gave a casual shrug. "You and me and Scully makes three," he answered indifferently. Scully. Mulder felt his gut twist into a painful knot. She was still alive; now all he had to do was find her. "Where is she?" he repeated evenly, gripping the wheel as he would Ripley's neck. "Is she hurt? What have you done to her?" "Nothing that she didn't completely deserve," came the bitter reply, and Mulder nearly ran the car off the road. "Ripley, if you've hurt her..." He couldn't speak past the rage that was choked in his throat. The detective pushed the gun barrel a little closer to Mulder's ribs and sneered, "Tread lightly, Agent Mulder...you're not in the best position to be making threats right now." "Tell. Me. Where. She. Is." Mulder spoke as if through ground glass. "Patience is a virtue that escapes you, isn't it?" Ripley remarked with some annoyance. "We'll be there soon enough." "Two eighty-seven Sequoia," Mulder blurted with sudden insight. "That's your house, not Valente's. You've been planning this all along." "No," replied Ripley coldly. "This wasn't my plan. My plan was to find the new Eve, to take her away from all the sleaze and corruption pervading this stinking city, to live with her as my bride until the return of Eden." He raised the gun up at bit, so it pointed at Mulder's chest. "So now there is a new plan," he murmured. "You needn't concern yourself with the details." "With sin comes punishment," Mulder stated grimly. "Exactly." His companion's face lit up with surprise. "You understand more than I would have thought," he said wonderingly. "You see then that she must be destroyed." "I wasn't talking about her." Ripley's features hardened once more. "I see," he proclaimed frostily. "You just wait, Agent Mulder. Judgment Day is coming...and it's sooner than you think." ************************************************************* Ellie walked through the double doors with some trepidation. She had never been inside a police station before, and it made her feel vaguely uneasy, as if she were guilty of some wrongdoing. Hugging her arms reflexively, she approached the main desk, where a balding uniformed officer was bent over a high marble counter busily writing something. She stood anxiously a few feet in front of him and waited to be noticed. When a full minute had passed and he still had not glanced in her direction, she cleared her throat loudly. He peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. "May I help you?" "Uh, yes, I hope so." She hesitated. "I was supposed to come here." He put down his pen and shot an her amused look. "You turning yourself in or something?" "Of course not!" she gasped, askance. "I'm a...a witness. I was told to speak to Detective Jack Ripley." The man heaved a sigh. "Ripley, Ripley..." He repeated the name under his breath as he leaned over to hit a few keys on his ancient PC. After a moment he shook his head. "Sorry honey, but Detective Ripley is out in the field right now." "But it's important," she protested. "I saw that missing woman from the morgue." "Say what?" She had his full attention now. "Saturday night I saw this man carrying a red-haired woman out of the morgue," Ellie explained. "I think she might have been the one you're looking for." "Wait right here," he said quickly, holding up a finger to her. "Wait just one second while I make a call, okay?" He grabbed the phone and punched in a couple of numbers. "Yeah, Captain? I've got a young lady down here who may have some information on the morgue kidnapping, and Ripley's in the field. Get this: she says saw the perp." He paused. "Uh- huh. Okay." He hung up the receiver and regarded Ellie again. "Captain Luckett's calling the FBI; just hang on a second longer." "The FBI?" Ellie repeated in a thin voice. A moment later the desk phone rang and the uniformed man answered immediately. "Yeah?" A pause. "All right, I'll tell her." Ellie waited wide-eyed to hear his next pronouncement. "Someone from the FBI is on his way over to take your statement," he said. "In the meantime, you can have a seat over there." He pointed out some benches along the nearby hallway. "Um, okay...." Ellie went and perched on the edge of the hard, wooden bench, blinking under the glare of the harsh fluorescent lights. She fidgeted while several officers walking past gazed at her with a mixture of appreciation and intrigue. Averting her eyes, she checked her watch, wishing again that David had not insisted on going in to work. After a few minutes, she could no longer sit still, and rose to pace the length the narrow hallway. She had nearly worn a path into black and white checked floor when she became aware of the array of photographs hanging along the wall in neat rows. *********************** End part nine. Continued in part ten Lesser Evils, part ten by Hannah Mason just story here, mumbo jumbo in part one ************************* "Stop right here." Ripley indicated a modest white home surrounded on both sides by large pine bushes and brightly colored flower beds. For a long moment, they sat silently in the humid capsule of the car, the spring rain battering against the roof above. At last Mulder spoke. "You gonna invite me in?" he asked sardonically. "Or am I just here to admire the landscaping." "Shut up." Ripley tightened his hand on the gun, glanced at the house and then back at Mulder. "Open your door very slowly." As Mulder moved for the door handle, Ripley pressed the gun barrel to his temple. "Slower," he commanded. Mulder froze, then he held up his hands to show that he meant no trouble and gingerly pushed the door open with his left foot. The blood coursing through his head pounded out an insistent message: Get to Scully...get to Scully...get to Scully. All that mattered right now was seeing that she was safe. Then he would kill him. The two men trudged silently across the rain-drenched grass until they reached the front door. Mulder came to halt on the front stoop. "Now what?" "Turn around," Ripley ordered. He looked completely crazed, standing with his weapon brandished while the rain mapped rivulets over his face. Scowling deeply, he tossed Mulder the keys. "It's the middle one." Mulder opened the door and stepped up into the living room slowly, mindful of the 9 mm pistol pointed at his back. Just find Scully. His eyes swept the room once, twice. Sofa, chairs, lamp...no Scully. He stood dripping on the beige carpet until a sharp jab to his kidneys urged him forward. "Move." Mulder stumbled against the wall but quickly regained his footing. "Where is she, Ripley?" he asked the man in back of her. "You promised she'd be here." "Oh she's here all right," Ripley responded, prodding him again with the gun. "But I don't think she's gonna be too pleased to see you." He was right, Mulder realized a moment later when they rounded the corner into the kitchen. His partner sat bound to a chair on the far side of the room, cheeks flushed and her hair in a wild tangle. There were dark circles rimming her eyes. Eyes that filled with tears when they saw him. Her mouth quivered. "Scully! Scully...are you okay?" He made as if to cross the room, but Ripley pulled him up short by his elbow, yanking him back and subduing him with a chokehold. He coughed, struggling angrily in the hard embrace "Scully...?" he croaked out again. His senses were whirling in overdrive, his terror increasing with every passing second that she did not answer him. Something was very, very wrong. "Go ahead, Angel..." laughed Ripley from over his shoulder. "Explain to Loverboy here how this game is played." She squeezed her eyes closed and looked away. Mulder fought back a wave of bile. "Scully, please..." Why the hell wasn't she saying anything? Then she raised her lids again and looked straight at him. Right through him almost. It was like she could see his soul. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry." ************************************************************ He rushed into the stationhouse with his badge already drawn, coat-tails waving like a cape in the air behind him. "Where is she?" he asked the desk sergeant tersely. "The witness?" "Yes, yes, the witness," Skinner hissed impatiently. "Where the hell is she?" "Right over there." He pointed, and Skinner could see a slim woman with a long thick braid of brown hair hanging down her back. She was frozen in front of the rogue's gallery of officer photos that graced the ugly green wall. He crossed the room in three quick strides. "Miss?" She turned, startled. He flashed the I.D. once more. "You witnessed a kidnapping at the city morgue on Saturday night?" he asked immediately. She nodded mutely, her hazel eyes huge, and then cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder at the pictures. Nervous Nelly, Skinner groused to himself. I don't have time for this shit. But he forced his tone to remain calm; there was no point in spooking the best lead they had. "What exactly did you see?" he asked as gently as he could. "A man," she answered immediately. "He was coming out of the side of the morgue with a woman in his arms. I thought it was a dead body." Why the hell didn't you come forward earlier? Skinner growled inwardly. Still he held his temper. Easy, easy, he told himself. Just get the facts. "What did the woman look like?" he asked. "I didn't really see her that well," the girl hedged. "But I know she had red hair." He withdrew a picture of Scully from his jacket pocket. "Could this have been her?" The girl took the photo with both hands. "Yeah," she breathed softly. "I think that's her." She looked up at him, her brow wrinkled. "Is that the woman who's missing?" "Yes, it is," Skinner answered shortly. "Did you get a good look at the man who was carrying her?" The girl glanced over her shoulder again. Skinner peered around her, trying to figure out what the hell was so damn interesting. "Well...I thought I saw him okay," she began. "But now I'm not so sure." Shit, Skinner thought immediately. Folding already. "What do you mean you 'thought' you saw him okay? Did you see him or not?" "I saw him." She sounded clear this time. "Well then, do you think you could describe him? Or pick him out of a photo line-up?" He had brought a select group of photographs with him, including both Littlefield and Raymond Valente. With a little luck, the girl would ID one of them and they could have an arrest within the hour. She colored. "That's the problem," she mumbled. Another look back over the shoulder. "I kind of already did." "What are you talking about? I thought you hadn't spoken with anyone yet." Skinner glanced around the empty hallway for another officer. "I...I didn't. I was just looking at these photos while I waited and, well..." She turned finally, and pointed at one of the pictures on the wall. "That's him." Skinner brushed her out of the way with one large hand, squinting at the photo in question. "Jack Ripley?" he asked. He twisted to look at her sharply. "You saw Detective Jack Ripley at the morgue that night?" She rolled her eyes. "Silly, isn't it. I guess maybe..." Skinner gripped her shoulders with a jolt, cutting her off. "You're sure," he said tightly. "You're absolutely sure you saw this man carrying the woman out of the morgue." The forceful touch seemed to infuse her with