All Things Bright and Beautiful

By dlynn
dlynn1550@my-deja.com


Date: Mon, 05 Jun 2000
CATEGORY:     post episode, MSR, x-file/thriller
DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, Gossamer, 2000 Spooky's and
              Clinique's Hidden Gems, yes.
              link for 2000 Spooky's:
              http://home.mpinet.net/laster/bright.txt
              Everyone else, just let me know, please.
SPOILERS:     All Things, in particular, but everything  
              through season 7, including subtle spoilers
              for Requiem.
RATING:       R for language, violence, and adult  
              situations
SUMMARY:      "Scully, have you ever asked yourself what  
              kind of man would quit his job, leave his
              family, follow you across the country, and
              never contact you the entire time he was   
              here. Never once, in ten years, did he     
              call you, or write you, or contact you in
              any way. What kind of man is that, Scully?"
DISCLAIMER:   I'm playing with CC's kiddies again, what        
              can I say, but I still don't get any      
              money.


AUTHOR'S NOTES and rose petals will follow the last
chapter.

My other stories can be found at
http://home.mpinet.net/laster


All Things Bright and Beautiful
CHAPTER ONE:



"Dad?"

His office was quiet, serene. It was such a peaceful
place. It had large bookcases full of textbooks,
literature classics, and the stray paperback, pop
culture fiction. The wooden bookshelves were made of
dark, sleek, and richly textured mahogany just like his
desk.

It was its enormous bulk that he sat behind, pecking at
the computer keyboard. You'd think after all these years
he'd be a better typist, but, frankly, he so very rarely
had to do it. That's what dictation and secretaries were
for in his busy world.

But, this was personal - so very personal, and something
he could not entrust with a subordinate or even his
daughter. As he thumbed through the reference book,
looking once more for text that said what he wanted, he
smiled. Today was a good day. A great day as he'd
finally decided to move forward, to quit living in the
past, to seek out all that he wanted - all the good
things life had to offer.

"Daaad?" The voice came nearer, finally permeating his
thoughts and making him realize he'd have to respond or
she'd be up the stairs in a heartbeat, worried that he'd
relapsed. It didn't matter that he was healthier than
he'd been in months. His body was stronger, and his mind
sharper as he had exercised and trained in these few
months with a fervor that surprised his colleagues. He,
after all, wasn't noted for fanaticism when it came to
his health. Obsessive behavior with other things,
perhaps, but to be all consumed with rehabilitation was
uncharacteristic for him. His peers and friends were
thrilled.

Perhaps, finally, he was moving forward in his life.

Running his grammar check through the document he'd
typed, he smiled. It wanted to correct an historical
literary icon, to tell him this poetry didn't fit the
standards of proper, refined English. What did it know?
It was just a machine, a machine without soul or heart,
without the capability to understand the significance of
these words, and their place in his life.

Pushing the save button, he printed out his poem. As he
heard the soft swoosh of the paper sliding through the
printer, he slid a pink envelope out from under his desk
blotter, and removed the pretty floral card from its
sheath.

It really was a lovely card.

"Daaad, are you up there?" came his daughter's concerned
voice, floating up the stairs to his sanctuary.

"Sweetheart, I'll be down in a minute. Just checking on
one of the medical sites. I need to review something for
one of my patients," he answered, hoping that would be
sufficient to keep her downstairs.

As he pulled the paper from his printer, and began
cutting around the edges of the words, he heard her
voice come closer. He could hear her footsteps as they
sounded on the stairs. "We're gonna be late, dad. I told
Mark we'd meet him for brunch at 11:00a.m. It's almost
10:30a.m. And you know what traffic is like in that part
of town."

"Look...uh...I need my day planner, sweetheart. I think I
left it downstairs by the telephone. Would you mind
looking for it for me? I really need to take it with me,
and I'm almost done here. Go take a look, dear. We'll
get out the door more quickly, I promise."

His daughter paused on the staircase landing. "Fine, but
you've got five minutes up there, or I'm going without
you. And you're the one who wanted this meeting in the
first place."

"No problem, I'll be down in three," he said as he glued
the poetry quotation inside the card. Sitting back, he
admired his handiwork. Not too bad for someone
creatively inept, he thought. He debated for a moment if
he should sign it, but no...there wasn't any need. Of
course, she'd realize who sent it. They'd always been so
alike in thinking. So perfect together in every way.

It really was a lovely card -- and the sentiments, so
heartfelt.

Sealing the previously addressed envelope, he grabbed
his jacket off the back of the chair, stuck the pink
paper in his inner pocket, and headed out his door. As
he flicked the light switch, he paused. A smile crossed
his face, and he headed back inside the room to the
front of his desk. Opening the top drawer, he slid his
fingers along the interior until he felt the special,
hidden latch. Pushing it aside, he pulled the drawer
farther out than it first appeared it would go.

Inside was a secret compartment where several glossy
pictures were scattered throughout. Rifling through
them, he grabbed one of the photos. Turning it over, he
chuckled, reveling once more in its exquisite
familiarity. The photo had been taken almost 11 years
ago. It was him, and a beautiful, vivacious woman. They
were smiling at each other as he pushed wayward strands
of auburn hair away from her face. He remembered it had
been such a windy day, and her long hair would just not
stay in place.

But, it had been a day worth commemorating, so he'd had
a waiter at the outdoor cafe snap this picture,
immortalizing the moment in brilliant Technicolor. Yet,
even as glorious as the captured moment, it truly
couldn't do justice to his memory. That was etched
permanently on his heart. After all, this had been the
morning after they'd first made love.

Life had been perfect -- perfectly exquisite.

"Daaad! I'm leaving without you. This is ridiculous; I'm
not going to keep Mark waiting."

Sighing. he pushed the remaining pictures down inside the
drawer, and began to close it. However, one of the photos
got caught, and he had to pull it free. Bringing the
snapshot up to his face, he puzzled at its composition.

When had this one been taken? He really couldn't place it.
Obviously, it wasn't as important a moment as the
other picture. But then, not every second held the same
sublime ecstacy as that one perfect day.

Puzzled he looked once more, trying to figure it out.
There was the same long, red hair, but this time it was
matted with blood, and the eyes were lifeless, devoid
of the sparkle and vigor so very visible in the other
picture.

Ah...but then, this wasn't the same woman, was it? No...
That's right. This was only a poor substitute, one who
quickly failed in his estimations. That's right...he
remembered, she was just one of several that had failed
over the last ten years, never living up to his high
standards.

She just wasn't the one.

He smiled once more as he slammed the drawer shut. Placing
the picture inside his coat pocket with the envelope, he
exited his office. Securely locking the door behind him,
he shouted down the stairs, "Maggie, hold on...I'm right
behind you, dear."

Maggie Waterston stood at the foot of the stairs, her
toe tapping out an impatient beat. "I don't know why you
feel the need to do this anyway, Dad. This is crazy, I
feel like some 16-year-old and you want me to bring my
boyfriend home for inspection."

Bending down to drop a gentle kiss against her cheek,
Daniel skirted around his frustrated daughter and
grabbed his car keys off the foyer table. "Just consider
it a father's prerogative, Maggie. I only want to meet
the man who's stolen my daughter's heart."

As she grabbed her own jacked off the banister where
she'd thrown it, Maggie replied, "I don't understand the
sudden interest in my life. You've never felt the urge
before to keep tabs on me."

"Low blow, Maggie. You know I'm trying to change, to
take more responsibility for my family, for my actions,"
Daniel muttered, opening the door to the garage.

"Fine, Dad, just understand I'm a grown woman, and I
don't need your blessings."

"Message received, loud and clear, Maggie. We're just
having a friendly bite to eat."

Placing his hand inside his jacket he felt the
comforting feel of the glossy photo and the smooth
envelope. It was time he took charge of a lot of things
in his life. Things he'd let slide, that he'd ignored
the last several years. He'd start with this letter.
There was a mailbox just outside the restaurant. It
would be a perfect place from which to mail it.