sudden certainty. "Yes," she said, staring at him. "I'm sure." "Jesus Christ...Mulder." He let her go abruptly, whirling back toward the desk sergeant. He grabbed the phone right out of the man's hands. "I need to find Jack Ripley," he commanded in a low voice. "But..." The pudgy man was shaking his head. Skinner handed him back the phone. "Right. Now." he said, and the sergeant began to dial. ************************************************************ *I'm so sorry, Mulder* Her murmured apology, so heart-felt, so ridiculously unwarranted, cut him to the quick. He felt tears sting his own eyes as he watched her struggle weakly against her restraints. Aw, Scully don't, he told her silently. Don't take this on yourself. It's my fault, all mine. If I'd just been paying more attention...if I'd caught on just a little bit sooner we wouldn't be in this mess now. He didn't even want to think about what other atrocities he might have spared her. "Scully..." he breathed again. "Shut up." Ripley tightened his hold on Mulder's throat, still the gun pushing into his side. "Let's not forget who's calling the shots around here, so to speak." Mulder could feel him tremble with barely restrained rage, like a living, breathing time bomb ticking down the seconds to oblivion. He took in a skittering breath. Scully would not be present when the explosion hit, not if he could help it. Abruptly, Ripley released the arm snaked around his neck, and Mulder fell forward with sudden freedom, bracing his arms against the tiled kitchen table to prevent himself from tumbling to the ground. "Now," Ripley announced curtly. "Lose the weapon." He waved his own gun to where Mulder's holster cradled his SIG. "Slowly," warned Ripley. "Two fingers, and use your left hand." Mulder did as he was bidden, laying the gun gently on the table. He risked a look back at Scully, who was watching the scene with wide, frightened eyes. It's okay, Scully, he tried to tell her. I'm going to get you out of here. "Very good. Now step away." Ripley licked his lips in approval as Mulder moved back from the table several paces. "You see, Angel?" he said, his eyes still trained on Mulder. "Lovably knows how to follow instructions. Too bad you couldn't have done the same, maybe saved your partner here." "What is it you want?" she asked hoarsely. "I'll do whatever you want, just leave him out of it." "Scully, no..." "Oh, just stop this shit," growled Ripley. He cast a skewering glance at Scully. "You had your chance, sweetness, and you showed me exactly what you are made of. I don't want anything from you now, except to see your pretty face when Lovably hits the ground dead." He turned his gaze back to Mulder, but continued his venomous words to Scully. "But don't worry, Angel, you'll be following right behind. You're going to burn in hell like the rest of them. Won't that be something?" He grinned at her again. "How does it feel to know you're going to get to spend eternity with the image of your partner's brains splattered all over the floor." "You god damn Sonoma..." Mulder was seething. "Ah-ah-ah," chided Ripley, wagging his gun for emphasis. "Thou shallot not take the Lord's name in vain." He smiled, clearly enjoying the game now. "Sounds like you'll be having some company in hell, after all, Angel." "I hope there is a hell," Mulder bit out in a fury. "I hope there's a God, and a hell and all the rest of it, because no punishment you get down here could be enough to answer for what you've done." Ripley's smile faded. "I have heard the word of Lord and it is good and just," he quoted coldly. "I thought these women were the new Eve, cleansed of her sins and sent to me for safe-keeping until the Revelation. But then I saw their true souls, foul and retched as the serpent, and knew I had made a mistake. The Lord showed me the right path. He asked me to remove these women from the city, just as He removed Eve from Eden to teach her a lesson. Only when we are rid of ALL the stinking harlots will He return to lead us back into paradise!" His voice had risen to echo loudly off the hard surfaces of the room. In the midst of his tirade, he did not notice as Scully freed her wrists from the cords. "He said unto them "Yea are like Gods, able to discern good and evil. I am continuing this prophecy, and the Father above knows my intentions are honorable. When the day of reckoning comes, I will stand up and be counted proudly!" He continued to bellow, his arm beginning to tremble as he held Mulder trapped against the wall. He squeezed the trigger with a quivering a finger and Mulder broke out a in sweat, glancing subtly behind his opponent to see Scully removing the remainder of her restraints. Hurry, hurry, he urged her silently. "I will be rewarded for my service!" Ripley was yelling now, as if determined to convince Mulder by the volume level of his doctrine. "God will recognize my sacrifices, and Eve will be cleansed and restored with me into the Garden of Eden for all eternity!" Mulder peeked around at Scully, who had risen unsteadily to her feet. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and then he slid his gaze to the gun lying on the table. Get the gun, Scully, he directed. C'mon...getitgetit. Scully inched toward the table, her hand outstretched to pick up the weapon. "What are you looking at?" Ripley halted his spiel and, following Mulder's gaze, spun around to find Scully just closing her hand around the barrel of the confiscated gun. "No you don't!" snarled Ripley, reaching her before she could get a firm hold on the weapon. He struck her hard across the face with his gun, and in her already weakened condition the blow was forceful enough to send her sprawling to the ground, cracking the side of her head against the porcelain sink as she fell. "Scully!" Mulder yelled, unable to swallow the horrified scream. The gun escaped her grasp and clattered across the floor, skittering out of reach. Scully lay motionless on the ground in an awkward tangle of arms and legs. Mulder moved as if struck by lightning, extricating his small, back-up gun from under his pant leg in one smooth movement. He jerked his arm up, aiming the gun at Ripley at the precise moment the other man remembered his presence and whirled around, his weapon equally drawn. They stared at each other, frozen. For a minute the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, as the two men circled the table with eyes locked. Mulder's arm ached from the tension, his finger already squeezing lightly on the trigger. He wanted desperately to look at Scully, to make sure she was okay, but to tear his eyes from Ripley's meant certain death. "Scully?" he called gruffly. "Scully, talk to me. Are you okay?" Nothing. Ripley gave a half-grin and Mulder widened his shooter's stance, his gun trained on Ripley with both hands now. "Scully?" he tried again. "C'mon, wake up." "Burn in hell," mouthed Ripley, and Mulder almost shot him right there. "Come on, Scully..." His voice was urgent, commanding. If he just wanted it badly enough, believed it strongly enough, then she would be all right. "Please wake up." Finally, she gave a little moan, beginning to stir on the floor. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. "That's it, Scully," he encouraged, his eyes still boring into Ripley's. "You can do it. Get up now." Scully moaned again, tried to rise only to collapse in a heap on the floor again. Blinding pain lanced through her head. Ripley uttered a short dark laugh. "Come on, Angel, don't give out now. We've just gotten to the good part." She sat up again, bracing herself on the floor with both arms. Mulder tracked her progress out of the corner of his eye. "That's it," he murmured. "Almost there." Finally, she rose falteringly to her feet, grasping the sink for support. The room swam circles around her and her vision blurred in and out of focus. She panted shallowly in an effort not to vomit. "You okay?" Mulder asked. "Yeah, yeah," she breathed, still swaying unsteadily. "Okay, I want you to get the hell out of here," he ordered. His gun was pointed between Ripley's eyes. She shook her head. "Mul..der..." Her speech was thick and slurred. "Run, Scully!" Mulder insisted. "Get out of here, right now." Ripley cackled heartily, not lowering his weapon. "Yes, run Scully," he chortled in a perfect mimic. "No." The word was barely a whisper. Despite the dizziness and pain, she sensed Mulder would be dead before she could leave the room. "Scully, move it!" Mulder barked another warning. "Get out now!" "She doesn't seem to want to go," Ripley said. "What's the matter, Angel? He's offering you a chance to save yourself." "Not leaving," she managed. Ripley's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. "Such a puzzle, isn't it Angel?" he asked softly, his tongue sneaking out to moisten his lips. "Leave, and gain the chance to live. Stay, and chance the possibility of saving your partner. It's a dilemma for Solomon himself, wouldn't you say?" Scully didn't answer. She was eyeing the gun where it lay three feet from her, hidden from his view by the refrigerator. Another wave of dizziness swept over her, and the world blurred into two identical halves, only to merge again an instant later. "Please just go, Scully." Mulder's voice was rough and pleading. "Don't look back. Just go." She snuck another look at the gun. "Let me make it easier for you, Angel. I'll pick the ending." The first shot hit Mulder directly in the chest, hurtling him back into the countertop in surprise. "No!" Scully cried hoarsely, and scooped the gun off the floor. But suddenly there were two Ripleys before her. She jerked the gun back and forth between them. Whichonewhichone? Then Ripley fired again, the bullet hitting Mulder once more in the torso and dropping him to the ground. The crack of the gunshot oriented Scully to the correct figure and she opened fire immediately. Ripley yelped with pain as bullets riddled his chest, falling to the floor and jerking as if someone were passing an electric current though his body. Scully emptied the gun with six rapid shots and then let the weapon fall loosely from her hand. Her vision clouded over with black circles once, twice, before the world disappeared entirely as she collapsed on the ground. Dimly, she was aware of the sound of the front door breaking down, followed by Skinner's familiar voice barking out commands. "Too late," she whispered, drifting into unconsciousness. The image of Mulder's body falling to the floor slowly evaporated from her brain. "Too late..." ******************** End part ten. Continued in part eleven Lesser Evils, part eleven by Hannah Mason Disclaimer and other goodies back in part one ******************************* Awareness came back to her in dribs and drabs, the images splattered across her mind like colors across a Jackson Pollack painting. Gradually her brain made some sense of the scene before here, and the fractured picture fused together to form a fuzzy whole. Unfamiliar faces loomed large above her, their mouths moving as if in slow motion. "Dana, can you hear me?" one of the faces asked. She blinked at him. Not dead, she realized, shifting slightly to look around the room. Hospital. Then she remembered she sound of the gunshots, saw again Mulder falling to the ground. She closed her eyes once more. "Dana..." The face came with hands, and they were shaking her now. "C'mon open your eyes for me. Do you know where you are?" She squeezed her eyes shut more tightly and tried to shrink back into the pillow. Go away, she thought. She just wanted to sleep. To forget. To go someplace where it didn't hurt so damned much. "Dana, honey, please open your eyes." This voice was different. Familiar. She peeked out through her lashes. "Mom?" she croaked. "Yes." Her hand was squeezed fiercely. "It's Mom, Sweetheart. Please open your eyes." She rolled in the direction of her mother, arching in pain as the movement tightened the burned skin on her back. "Mom..." she whispered. "Everything's going to be okay." Her mother stroked her cheek. Scully blanched. Okay? How could she possibly think that? She must not know. "Dana, do you know where you are?" The first voice again. She ignored him. "Mom," she said, swallowing against the tears in her throat. She had to make her mother see, make her understand how horrible it was. "Mom, he's dead..." "Yes, baby, he's dead," her mother murmured, tears brimming in her own eyes. "He can't hurt you anymore." Scully shook her head weakly. "No, Mom. Mulder...he's...I couldn't...I couldn't get the gun in time, and...Ripley, he shot him. He's dead. Mulder's dead." "What? Oh, no, honey. He's fine. Really." Scully's breath stopped. Could it be? She struggled to sit up, to look around the room for his face. Nothing. "You're lying," she breathed, sinking back into the pillow. Back toward unconsciousness. "He's fine, sweetheart. He's just fine." Her mother was pleading now. Scully did not open her eyes. It was a trick, she knew. A trick to lure her back into the awful, Mulderless world. "Dana, honey...I'm not lying," her mother tried again. "Fox is okay. He's just outside." Scully waited, but the blackness did not return. She finally opened her eyes, impatient with her mother's repeated attempts to placate her. "I saw it, Mom," she said. "He took two bullets in the chest. No one..no one can survive that." "I don't know what you saw, Sweetheart, but I'm telling you that he's all right." She squeezed her hand and moved to leave. "I'll prove it to you, okay?" Scully watched her go through slitted eyes. The doctors were beginning to administer to her back, and she willed herself to focus on the pain rather than her mother's charade. It had to be a lie. On the off chance that Mulder was still alive, he would be in worse shape than she, in surgery or tied to life support somewhere. But then he walked into the room. He looked tired and worried, but completely and absolutely whole. There wasn't a mark on him. "Hi there," he said softly, approaching her bed. "No." Scully shook her head resolutely. Must be hallucinating, she thought. "No, it can't be." But she couldn't tear her eyes from his face. He crouched next to her so that their faces were level. "How are you doing?" he asked gently, smiling at her with soft hazel eyes. She reached out to touch his hair, reveling in its soft, springy feel. "You...you're shot," she whispered hoarsely. "I saw it." He shook his head under her hand. "I'm fine, Scully. Really. I was wearing a vest." "What?" Her eyes grew wide. "I don't understand; I saw you get hit. I saw you fall." "Yeah," he murmured, brushing some hair off her face. "I got the wind knocked out of me pretty good. Three bruised ribs to prove it, too." He ran his knuckles over her cheek. "I would have been a goner, though, if *someone*," he tugged her hand lightly and smile, "if someone here hadn't taken Ripley out in a hurry. His next shot was going to be right between the eyes." She tried to smile back, but couldn't pull it off. The situation was still too overwhelming to comprehend. "You really wore a vest?" she queried, brow furrowed. It would be so tempting to believe... "Yeah." He hesitated. "I wasn't going to, but then at the last second something told me to put one on." He gave her a teasing smile. "Maybe your lecturing has finally sunk in, Scully. Maybe I've finally learned not to rush head long into trouble without taking any precautions." She thought back to how hard she had prayed, willing him to somehow realize how dangerous Ripley was. *He's got a gun, Mulder. He's got a gun and he's NOT your friend* She looked at him in wonderment. Could it be? "Maybe it was me, Mulder," she whispered, at last finding the strength to smile back. "Maybe it was." ************************ It was hours later when he quietly opened the door and poked his head into the dimly lit room. Scully was curled motionless in a small heap on the bed, and he could not see her face. Her mother sat nearby. She smiled tiredly when she saw him and pressed a finger to her lips. He nodded and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Maggie Scully rose silently from her chair. "She's going to be okay," she whispered to him. "But they want to keep her here at least overnight because she was unconscious for so long." He nodded. "I know. I talked to the doctors." He glanced once at the sleeping figure on the bed. Poor Scully. She had just wanted to go home. "Why don't I grab a bite to eat and leave you two along for a minute, okay?" She squeezed his hand and he gave it an answering squeeze by way of a thank-you. She left then, and he walked around to the side of the bed setting down the large canvas bag he had brought with him. Unable to resist, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. She opened her eyes immediately. "You're back," she breathed, beginning to stir beneath him. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, caging her in a pseudo-embrace with one arm stationed on either side of her small form. He leaned down to kiss her again. "Shhh...go back to sleep," he murmured in her ear. Her hand reached around to pat his cheek gently but without finesse. Painkillers, he thought fondly, and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "Mmm...wasn't sleeping," she said groggily, twisting around in an effort to see his face. "I was waiting for you to come back." He was instantly apologetic. "I didn't mean to take so long..." "S'okay, really." She had finally settled in an awkward S- shaped position that allowed her to look him in the eyes without causing undo pain to her back. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then her eyes filled with tears. "What?" he asked softly. "What is it?" She patted his face again, her mouth twisting with barely- restrained emotion. "I'm just so glad you're okay," she murmured brokenly. His took her hand and kissed her fingers. "The relief is mutual, trust me." "I do...so much..." Her eyes drifted closed and he thought she'd nodded off again. He tried to move to the chair so that she could rest. She stopped him with surprising strength. "Don't go." "I'm not going anywhere, Scully. I'll be right here, I promise." She grabbed his shirttail and tugged him back to the bed impatiently. "That's too far," she insisted, sounding panicked. "Okay, okay...It's all right." He leaned back over her again, burying his face against her neck to give her the closeness she sought. A choked whimper escaped her and she clenched her hands in his hair. "Scully," he murmured. "It's okay." She nodded, her face hidden in his shoulder. But she did not let go. He nuzzled her gently for long moments, murmuring soft words of reassurance until she relaxed her grip, her fingers smoothing through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and then lifted himself several inches away so that he could see her face. Their noses were nearly touching. "Okay?" he asked. She nodded, her eyes lowered beneath spiky wet lashes. "Sorry..." He halted her apology with gentle fingers. "It's all right," he said firmly. There was a pause and then he smiled at her. "I brought you some presents." She raised her eyes to his and tried to smile back. "Yeah?" she asked with a throaty murmur. Her hands continued to make contact with him, glancing touches to his face and arms to assure herself that he was really there. "Yeah," he answered softly. He hesitated, looking down at the bed and toying with the edge of the sheet. "I tried to get you out of here, I really did, but..." "I know," she interrupted, stilling his hand with her own. "They explained it to me earlier." "So anyway," he continued, reaching down to find the bag he had brought. "I figured that if you couldn't go home, then home should come to you." "What?" She craned her head to see what he was doing. "Ta-da." He extracted a pair of green silk pajamas. "I thought these might be preferable to the standard issue hospital gown." She took the shimmery outfit from him with a broad smile. "You thought right," she answered. He was digging through the bag again. "I brought your robe, too...oh, and this..." A second later he was laying a blanket across her lap. "The quilt from my bed," she breathed, touching it lightly in wonder. "Thank you." "I grabbed a handful of your CDs, too, with a boombox to play 'em if you want..." She laid her palm against his cheek. "This is wonderful, Mulder, thank you." He covered her hand with his briefly before ducking down beside the bed once more. "And..." "And?" she echoed with a small, watery chuckle. "What is it, the kitchen sink?" "Better," he proclaimed with a smug grin. He held up a clear plastic container filled with dried apricots. "Mulder..." "They're half-dipped in dark chocolate," he told her as he popped open the lid. "And you're going to have to keep them well-hidden, or the hospital's Food Police will confiscate them for violation of the strict no-taste policy." She smiled. "I don't remember having anything like this laying around my house, Mulder," she said as she stuck one of the sweet fruits in her mouth. He tossed one in the air and caught it in his mouth with ease. "So I made one other tiny stop," he answered with a shrug. They chewed quietly, watching each other in the darkened room as the rain beat against the wall outside. At last Scully squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Mulder," she said. "All of this...it's really wonderful." He shrugged again, avoiding her eyes. "It was the least I could do." There was a long pause and then he looked at her again. "I just want to help." "You are," she assured him quickly. "You truly are." A faint smile crossed her face. "Right now you can help me up," she said, shifting slowly as if to rise. "I want to go change." Mulder moved so that she could swing her feet over the edge of the bed. She sucked in a whoosh of air as she touched ground and he immediately placed a steadying hand on her arm. "Okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah. Just a little dizzy. It's better now." She patted his hand, then retrieved the pajamas from the bed and shuffled slowly to the bathroom. "You holler if you need me," he called after her. She nodded and closed the door. Once inside, she leaned back against the door with her eyes closed, amazed at how much energy she had consumed just with the short trip from the bed. Finally she raised her lids and moved to splash a little cool water on her face. Her reflection caught her attention and she froze, staring openly at the woman in the