It really was such a lovely card.

He was sure Dana would adore it. He really should have
sent it ten years ago, instead of trying to always find
solace with life's imperfect substitutes. But that was
going to change. He was a new man. He'd been revitalized.
In fact, he had Dana to thank for that.

It really was a beautiful day.

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE
LATER THAT WEEK

"Mulder, did you put this on my desk?" Scully asked,
holding a gift card envelope up to the light and
peering at it as though, if she stared hard enough, she
could see through it. Turning over the pink envelope,
she looked for a return address - nope, nada, zip. There
was only the DC postmark, but no address.

"Another, secret admirer, Scully. I'm not sure my
heart's up to that," Mulder panned, fainting back as he
clutched at the center of his chest.

Scully looked up from the envelope, and quietly stared
at her partner.  Her features froze in place, the smile
she'd worn as she picked up the card, gone. Mulder
straightened up, and had the good grace to actually
stammer as he said, "Ok...bad form. That was a totally
insensitive, and uncalled for remark."

"Yes, it was," she mumbled as she slipped her fingernail
under the envelope flap and gently peeled it back.
Reaching inside, she pulled out a greeting card.

Mulder, incorrigible to the nth degree, slipped around
the desk coming up beside her. As he tried to blatantly
peer over her shoulder, he said, "At least we know the
sender thinks you're special. It's a Hallmark, Scully."

"Hmm...You say something, Mulder?" Scully muttered as she
glanced at the spring bouquet of flowers splayed out on
the front of the card.

"The little crown, Scully, on the back. You know what
they say, 'When you want to send the very best, send a
Hallmark'. Personally, I've always felt the whole card
thing overrated."

"That's why you forget all my birthdays? Hate to blow
all your money on the very best?" Scully mused as she
looked up from reading the lines within the card.

"Come on, Scully, you can't tell me you're not aware of
the whole gift giving conspiracy. First we had
Valentine's Day -- that lovely holiday where anyone who's
not involved is made to feel like a second class
citizen. And of course, let's not forget honoring our
mothers and fathers with their very own days. I could
deal with that, Scully, but now we tack on Sweetest Day,
Grandparents Day, Secretaries Day, 'Take Your Best Dog
Groomer Out to Lunch Day'. It's all a giant retail
ploy to bring increased revenues into these greeting
card consortiums."

"Consortiums? Interesting choice of words don't you
think," she smiled as she concentrated on her partner's
diatribe of the morning. "I was just talking about my
birthday, Mulder - a birthday card, a simple
acknowledgement that you are glad I exist in your life,
not a pledge of undying love."

"Actually, Scull...eee, I always thought singing telegrams
had the ability to add so much more of that personal
touch," he said, reaching across the desk and flipping
the switch on his portable CD player. As the music
began, he wiggled his butt, arched his back and snagged
Scully around the waist. Grabbing her hips, he pulled
her closely into him. As their bodies made contact, the
card fluttered to the floor, all but forgotten.

"Mulder, knock it off. What if someone walks in?"

"They'll have to find their own dirty dancing partner;
you're taken," he said as he sensuously slid his pelvis
against hers, undulating his hips with lazy, intimate
intent. He gently swayed in perfect time with the music,
drawing her with him in this seductive dance.

"Moby, again, Mulder. When did you become such a fan?"

Leaning down, he brought his lips tenderly up the nape
of her neck to whisper at her ear. "Scully, I guess I'm
just a romantic at heart. You make my heart sing,
baybee." Tugging her earlobe into his mouth where he
sucked gently, Mulder hummed along with the lyrics.

Laughing, Scully attempted to avoid his playful,
tickling caresses. Finally, her eyes focussed once more
on the pretty card that had fallen beneath her desk
chair. She pushed at her frisky partner, extricated
herself from his embrace, and bent to collect her mail.
Opening it, she read aloud,"


"Take, oh take those lips away.
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes.the break of day.
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again, bring again,
Seals of love, but sealed in vein, sealed in vein."


"Mulder, are you sure this isn't a joke? Did you put
Frohike up to this?" she asked, hopeful that this whole
thing could still be easily explained away.

Reaching into his desk drawer, Mulder grabbed a latex
glove, which he snapped onto his hand. He reached over
and took the card from Scully's fingers. "Unless
someone's given Shakespeare a triple XXX rating, I'd say
this came from some other source. Frohike's never been
one for the bard, Scully."

All playfulness gone as he examined the card for tell
tale signs, he asked, "Seriously, Scully, do you know
who sent this to you?"

Raising her eyes to his concerned gaze, Scully sighed,
"I wish I did, Mulder, but I have no idea. It was just
here, lying with the regular mail delivery. It's
probably nothing, like you said, a secret admirer."

Walking around the desk, she grabbed the coffeepot and
began to pour herself a cup of hot coffee. She raised
her eyebrow to him, a silent inquiry about whether he'd
like her to pour him some as well. Shaking his head no,
Mulder continued, "Scully, hold down the fort. I'm
taking this up to the lab. I want to run it for
fingerprints."

"Don't you think it's a tad premature to be expecting
nefarious intent, Mulder," Scully said as she sipped
her, suddenly, bland coffee.

"I think, Scully, with our track record. It's better
safe then sorry. Frankly, I've got a nagging feeling
that we are already steps behind where we should be with
this," he said, throwing his jacket on and heading out
the office door.

As she sipped her coffee, Scully murmured against the
cup, "Me too, Mulder. Me too."


CHAPTER TWO:

SEVERAL YEARS BEFORE

"Daniel, we're heading out for drinks about 9:00 p.m.

Are you coming?" asked Dr. Neal Samuels, M.D., a
colleague and a pest. He was a hacker, a toiler that
managed to only exist in the circles he did because
of his family's long history and connections in the
medical field. He was truly someone who was tolerated
with blatant disdain and ridicule. Yet, he seemed
oblivious to the jokes of his peers. Some days, Daniel
thought, he really was as dumb as a box of rocks.

They were standing at the elevator with other apathetic
attendees to this most recent Thoracic Medical
Convention. Neal had been trying to get him to
participate in the crude and lewd hi-jinks that he and
his boorish comrades were known to regale themselves of
during past conventions. However, he had no intention in
picking up call girls, or carousing like Neal and his
buddies whose social development had arrested somewhere
around the 8th grade.

They were an embarrassment to the medical profession -
dinosaurs, and relics from a less enlightened age when
male doctors went to conferences as an excuse to step
out on "the little woman." Now, with a great percentage
of those attending being "the little woman", you'd think
these men would have learned to walk the straight and
narrow. But no - political correctness was not a part
of their vocabulary, or their modus operandi.

Watching the oily smirk that crossed Neal's face as he
winked at a woman physician, Daniel wondered once again,
how any one in his or her right mind could think this
man was a healer, a physician. His hands were
instruments of death, not tools of life. But his
father's name, and the reputation of the institution,
had been abused on more than one occasion as money
exchanged hands in order to cover up Neal's ineptitude.

"Thanks, Neal, I already have plans," Daniel intoned,
praying the elevator door would just open, allowing him
final escape.

"Right, old man, you've got a hot number waiting for you
upstairs? I know you, Waterston. The way you have of
disappearing every night during these conventions, I'm
sure you're getting a nice piece of ass on the side. So,
do tell, is she good? She keeping you sa_tis_fied, up
to your usual high Waterston standards-" Neal laughed,
poking Daniel in the ribs to punctuate his comments.

While waiting for Daniel's response, Neal lewdly appraised
the same woman physician he'd winked at earlier. His
eyes roved up and down her form, enjoying the very
pleasant view. He made no attempt to disguise his
lecherous intent.

Clenching his fists that were buried deeply inside his
trouser pockets, Daniel modulated his voice, keeping
everything on an even keel. "Neal, behave; you are
embarrassing yourself, and me."