glass. She was barely recognizable. Her face was ghostly pale, devoid of all color except for the angry purple and red bruise that streaked across her swollen right cheekbone. Her normally alert eyes were dull, glassy, and ringed with shadows. Only her shining hair was somewhat familiar, having been gently washed by her mother several hours earlier. *Tell Loverboy how this game is played, Angel* Her eyes flew open and she saw Ripley reflected behind her in the mirror. She gasped. Blinked. And he was gone. She leaned her arms against the sink for support, her head bent and her breath coming in shaky gasps. "Scully?" There was a light knock on the door. "Are you all right in there?" "I'm fine." The words came out in a paper-thin whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm okay," she called. She glanced once more in the mirror and saw only the olive green paint of the bathroom wall behind her. She shivered and blinked back tears, knowing it was only a temporary respite. Jack Ripley was going to be lurking over her shoulder for a long time to come. With trembling fingers, she set about changing into her well- loved silk pajamas. Her movements were clumsy from the pain and the drugs, she cursed as she wrestled with the material. When can I feel normal again? she wondered. At last she had managed to fasten the last button and ventured back out into the main room where Mulder waited. She stopped when she saw him, covering her mouth with one hand. Poor man. He looked exhausted in the gray half-light, slumped eyes- closed in the armchair by her bed. He had not even bothered to change. His white shirt was rumpled and untucked, the tie having long since been discarded. A day's worth of stubble shadowed his face. It occurred to her that he probably had not slept in days, probably not since the whole nightmare had begun. She hesitated, knowing that she should send him home to bed where he could get a decent night's sleep. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but she could not seem to bring herself to utter the words. Selfish though it was, she craved his presence. She padded softly across the room until she stood directly in front of him. He opened his eyes and graced her with a slow, sleepy smile. "C'mere," he said, extending one hand in her direction. She readily placed her hand in his and he tugged her gently down onto his lap. She curled herself around him so that her head lay against his chest, closing her eyes with a small sigh as the remaining tension drained from her body. He reached across to the bed and pulled the quilt over them, pressing a soft kiss into her hair as he did so. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" The words were startlingly intimate under the cover of darkness. Whispered warm against her temple as they rumbled beneath her ear, they her feel safe. Cherished even. "I'm fine," she said, snuggling a bit closer. He rubbed her back gently, keeping his hand high and away from the burn that scorched her below. "You want to listen to some music?" he asked after a bit. She shook her head slowly, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton of his shirt as it rubbed against her cheek. No music. She was busy listening to his heart. It's strong rhythm combined with the gentle pattering of the rain against the window had nearly lulled her to sleep when a thought struck her. Something that she had wanted to ask him. "Mulder...?" She brought one hand up to toy with the buttons on his shirt. "Mmmm?" He sounded as though he had nearly nodded off as well. She hesitated, licked her lips. "Did you...did you read my statement about..about what happened?" There was a long pause. His answer, when it came, was infinitely tender. "No." Another pause. "I guess I figured that when you wanted to tell me, you would." She tensed in his embrace, her stomach lurching to her throat. She knew that this retelling would not be anything like the dry recitation of facts she had given the F.B.I. and local police earlier. Mulder would be able to read her terror easily, to glean from her words just how awful the experience had been. How helpless she had felt. Bunching his shirt with her hands, she hid her face against his chest as hot tears stung her eyes. "I can't," she choked out. "I don't have the words." He stroked the back of her head and rocked her gently. "You'll find them," he soothed. "And when you do, I'll be here." She slowly calmed under his touch, then nestled closer against him, drifting off to sleep with his promise locked safely away in her heart. ************************ End part eleven. Continued in part twelve Lesser Evils, part twelve by Hannah Mason nearing the end at last :) ************************ It was Saturday afternoon, a week since her abduction and four days since her rescue. Or his rescue, as the case may have been. He really wasn't sure how to think about the hellish disaster that had occurred in Jack Ripley's kitchen. As for the ordeal that had come before it, Scully was still silent on the matter, and he was reluctant to push her. He knew only that she awoke every night screaming, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" The burn on her back made it hard to offer much physical reassurance, so he was reduced to sitting close to her on the bed, stroking her hair and talking to her until the dream faded away. She was sleeping now; he had checked just a few moments ago, arranging the quilt protectively over her as if to ward off any demons bent on disturbing her much-needed rest. Suddenly he felt her presence in the room and craned his neck around to look, smiling when he saw her. She stood blinking at him sleepily, dressed in pajamas with the quilt clutched around her shoulders, her hair tousled and face still flushed from sleep. "Hey," he said softly. "Everything okay?" She nodded but didn't move from her spot near the hall. "What are you watching?" she asked. "Baseball." He gestured at the screen with the remote control. "The Red Sox are creaming the Orioles, six nothing in the bottom of the eighth." "Can I join you?" "Sure," he answered with a touch of surprise. He shifted to make room for her, and she carefully climbed onto the sofa next to him, wincing when her back made contact with the cushions. "Here," he murmured, pulling the pillow from behind his head to lay it across his lap. "You should probably be lying down anyway." It took no coaxing at all to get her to curl lengthwise under the quilt, her head on his lap. She slipped one hand under the pillow to rest on his knee, and he stroked her hair lightly in response. "You sure you're okay?" he queried gently. He knew it was not the promise of a great baseball game that had lured her onto the couch. She nodded her assent against the pillow, and he realized with a start that she just wanted to be close. To him. Amazing. He resumed stroking her hair gently, which she must have appreciated because she burrowed further into his lap. Her movements caused something to swell and burst within his chest, caused tears to prick his eyes. The feel of her, so small and so trusting on his lap, made him want to haul her more completely into his arms and never let go. The rest of the world could go fuck itself; his new job was going to be to ensure NOTHING ever hurt her again. She stirred against him once more, and he glanced down with a guilty flush. Scully was probably not going to approve of this new plan. As well she shouldn't. He sighed, leaning down to kiss her temple. "Mmmm?" she murmured, her eyes fluttering open. He smiled as kissed her again. Sleepy, agreeable Scully was fast becoming one of his favorite people. He felt a fresh wave of protectiveness wash over him. Easy, he cautioned himself. Why don't you start by just being her friend? He knew what he had to do; he just hoped it didn't feel as much like an ambush to her as it did to him. "Scully?" More rustling against him. "Yeah?" "I don't want to push you or anything, but I was thinking..." She tensed in his lap but did not say anything. "...maybe it would help you to talk about it," he finished in a rush. "Maybe that way the nightmares wouldn't be so bad." She pulled herself away from his stroking fingers, rising gingerly to curl on the opposite end of the couch, as far away as she could get. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you up nights, Mulder." "Scully..." She looked away, but he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. Shit, this was going to be harder than he had expected. But as her friend, as someone who loved her more than life itself, he felt he had to keep going. "I think...I think talking about it may help you gain control over the memory. Help it not to hurt so much." He stretched a hand across the cushions, not quite touching her. She was silent a long time. Then she turned to him, hugging her knees, and he could see he had been right about the tears. "I thought you were here as my friend, not a psychologist," she said brokenly. He swallowed hard. The last thing he had wanted to do was cause her more pain. But maybe it was a necessary evil, a way to get her to address what had happened to her. "I am your friend," he said softly. "And I just want to help." "Well, you're not." She rose unsteadily to her feet, pulling her quilt with her, and walked back toward the bedroom. Mulder sighed and rubbed his temples with one hand. Smoothly done, he congratulated himself. I'm sure she's feeling so much better now, thanks to you. He heaved another sigh and levered himself off the couch. Maybe he could undo the worst of the damage. He knocked softly on the bedroom door, and then stuck his head in, expected to see her curled in a ball on the bed, crying and unwilling to look at him. Instead he found her standing by the window, staring at the setting sun. Not crying. But definitely unwilling to look at him. "Scully..." he began hesitantly. "You want to know why I haven't told you?" she said without turning around. He could guess a thousand reasons, but did not offer even one. She was finally talking to him now, and he wasn't about to destroy that with one of his ill-timed observations. But Scully did not want to let him off so easily. "Go on, guess," she ordered, her gaze still focused on the spring evening outside. "Let's give that Oxford training a full work-out." He lowered himself into a chair, scrubbing his face with both hands. "I think it would be better if you told me," he said after a minute. She answered with a short, humorless laugh. "See what I mean? Psychologist." But the words held none of her earlier rancor. It was a long time before she spoke again, and when she did her voice had grown tired, soft and wistful. "You know how some people buy a book, and they just can wait to see how it turns out, so they skip ahead to the ending?" He nodded even though she could not see him. He had been guilty of that himself on occasion. "I never did that," she continued, her arms folded over her chest. "And NOT because I didn't want to know. I did. But..." "You figured the ending would make more sense if you had all the prior information to process it with," he finished for her. She turned to look at him at last, a small, sad smile curving her lips. "Exactly," she whispered. A pause. "You really were paying attention." He was not sure whether she meant paying attention in class or paying attention to her. He hoped it was the latter. "Anyway," she said with a deep breath. "I tell stories the same way I read them. Start at the beginning." "Okay." She crossed the carpet to sit across from him on the bed. "No, it's not okay. Don't you see?" "I guess I don't," he admitted after a minute, scratching his hair in puzzlement. She lowered her eyes. "This story begins a week ago in the morgue, Mulder. Just after we argued, when you..." She broke off hesitantly. "Reamed you for not jumping at the chance to investigate cattle rustling in Wyoming?" He filled in the unpleasant blank himself. "I remember, Scully." He looked her in the eyes. "And I'm very sorry for the things I said to you that night. It was unforgivable." She was shaking her head. "No, you still don't get it. I mean...I mean, yeah, I was upset by what you said, and it was painful for me to hear it, but it's so much more than all that." "What is it, then?" "You've been so wonderful to me these past few days," she began softly. "I've felt very...connected...to you, and...and I guess I've need that connection more than I thought, because every time I think back to that night in the morgue...it just makes me sick." "Aw, Scully..." "No, let me finish." She wiped at her eyes. "I don't want us to be those people again, I don't want to go back to the loneliness and the misery and the silence that we had before all this happened. I just want to stay here with you now, like this... But the memories, they won't cooperate. They just keep coming and coming, reminding me how awful it was, showing me that these last few days are just a fantasy, a beautiful lie that I keep telling myself in an effort to make through one more day." She gave a tiny shrug. "So I don't want to remember, Mulder. Because then it will all be over. I don't want to remember that night or that argument. And I certainly don't want to remember the fact that you..." She broke off, unable to get the words out. He saw her swallow hard and try again. "That you..." "That I what?" "That you don't trust me." Her voice was small and sad. "What do you mean I don't trust you?" he demanded. It felt like someone had dropped a bag of cement squarely on his chest. "I trust you more than anyone in the world. You know that." She shook her head and rose to go to the window again. "You trust me with some things," she conceded, toying with the lace edge of the curtain. He got up from the chair and moved to stand behind her. "Name one thing, Scully," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Name one thing that I don't trust you with." "The truth." "What...?" He had never expected that answer. "I trust you with the truth, Scully." She turned and pinned him with one of her "don't bullshit me" stares, and then he knew. The hallway. Seven months ago. Right. She's gotcha by the balls on this one, my man, he told himself, beginning to squirm. "That was...What I said..it..it had nothing to do with trust, Scully." She gave a derisive snort. "Mulder, with you it's *always* about trust. So save your explanations." "No, you don't understand." He took her lightly by the shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. "I trust you, Scully. I trust you with anything and everything. It's me I don't trust." She stared at him wide-eyed. "What are you talking about?" "I wanted that kiss, Scully. I wanted it as badly as I have ever wanted anything in my life. More even. Sometimes I feel like it's all I ever wanted." "Then why...?" "Because of the after part, Scully. We kiss, and it's wonderful, incredible, whatever. Name your favorite superlative and I'm sure it would be appropriate. But then what? We live happily ever after? Somehow I don't think so." She pulled from his grasp, turning to sink weakly down on the bed. There was no good rebuttal for this argument. He was right. "The thing of it is, Scully..." He sat next to her on the bed. "You deserve happily ever after. You should have someone who gets it right." He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her to look at him. "You really want the truth?" he asked softly. She nodded wordlessly, her hand coming up to rest on his forearm. "The truth is that I love you," he murmured. "So very much." There was a pause as they traded shaky smiles, and he rubbed his thumbs gently over her cheeks. "No one will ever love you more than I do...it's just not possible." He kissed her forehead, and she looked so happy at that moment that he almost forgot. Forgot who he was and why he couldn't give her this thing that she seemed to want so much. He wished his love was perfect and whole, a pretty package he could wrap and lay at her feet for all eternity. But it wasn't. That, too, was the truth. "I love you beyond all reason," he told her softly. "That's the problem." "I...I don't understand." He dropped his hands from her face to twine her fingers with his own. "If nothing else, Scully, this whole escapade should prove to you how supremely bad I am at..." He paused, searching for the right words. "...interpersonal relations." "Mulder..." "I'm not just bad, Scully, I'm *horrible*. I set new standards for fucked-up relationships. I'm distracted half the time, selfish and self-involved, but then I can also be demanding and overly focused. And I never get the words right, Scully. I'm always saying or doing the wrong thing, and you..." He smiled at her sadly. "You deserve so much more. Hearts and flowers and the whole nine-yards. And that's the truth." He took a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. She pulled it away with a jerk. "So I was right. You don't trust me." "What? No." Hadn't she been listening at all? "I'm the problem here, not you." "Oh, you're the problem, all right, but not in the way you think you are." "I'm not sure I follow..." "You think I don't know about your tendency toward distraction?" she asked, rising from the bed to stand over him. "You think it somehow escaped my notice that you're demanding? It's been over six years, Mulder. SIX YEARS. I think by now I know you pretty well. And I would hope you know me, too. I would hope that you could trust my judgment and allow me to make my own decisions," she finished in a disgusted tone. "Uh..." He had no good answer for that one. "I'm not a child, Mulder," she said, hands on her hips. "I don't need a parent, a keeper, or even a partner trying to run my life for me." "I'm not trying to..." "Oh, yes, you are! That's exactly what you're trying to do; I tell you that I want you, but you don't trust me to mean it! Instead, you go ahead and blithely make the decision for me. That's not concern, Mulder, that's arrogance." "I..I..." His mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head. "You're right," he admitted finally. "Excuse me?" She was tapping one barefoot on the carpet. "I didn't quite get that." "I said, 'you're right'," he repeated through clenched teeth. She smiled then. "That's what I thought you said," she told him sweetly, and he laughed. They regarded each other silently for a moment. "Umm, so what do we do now?" she asked finally. "Oh, no," he answered, holding up his palms. "You can't trick me into that one, I've learned my lesson. I'm leaving all future decisions up to you. That's the new policy. In fact, I'm never going to make another decision as long as I live." "Mulder?" She pursed her lips, her eyes alight with laughter. "Hmmm?" "You just did." He grinned and reached for her hand. "Can't sneak anything past you, can I, Agent Scully?" "Someone has to keep you honest," she told him primly as she sat down next to him on the bed. "Ah, yes, honesty," he mused. "The theme of the evening." He gave her an appraising look. "Think you can handle a little more?" When she nodded, he took her hand and led her out of the bedroom. "Mulder, where are we going?" "You'll see," he answered cryptically, pulling her toward the front door. "Mulder, I'm not dressed," she protested as he opened the door, but he ignored her and tugged her into the hallway after him. He took her gently by the hips, bringing their bodies flush against one another. She felt a rush of heat run through her at the sudden contact, and her heart rate increased considerably. Contrary to his earlier proclamation, Mulder seemed intent on making at least one more decision. "Unfinished business," he explained. Excitement leapt within her, tinged with just a shade of panic. What if he was right about the after part? "This is the wrong hallway, Mulder," she informed him in a rough whisper. You can still back out now. She added the last part silently, trusting that he would be able to read it in her eyes. But Mulder didn't seem to want an out. Not this time. He leaned his face down close to hers, his lips parted so that she could feel his warm breath caressing her cheek. "I'm improvising, Agent Scully. Go with it, okay?" Her eyes drifted shut. "Okay..." she breathed just as his mouth came down on hers. It was a soft, chaste kiss. Just a fraction of a second longer than two friends might have shared. But it was enough to send her senses spinning. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, his own expression one of wonder. "The world didn't come to a halt," he murmured. She smiled at his bemusement. "And I'm still here," she pointed out, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Yes." All merriment evaporated as he fixed her with dark gaze. "Yes, you are." She moved, or he moved, or maybe they moved together, but in the next moment their mouths were joined again, this time sliding together lingeringly as they pressed against one another more firmly. They kissed for long minutes, learning each other's taste and texture through gasps of pleasure. Their tongues danced teasingly at first, then rubbed together more strongly as the embrace wore on. She grabbed at his back, nearly incoherent in her need, and he answered her whimper by squeezing her ass, moving her body against his hips in an age-old rhythm. They were stuck together like flypaper when the sound of a door opening caused them to jump apart, flushed and breathless. An old woman and her terrier eyed them with disapproval as she inched past, hugging the side of the wall to give them as much berth as possible. "Hello, Mrs. Cavenaugh," Scully murmured, her hand clasped over her mouth. "Hmpf," the woman snorted and walked on her way. "Good night, Mrs. Cavenaugh," Mulder called after her loudly, and Scully collapsed into his chest with a smothered giggle. He squeezed her shoulders, chuckling against the top of her head. "I bet she hasn't gotten any since the Truman administration," he murmured into her hair. "Mulder!" She pinched him playfully, but continued to laugh into his chest. He wrapped her in a careful hug. "Inside?" he suggested hopefully. She nodded, and took his hand to lead him back into the apartment. They stopped at the couch, where he sat plopped down on the cushions with a sigh. "Where were we?" he asked. "Oh yes, right about...here." He took her hands and brought her gently down to straddle his lap, groaning when she settled herself fully on top of him. She answered with a soft, feminine laugh, leaning her forehead against his. "So far