"Ah, the little lady's not offended are you sweetheart?
I'm sure you know how to have a good time. In fact," he
continued, placing his finger at the open edges at the
top of her blouse where he played with a tiny ivory
button, "I'm sure you do."

Suddenly, Neal grabbed her around her waist and brought
her up close to his side, "So, what do you say, sweet
cheeks, want to hit the town with us this evening?"

"Get your damn hands off of me," she hissed, squirming
within his grasp.

"Neal, let her go. You're behaving like a drunken ass,"
Daniel admonished, moving his body into Neal's space
where he could smell the alcohol on his breath.
Realizing Daniel was serious, Neal removed his hands
from the woman, placing them in the air in a minor
concession of mea culpa. However, she was not impressed
with his lazy, insincere apologetic gestures.

"You, bastard!" she screamed as she drew back her arm,
giving him a hard, right jab to the nose. His eyeglasses
split in two, and were knocked from his face. Blood
trickled from his nose where her fist had impacted, his
bravado having been replaced with blubbering gulps.

"I'll have your ass, lady," he whined, wiping at his
nose with the back of his hand. "Daniel, you saw that.
I'll have her arrested; I'll sue her for assault."

"Neal, I don't think you want to pursue this; in fact,
if the lady chooses I will support her claims that you
assaulted her first. I suggest you leave it alone."

The crowd gathering at the elevator swelled as the
commotion increased. Several who had been standing
nearby, agreed they, too, would confirm the woman's
story. Neal found himself without the proverbial leg to
stand on.

"Neal, I'm going upstairs to take a shower, throw some
sweats on, order in room service, and watch the NCAA
playoffs where I plan to lose a couple of hundred bucks
on Georgetown. I'm tired, and I just want to enjoy
the basketball game. But if you choose to pursue this,
I'm more than happy to take a trip to the police
station."

The ping, signifying the arrival of the elevator car,
sounded, and the doors swooshed open with quiet aplomb.
Motioning the defiant woman through the doors, Daniel
laughed at the disgusted look she threw at Neal.

"You prick. I suggest you get out of my sight before I
press charges. Apparently, I have no shortage of
witnesses," she spat at the bloodied Dr. Samuels.
Disheveled and distressed, they watched him lumber
away from the elevator just as the doors closed.

She chuckled as she smoothed her hands through her
shoulder length red hair, straightening the tousled
strands. Reaching her hand out in greeting, she grasped
Daniel's waiting hand. "Hello, Dr. Waterston, I'm Dr.
Janice Leonard. I don't believe we've officially met."

"No, we haven't had the pleasure, but I've heard such
wonderful reports on your innovative techniques in the
reduction of post-operative infections. If you have the
time, I'd love to discuss them with you," he replied,
releasing her well-manicured hands.

"I'd love to discuss my research, Dr. Waterston,
especially since you are so highly regarded in the
field. I'd value any input you might have. But as I
heard, aren't you planning on settling down for some
serious basketball?" she inquired, her face plainly
revealing her disappointment in his plans for the
evening.

"Dr. Leonard, I was trying to subtly, and graciously,
remove a nuisance. Unfortunately, only a fly swatter of
gargantuan proportion would work on a pest such as him.
Or," he said, gently raising her bruised knuckles to his
lips, "a brilliant right jab. I'd be delighted if you
would accompany me to dinner - say, 7:30 p.m."

As the elevator stopped at her floor, Dr. Leonard
replied, "I'll meet you in the lobby at 7:30, and I'm
looking forward to the evening."

"As am I, lovely lady, as am I," he whispered, watching
her retreat down the corridor to her room. He
saw Dr. Leonard glance over her shoulder as the elevator
doors slid shut. He hesitantly smiled in her direction.
She couldn't know it was an affectation that came easily
to one so skilled as he was.

She probably thought he was just a nice man. And he really
was -- he'd be especially nice to her.

She surely was the one.