I like the after part," she murmured. "This isn't after yet," he told her solemnly. "No?" She quirked an eyebrow. "No. This is still during." And then he kissed her again, his hands moving to entwine themselves in her hair. There was no preliminary this time; they resumed the kiss at its deepest point, shifting together on the couch with murmured sounds of need muffled against their mating tongues. Scully groaned softly as one hand trailed down the front of her pajama top, glancing over her breast and stomach until it rested on her thigh. She took it in her own hand, urging him up and under the green silk. He complied, and warm fingers began to trace circles on her stomach. "More, Mulder please..." She broke the kiss to pant against him. The light touches were driving her crazy. "So soft," he breathed, stroking her higher and more firmly. "I can't believe how soft you are." Scully froze, going rigid on his lap.. He felt the change immediately, and his eyes popped open in concern. "Scully? What's wrong? What's the matter?" She swallowed several times, trying to stop the welling panic. You're ruining this, she chided herself inwardly. It was going so well and now you're ruining it. Stop it, just don't think about it. But it was too late. "He...Ripley...he, uh..." She couldn't say the words. Her eyes filled with tears and she cursed herself again. Dammit. "Scully? Talk to me. What is it, sweetheart?" He rubbed his hands over arms several times, squeezing gently. She closed her eyes, unable to look at him when he was watching her with such love in his eyes. "He said that to me," she managed at last. "He touched me and told me how soft I was. I thought he was going to...to rape me." Mulder's mouth quivered into a frown, his own eyes becoming moist. "Oh, Scully," he murmured, pulling her down against his chest. "I'm so sorry." She held him tightly, rubbing her cheek against his warm tee- shirt for comfort. He rocked her silently for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I didn't mean to...I didn't want..." "Hey, it's okay." He shushed her with a squeeze. "We have all the time in the world for this, and we can always stop any time you want to, all right?" She levered herself off him, staring down at him with watery eyes. "But I don't want you to stop," she said softly. "I want the memories to stop. I just want it all to go away." He cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "I would do anything to be able to give you that," he told her hoarsely. "I know," she answered, covering his hand with her own. "But you can't. These are my dragons to slay." There was a moment of silence as he pondered this. "Well then at least let me give you a safe place to do it," he said at last. He coaxed her gently back down against him, pressing a row of kisses to her hairline. She nodded, closing her eyes and relaxing into his embrace. "I had just finished the last report," she began slowly, "and I was about to leave when I heard him say my name..." ************************************* End part twelve. Continued in part thirteen Lesser Evils, part thirteen by Hannah Mason disclaimer etc. in part one *************************** "You're sure you don't want me to go with you?" He was sprawled across the bed amid a mass of tangled covers, wearing only boxers and a tee-shirt and watching her as she finished dressing. She smiled at him from the mirror and adjusted the collar on her blouse. "Thank you, no. This is really something I need to do for myself." She studied her reflection critically. Not too bad, she decided at length. The foundation had covered the worst of the bruise and her long sleeves hid the cuts on her arms. "You know the press is likely to be there." Her eyes lowered for a moment. "I know." The funeral for Rebecca Seeton had been in the news for days, ever since police had identified her body at Potter's Field. Lisa Marino's had not yet been found. Possibly never would. But for both families, at least, there was at last some closure. Maybe that's what I'm seeking, Scully thought as she slipped on her earrings. Closure. Some way to finally put this behind me. It had been one week since she had shot Ripley and ended her captivity, but somehow she still felt bound by him. Not yet free. The nightmares continued to plague her most nights, and she would wake up sweating and crying with fright, both from the terror of reliving the horrible experience and the fear that she would never be the same again. Never get control over her life again. "At least let me drive you there." She turned from the dresser, shaking her head. "The taxi will be here in ten minutes, Mulder." She was still unable to drive, as that required her to sit back fully against the car seat. The burn was still too tender for such friction. "Call them and tell them not to come." "Mulder..." "Scully..." She gave an exasperated sigh and went to sit next to him on the bed, ruffling his hair affectionately. "You have been wonderful," she told him. "Unbelievably so. I don't know how I would have made it through these nights without you." He watched her face intently, riveted by this unusually frank admission. "But Mulder..." She took his hand in hers. "If I'm ever going to get through this, I need to be able stand on my own two feet again. I can't go through life holding your hand every step of the way." He frowned as if to disagree. "Okay, okay...I'll admit that it would be nice." He smiled. "Sometimes," she added, unable to suppress an answering smile. Then she continued, "I need to do this myself, Mulder. My life hasn't been my own since this happened...I don't know if going to Rebecca's funeral will help, but I need to try. For me...and for us." She looked him the eyes. Do you understand what I'm saying here? she asked him silently. "Yeah, I get it Scully," he sighed at last. "I may not like it all that much, but I get it." She leaned over and kissed him on the bridge of his nose. "Good. 'Cause I'm not going to be able to do this if I don't have your full support." He looked surprised. Really? She shook her head, eyes heavenward. "Mulder, where do you think half my strength comes from?" He grinned. "Three nights a week at the gym?" "The other half, you idiot." She stood to leave, but he held her back, anchored to the bed by her arm. She turned to face him, and he kissed her fingers. "Me, too, Scully." he told her softly. She smiled. "I'll do whatever you want, whatever you need," he promised. "Right now I need to let me go so I can catch that taxi," she replied. "Then I need you to be right here when I get back." He released her hand. "*Right* here, Scully?" he asked with a leer, casting his eyes about the rumpled bed clothes. She laughed and left him wondering. **************************** Mulder was right; the press was out in full force, laying siege to the small church as if they were enacting some medieval military maneuver. They pushed and yelled at her as she tried to fight her way up the walk, ignoring their shouted questions with a fixed stare. At last she made it through the doors of Sacred Heart, and noted with surprise that she was not the only non-family member to attend the ceremony. The pews were virtually packed with people murmuring to each other as the organ played softly at the front of the sanctuary. She slid quietly into a row in the back, squirming only slightly when the woman sitting next to her gaped openly at her bruised face. For the next hour she listened as Rebecca Seeton's short life was recounted by the people who loved her. Her younger brother, Keith, cried as he told a story about the time when he broke his leg at seven years old. Ten year-old Rebecca had used her precocious artistic skills to cover the large cast in fierce dinosaurs, making him the envy of Maynard Elementary school. Her parents spoke of her devotion to family, friends and teaching. Her fiancι, Robert, spoke last, addressing the coffin directly as he told her one last time how much he loved her. Then the parish priest asked everyone to join him in prayer, thanking God for Rebecca's gifts to them and acknowledging that there must have been some greater plan at work, some higher glory that had necessitated taking young Rebecca's life. Scully kept her eyes closed throughout the prayer, but she was not convinced that the priest's assurances were correct. That would mean, in some sick way, that Ripley had been right when he said that it was God's will that he murder two women. And that it had been his will that she survive. It was hard for her to imagine a scenario where the Almighty valued her life above two others. Maybe it was just as random as it seemed. Maybe God let men run their lives as they would, lingering in the background, ready to pick up the pieces when needed. She thought then of Mulder, and his bullet proof vest. Maybe not so random. She just didn't know. She sighed, then added her own silent prayer of thanks and asked God to keep a close eye on the families of Rebecca Seeton and Lisa Marino. The service ended and people formed a line down the center aisle, waiting to say a word to the grieving family. Scully stood frozen for a moment, hanging back and watching the line move forward. She wanted to say something to Rebecca's family, but she was also hesitant. She was not at all sure that they would want to see her, the one who had lived when their daughter had not. At last she got in line. She could always leave quickly if her presence seemed upsetting. "Mrs. Seeton," she said when she reached Rebecca's mother. "My name is Dana Scully. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your daughter's death." The older woman's eyes grew wide. "You're the woman from the TV," she said. "He took you, too." "Yes, ma'm, he did." She was prepared to leave in an instant, but the other woman surprised her by pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank God you're all right," she sobbed. "Thank the Lord he didn't get another one." Scully tentatively returned the embrace, not sure what to say. Mrs. Seeton pulled away a bit, but did not let her go. "Are you really okay?" she asked, searching Scully's face. "He didn't hurt you too much, did he?" Scully swallowed hard. She knew the woman was really asking about her daughter, wanting to know the extent of her suffering. "No," she said hoarsely. "It wasn't too bad." Mrs. Seeton nodded, making an effort to smile through the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "That's good," she replied, squeezing Scully's arms. "I'm so glad. And I'm so glad you came today. Rebecca would have liked that." Scully smiled, and then Mrs. Seeton hugged her once more. "God bless you," she whispered against her hair. Yes, thought Scully as she moved away. He certainly has. She was walking toward the door when she heard a familiar voice call her name. She turned to see Aaron Littlefield striding toward her with a smile. Somehow she was not surprised to see him there. They had spoken several times about Rebecca' Seeton, and she knew that the case had troubled him deeply. More closure, she thought as he hugged and kissed her hello. "How are you doing?" he asked anxiously. "I've tried to call you a few times, but the line has always been busy." She nodded. "Off the hook," she explained ruefully. She