PRESENT DAY

The wind whispered gently at his office window, stirring
branches against the windowpane. It was a soft
breeze, nothing extreme, but it swished the leaves, and
serenely rocked the wind chimes on the porch below. The
melodious tones hinted of the simple, lazy day he'd
spent with Dana, when the wind had blown so much more
fiercely. The day immortalized in his photo.

Pulling out the print, which he always kept nearby,
Daniel traced his fingers over Dana's smiling face. She
was watching him, gazing at him with such adoration in
her eyes.

She was perfect.

They were perfect, the mentor and his student, his
protege. He'd had such amazing plans for them, not only
in their personal life, but also in their professional
careers. She was a testament to his prowess as a
teacher. She dazzled them all with her mind. And the
fact that she pleasured him with her body, was no small
matter either.

Hearing an acorn strike at the window, Daniel's thoughts
were pulled back into the present. Too bad she hadn't
known what he had always known - that they were meant to
be together. They complemented each other; their minds
were so alike.

No, she had decided she needed more then he could offer.
She needed a life outside his sphere of influence,
someplace she could distinguish herself on her own
merits, apart from his greatness. She said she was
restless, that something was missing from her life. That
as much as she adhered to the rubrics of science, she
felt there was something unfilled within her. Leaving
medicine for the FBI might allow her the chance to
discover herself.

Perhaps, he might have convinced her to stay, but she
discovered his deceptions. She hadn't realized he was
not separated from his wife. The divorce, he had said
was only a formality that both parties were anxious to
render. But she discovered he had a child, a daughter,
and a wife who still felt herself very much married.
This was the thing that finally pushed her away -- her
strict moral code, her damn honor that would not allow
her to break up a family.

Pulling open his secret desk drawer, he removed another
picture, placing it side by side on the desk with him and
Dana's perfect picture, and the other photo he'd found
in the drawer -- the one of the woman with matted,
bloody hair. All three were laid out, edges touching.
When you first glanced, they all appeared to be of the
same woman, but how could he have thought that. They
really were so different, the similarities so
insignificant as to be laughable.

This third photo was of a lovely woman with
shoulder length red hair. Her name had been Janice,
that's right...Dr. Janice something or other. And
she, too, had fallen short of his standards. Although
she was a brilliant doctor in her own right, poised
at the brink of greatness, she just couldn't see his
place in her life. She didn't acknowledge the degree
to which he could help her, to shape and to mold her.

As he traced his fingers over her hollow, lifeless eyes,
he tried to remember the way she'd been their last night
of that weeklong convention -- the animated way in which
she spoke about her work, about her dreams. Until she'd
practically sneered in his face when he described all
that he could teach her, all that he could provide for
her.

She'd said, "Daniel, it's been fun. But I have no
intention of uprooting my life for a pleasant diversion.
And I really don't need your help." It was so painfully
clear as he'd used his necktie to wring the life out of
her, how naive and immature she was to not accept his
help. As she'd fought and gasped her last breaths, it
had been such a shame to see that light leave her eyes.
The world had truly lost a shining beacon in the medical
field.

But as he had told Janice, while he snapped Polaroid
images of her cold, lifeless body, commemorating another
promising candidate lost to her own misguided notions,

"You're not the one."

It had not been difficult to circumvent the curiosity of
the police. All he'd had to do was drop one of Dr. Neal
Samuels' cards next to the body. Neal had done the rest
with his brilliant performance by the elevator, the
drunken threats he'd made against Janice at a bar that
night, and the fact he couldn't provide an alibi for the
time, in all probability, he'd been passed out on his
hotel floor. Daniel couldn't have planned it better.

Removing Dr. Neal Samuels from the medical profession
had just been icing on the cake he chuckled, placing the
photo of Dr. Leonard's final repose back inside his
drawer with the others. As he heard the living room
clock chime the hour, Dr. Waterston remembered his
appointment with his daughter and her fiance. He really
shouldn't be late. Mark was such a fine young man, just
what Maggie needed.

Locking the door to his study, he wondered if Dana had
appreciated the flowers that he had sent her.