gestured to the mob outside. "Reporters." He nodded in understanding. "Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you." "Sure. Where?" "There's a court yard around back," he said. "We can sit there for a bit, if that's okay." She smiled and tilted her head at him. "Lead the way." A short minute later they were seated on a bench amid sun- dappled cherry trees. Every time the breeze blew, pink petals swirled to the ground like snow flakes. "I mainly wanted to make sure you were doing okay," Aaron began slowly. "I read the report on what happened, and..." He broke off helplessly. "If there's anything I can do, anything you need..." She took his large hand and squeezed it affectionately. "I'm fine, Aaron. Truly." And she realized with a start that she actually meant it. Maybe the fog was finally lifting. "You're sure?" he asked. "I'd be happy to help you out in any way." "Really, I'm all right." She paused, looked at her lap and then up at him again. "I've got Mulder to fetch and carry for me," she murmured. "Ah, yes. Mulder." He smiled. "He and I got to know one another a bit better last week." "So I gather," Scully answered dryly. "Yes, well, I think we came to an understanding of sorts." He paused and studied her closely. "He's a good man, Dana. A bit unstable, mind you, but a good man." "He said the very same thing about you," she told him. Aaron barked a laugh. "I find that kind of hard to believe." Then he smiled at her again. "He loves you very much, you know." Scully felt her cheeks flush warm with pleasure, still unused to hearing the word love in the same context as her and Mulder, but nonetheless reveling in the tingling sensation it engendered in her belly. "I, uh...I know," she managed to stammer. He shot her an appraising look. "Hmmm...I'll say you do," he teased. "It's about time, don't you think?" She nodded, momentarily too choked up to form actual words. Then she cleared her throat. "Aaron..." she began, not sure what to say to him now. "Hey, don't worry about it," he broke in. "I understand everything, really. And I'm happy for you." "You are?" She was surprised, and maybe a little bit piqued. Apparently he had not been as invested in their relationship as she had imagined. "Of course," he answered swiftly. "That man is completely and totally crazy about you. He loves you so much, it's the only thing he can see." He paused to touched her hand gently. "You deserve to be loved that much...you deserve it, and so do I." "Yes," she agreed, grabbing him in an impulsive hug. "You certainly do." He chuckled and pulled away. "How about I drive you home? "That would be wonderful," she replied, hoping it would be a short ride. She was struck by a longing to see Mulder again, wondering if he knew that he deserved that obsessive, crazy kind of love, too. If not, she intended to show him. **************************** End part thirteen, continued in part fourtee Lesser Evils, part fourteen by Hannah Mason cover your eyes, children; the sex starts here ***************************** He was not still in the bed when she arrived home. Instead, she found him puttering around the small kitchen, wearing blue jeans, glasses, and nothing else. "Hi," he called when he saw her. "How did it go?" She slung her purse over a chair and removed her jacket. "It was nice," she answered, hugging him from behind. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I'll tell you about it later." "Lunch?" he asked, gesturing at the spread on the counter top. "I figured you might be hungry, so I made some soup and sandwiches." She reluctantly pulled away. "Maybe in a minute. I want to change out of these clothes. The waistband of this skirt is a killer." She walked into her bed room and immediately began stripping her clothes. When she got down to her bra and panties, she hesitated, and then peeled them off, too. May as well go the whole nine yards, she thought as she slipped on her robe. This time, she exchanged her usual terry cloth for a silky, floor-length number in midnight blue. Cinching the belt loosely at her waist, she went in search of Mulder. She found him sitting at the kitchen table stuffing a turkey sandwich in his face. "Wow," he said when he saw her, sandwich abandoned on the plate. "You like it?" she asked with a small smile. "I don't know. Let's see the whole thing." He made a revolving motion with his finger, and she did an obliging pirouette. "Well?" she asked. He scratched his head. "Still not sure. I think I need to get a closer look." She padded across the room, stopping just out of arm's reach. "How about now?" she said. "Mmmm," he replied, his eyes focused on where her bare feet poked out from under the hem. "It's definitely... interesting. Real silk?" She nodded. He stroked his chin. "I don't know, Scully. I think I should verify that myself, if I'm going to give a through assessment." He reached out a hand, she inched slowly over to him. His fingers closed around the skirt of the robe, careful not to actually touch her. But she could feel their heat on her thigh anyway. "Feels like silk, all right," he pronounced at last. "I think you have a winner of an outfit here, Scully." "That's too bad, Mulder." "Huh?" "Cause I was thinking of taking it off." He groaned and pulled her down on his lap. "You're just terrible, you know that?" He nipped her bottom lip. "Who's terrible?" she demanded, pulling away teasingly. "I'm not the one who ordered a fashion show in the kitchen." "Hey, I'm just a guy trying to eat a sandwich. Then you walk in here, dressed--or shall I say *not dressed*--for some serious trouble." "Promises, promises." She pretended to study her nails. "Okay, that's it. Now you're really going to get it." He pulled her face to his, his lips open and moist as they moved not-quite-gently over hers. She rested her hands against his bare chest and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. He accepted the invitation immediately, slipping his tongue repeatedly inside to taste her. She whimpered and sucked his tongue, trying to convince him to stay, but he slid out to lick over her bottom lip again. "Now who's teasing," she breathed against his mouth. He chuckled low in his throat as their lips joined once more, tongues twining with growing passion. She shifted on his lap and he groaned his approval into the kiss, his hands moving to press her more tightly against him. Only the thin silk of her robe prevented her bare chest from lying against his bare skin, and the tiny barrier was fast becoming a large annoyance. Her shifted again, moaning softly when breasts brushed against the solid wall of his chest. She slid her hands from his shoulders down to his nipples, where she rubbed each one in turn with a delicate fingertip. "Scu-lee..." His hips bucked against her rear, and he moved his mouth hotly over the column of her throat. She arched her head back and pulled the top of the robe aside so he could lick her collar bone. Sogoodsogood. More... She trailed her hand down his flat stomach and over to the hard ridge pressing against his jeans. She stroked him firmly. He froze. "Scully, wait..." Not this time, she thought. She ignored his protests, continuing massage his erection as she planted tiny kisses on his neck. "Scully..." He was pushing her away more firmly now. "Scully, wait, please..." She stopped this time, looking at him through passion-dazed eyes. "What?" she breathed. "I can't do this," he said tightly. "I just can't." "Oh. I see." She was off his lap in a flash, tightening the sash of her robe. "Sorry to bother you, then." She turned to leave, and he called after her. "Scully, wait...let me explain..." His pleas fell on deaf ears as she escaped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She braced her arms on the sink, willing herself not to cry. Maybe I was wrong to think this would really work, she thought. Maybe he's always going to be too scared. Then she opened her eyes and got a good look at the woman in the mirror. It nearly took her breath away. "Well, no wonder he doesn't want you," she said bitterly. "Look at you. You're lucky he didn't just throw up on the spot." Her face was gaunt, and there was still a large purple bruise across most of one cheek. She knew it had companions scattered over the rest of her body. Her wrists, having been rubbed raw with rope burns, were now mottled with scabs. And then there was the monsterous burn on her back. She tried to blink back the stinging tears, but they managed to escape, trailing hot streaks down her face and smearing her makeup as they went. She gave a hollow laugh. Now her look was truly complete. So much for seduction, she thought acidly. Try a haunted house. Then there was a light tap on the door. "Scully, can I come in?" "No," she answered loudly, but he opened the door nevertheless. Never listens, she thought angrily. I shouldn't want to make love with him anyway. But she did. That was the problem. "Scully, I'm sorry." His hand touched her shoulder briefly. "What I said back there...it came out really wrong." "Sure. There's a lot of ways a person can mess up 'I can't do this.' I understand completely." He took a shuddering breath. "I told you I was bad at this," he muttered. "Scully..." She cut him off with one hand, still refusing to look at him. "Just don't, Mulder, okay? I get it, really I do. You can't do this. I accept that. Can you just leave now?" "No. I can't leave. I can't leave until I'm sure you understand why I stopped." "What's not to understand, Mulder? I've finally seen the mirror, okay? I get it." "Huh? She heaved an exasperated sigh. "The bruises, Mulder. And the cuts and the burn...I realize that I don't make the most attractive picture right now." "Is that what you think?" he asked, surprised. He moved to stand behind her. "You think that I don't want to make love to you because of the way you look?" "Well, isn't it?" Her eyes met his in the mirror. He shook his head slowly, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. "No, Scully. Not at all." He pulled her gently back against him and kissed the top of her head. "This is obsessive Mulder you're talking to, remember? The one who loves you beyond all reason?" "But you said you didn't want me." "Scully, I can't imagine a time when I didn't want you. Men are supposed to think about sex like what, every ten seconds? Well for the past four years or so, just about every damn one of my ten second interruptions has been entirely about you, okay? And let's not do the math on that, I find it scary enough as it is." She gave a small laugh. "The point is, Scully, is that I wouldn't know how to stop wanting you if I tried. And," he paused meaningfully. "A couple of bumps and bruises certainly aren't going to do the trick." "So why...?" He turned her abruptly in his arms, taking her hand and bringing it to the front of his jeans where he was still hot and hard. "I want you," he told her unsteadily. "I want you so much it hurts, Scully. But I also don't think we can do this yet, not with your back..." "There are ways..." she interrupted, licking her lips. "I know, I know. Believe me, I've thought of them." His hand covered hers and they rubbed him together. "God, that's good..." His eyes drifted shut for a moment. Then he opened them again. "I just can't be inside of you yet, Scully," he breathed. "I can barely hang onto sanity when I think about it, and I'm afraid that if we actually did it now that I would forget and hurt you. It's just too soon." There were tears in her eyes again. Tears of need this time. And it was apparently a need that was going to be unfulfilled, because the set of his jaw told her he meant what he said. "Okay..." She released a shaky breath. "Okay, Mulder. We'll do it your way and go eat sandwiches, all right?" He gave her a slow smile. "Scul-lee," he murmured. "I can't believe you're giving up so easily. Didn't you learn anything about negotiation in all those weeks at the Academy?" Negotiation? What the hell was he talking about? "What exactly did you have in mind, Mulder?" "This," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her out into the bedroom. The sheets were still in wild disarray. She felt a flush creep over her as she realized they were headed directly for the bed. Sure enough, he eased her down on top of the sheets, then crossed around to his side. His side. She felt a bubble of warmth inside her at the thought. Four days and Mulder already had a side on her bed. She wanted to yell with delight. Instead, she curled on her side, watching intently as he shucked his jeans. The boxers followed his pants to the floor, and she held back a moan. "Oh my," she murmured, drinking in the sight of the afternoon light as it played over his naked skin. His erection stood out from his body, long and hard and delicately curved. He joined her on the bed, scooching around until their faces were level. She smiled at him, and he leaned across to kiss her softly, his lips brushing hers repeated but lightly, until she moaned and pressed against him more firmly. His tongue licked at her bottom lip, seeking entrance, and she parted to admit him. Her hands twined in his hair as he tormented her with hot, probing strokes, fucking her mouth with his tongue until she cried out into the kiss, dizzy with pleasure. He pulled back, breathing hard. "Well?" he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. "This is some compromise, Mulder," she said, licking her swollen lips. "But I have to say I'm feeling a little overdressed for the occasion." She shifted and her robe slipped open at the waist, parting to reveal her legs. With a smile, he reached to tug gently on the sash. It came loose in a whispery caress of satin against her skin. She held her breath as he parted the robe, praying that he would like what he saw. "Oh, Scully..." His soft sigh of wonder was all the reassurance that she needed, and she relaxed, allowing the robe to slip open more fully. Her anxiety dissipated, she wanted only to touch him. Her hands wandered greedily over his shoulders, down his chest and across to his nipples. She repeated the caress she had given him earlier in the kitchen, and he moaned. "Yeah, I thought you liked that," she murmured with a chuckle. His eyes were closed. "Mmm..a whole lot," he answered. "How about this?" she asked, and shifted to kiss the hardened nubs on his chest, her tongue darting out for a taste. He jerked against her. "That's...that's...I don't have words for how that is." He pushed her back a bit. "I think it would be best if I showed you." A moment later, she lay on her side, holding his head as pink nipple disappeared between his lips. He stroked her lightly with his tongue several times before shifting to suck strongly. She closed her eyes, her head bent toward his. "Mulder, that's so good..." He answered her by repeating the action on her other breast. Then he scooted back up the bed to the pillows, and she followed him, rolling slightly so that their bodies touched from head to toe. His cock burned hot against her thigh. "Oh yeah," he muttered, bending his neck for a kiss. It was short, sweet and wild. "Mulder, please..." She was shifting her legs against him in an effort to release the growing ache. He shifted so they lay facing one another again. "Here, like this," he murmured. He smoothed one warm hand over her hip and down the back of her thigh, pulling her left leg up until it rested bent over his hip. "Okay?" he asked, breathing hard. She nodded vigorously. "Yes, I'm fine." "If I hurt you, holler," he said. Then he smiled, his eyes dancing with pleasure. "And holler loud so I'm sure to pay attention." She grinned and touched his face, tracing the features that were so precious to her. "You're not hurting me," she assured him. "Really." They kissed again, and he drew his hand along the curve of her waist until it rested lightly on her hip. He paused for a moment, then slowly drew his fingertips over her buttock and back down into the soft curly hair between her thighs. She pushed her hips against him instinctively, clutching his shoulders for support as he began his exploration. He petted her gently before slipping one finger into the wet cleft at her center. Scully made a keening sound and buried her face further into his chest, her breath coming in hot pants. "Yes," she urged him. "Please." His breathing was equally ragged as slipped one finger part way into her, pressing upwards gently. "Like that?" he asked. "Is that how you like to be touched?' She hummed her pleasure against him, moving downwards on his hand. His finger pushed all the way inside her and then back out. Then in. And out. She quivered and sobbed as a second finger joined the first. "You feel so good," he praised hoarsely. "I can't believe how good you feel." "Mmmmm...youtooyoutoo." She was struck by the sudden need to touch him, to give him some of the pleasure he was heaping over her. She brought one hand down to close around his twitching cock and rubbed him firmly from root to tip. "Oh, God, Scu-leeee." He bucked against her but didn't stop the beautiful rhythm of his hand between her thighs. She began to echo the rhythm with her own ministrations, and he moaned again. "Oh yeah, Scully...oh, yeah." She was squirming along his body rather forcefully now, and at one point the tip of his cock brushed against the thatch of hair between her legs. They both jumped at the contact. Almost without realizing it, she began to guide his erection between her thighs. "Scully, no..." His voice was an agonized sob above her head. "Please...just for a second. I need...I need to feel you." He hissed a slow breath, but made no move to stop her as she placed his penis along her swollen center. "Oh!" she cried a gasp of surprise at the sweet contact and then closed her eyes. "Oh yes." She arched her hips the little bit that she could in the awkward position. The motion caused the skin on her back to tighten, but she ignored the slight pain in favor of the clotting pleasure between her legs. Together they were rubbing his rigid penis back and forth along her heated core, coating him with slickness as their motions grew faster and less controlled. "Okay, enough," he said hoarsely, pulling away. "I can't stand it anymore." He returned his fingers to between her legs, pumping her more forcefully now. She tried to reciprocate, but it was difficult because the swamping pleasure was mounting very quickly. She licked the salty skin of his collarbone. "Mulder...I..." Her hips jerked in synchrony with his wonderful hand. "That's it, Scully. Come for me. Come on." She gave a tiny shriek as the orgasm hit, tensing in his arms and grinding forcefully on his hand to draw out every bit of ecstasy. "Oh yeah," he said. "That's it. That's it." She lay against him, still panting and trembling with aftershocks, when she remembered that she had left him behind. Stretching up to capture his mouth in a kiss, she went to work on him once more, stroking his slick penis in a tight fist. He broke the kiss to arch his head back into the pillow, his eyes screwed shut and his face set in concentration. "Your turn, Mulder," she breathed, her thumb coming out to caress his tip. "Come for me." He did as commanded, groaning once as his hips bucked strongly against her, his body emptying itself in repeated bursts of hot fluid. They lay together in a tangle of arms and legs, touching softly and reveling in the majesty of what had just happened. She placed a kiss on his chest. "I'd negotiate with you any time, Agent Mulder," she said, and smiled when his chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. Then she sat up. "Mulder, what time is it?" "Hmmm? I dunno. Two, maybe?" "My mom is going to be here in half an hour," she said, rising from the bed as she retied her robe. "Now, I don't think she would be all that shocked to find us hanging around in bed together, but I'd rather not test those waters." "You're kicking me out?" "What?" She whirled from the dresser, where she had been selecting some new clothes. "No, Mulder. Heavens no." she crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed, kissing him lightly. "I just have to shower and change, that's all." His eyes smiled at her through sleepy lids. "Want some company for that shower?" She laughed and rested her head on his belly. "I don't think you want to shower with me, Mulder. I still have to keep the setting pretty cold for my back." He caressed her hair with two hands. "Scully, right now I think a cold shower would do me good." She opened her eyes and noted with some surprise that he was already getting hard again. "I'm impressed," she told him, sitting up. She took his hand. "Come on, Studboy. To the showers it is." He followed her into the bathroom, rooting around in the closet for some towels. She watched him fondly for a moment and then prepared to slip off her robe. Her hands halted at the sash. The burn. He still had not seen it, and she wasn't sure she wanted him to see it now. Not right after... She sighed and loosened the knot. He would see eventually, she reasoned. May as well be now. She let the material fall to the floor and moved to start the shower water. A second later she could feel him behind her, staring. She knew it was not a pretty sight, with the skin still red and blistering in some places, flaking off in others. And then there was the tattoo itself, which was distorted ever so slightly, but still there. Scully closed her eyes, standing very still. He's probably wishing Ripley did burn the damn thing off, she thought, remembering the angry and unpleasant circumstances that had surrounded her decision to get it in the first place. "Mulder..." Her voice cracked. Say something! she begged him silently. "It's still there," he murmured, coming to stand close behind her. "Yes," she whispered, head bowed. He dropped to his knees and touched the snake gently with one finger. Then he wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing his cheek to the curve of her back. "I'm so glad," he told her. "I'm so glad." She reached back to touch his hair. "You...you are?" "Yes," he said simply. "For better or worse, it's part of you. And I didn't want him to have any part of you." She turned in his arms and leaned over to rest her head on top of his. "I love you," she told him fiercely. "Beyond all reason, beyond anything I could have ever imagined." Then she laughed happily, squeezing him tighter. The truth had come out at last, she thought, and it would set her free. THE END ****************************