They really were beautiful daisies. She had thought
daisies were such happy, spontaneous flowers. He
knew she'd like them.


DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
PRESENT DAY

"Look, Muldeth, I don she ow you con shay thit," Scully
mumbled as she vigorously brushed her teeth. "I
me...itch nod like heesh don someshin to hurd me."

"Scully, would you please rinse and spit. I can't
understand a word you're saying," Mulder groused while
he sprayed shaving cream into the palm of his hand.
Spreading the thick, white cream onto his cheeks, he
rinsed his hands in the sink, trying his best to avoid
the toothpaste Scully was enthusiastically spitting out
all over the porcelain interior.

She reached across him, grabbed a Dixie cup, and began
swishing water around in her mouth. Mulder made the
mistake of thinking she was done, and dipped his razor
under the running tap just as she spit out the water.

"Gross, Scully," he said, shaking his razor out before
he placed it back on his chin.

Punctuating each syllable, Scully shook her toothbrush
at him as she continued. "Mulder, all I'm saying is I
don't think there's reason to be this concerned, yet. He
hasn't done anything overtly threatening. For all we
know, it's just a clerk down in the mailroom that has a
slight crush," she said, grabbing the hand towel off the
hook and wiping her mouth.

"Crush, huh? Not getting a big head are we Scully? Have
you been playing Mrs. Robinson for all the mailroom
clerks?"

"Watch it, Mulder, I'm not the one knocking at forty."

Pushing herself up with her arms, Scully turned until
she was perched upon the vanity next to the sink. She
watched the methodical moves he made with his razor,
sliding the blade back and forth over his damp skin
before dunking it back into the basin's water. She wasn't
sure she'd ever get used to this -- Mulder, his hair
spiky and wet, and quite naked except for one of her
bath towels wrapped low on his hips, shaving at her
bathroom sink.

It really was quite delicious she thought, reaching
forward to steal a kiss. "Mmmm...menthol, Mulder," she
sighed, lapping at his lower lip until he granted
entrance to her questing tongue.

"It's not going to work, Scully," he sighed, stepping
between her legs, and rubbing his face against hers,
transferring the remaining shaving cream onto her chin.
"You're trying to distract me, but I'm quite good at
multi-tasking."

Nibbling his way from her neck, up her cheeks across to
the tip of her nose, he echoed her previous words.
"Mmmm...menthol." Sliding into one more passionate kiss,
he allowed this distraction, but only for a minute as he
pulled back. "Now about that protection, Scully--"

"Damn it, Mulder," she said, jumping down from the sink,
and grabbing her blouse off the hanger hooked on the
back of the door. "I'm not going to be treated like
some green rookie, I -"

"-can handle myself," he finished for her, snapping her
bra strap as he walked out of the bathroom door.

Dropping his towel from around his waist onto her
bedroom floor, he reached for his gray boxers. He pulled
them on, and grabbed his trousers and dress shirt off
the hangers that were draped over a soft cushioned chair.

"Scully, look, there's been no signature; we've pulled
no fingerprints from either card. We haven't been able
to trace the first Hallmark greeting, other than to find
out it was mailed from someplace in Georgetown. And the
florist couldn't tell us anything about your floral
delivery 'cause the guy paid with cash, and looked like
every other 50-somethingish, distinguished, charming man
in DC."

"Fifty somethingish, I guess that blows the mail clerk
theory," Scully said, snagging one of Mulder's ties from
the top of her bureau. Tossing it to him, she continued,
"It's not that I'm trying to minimize your concern,
Mulder. I agree; it's weird, especially when you think
this guy knew my penchant for daisies. But I'm not going
to walk around with a bodyguard, or go hide in some safe
house somewhere - and... throw me my other shoe, will ya?"

"Which one?" he asked, holding up two identical pumps.

"The navy blue one, Mulder," she laughed, pointing to
the mate already on her left foot. "I usually try and
wear matching shoes to work."

"I don't know, Scully. I personally feel it's possible
to establish a fashion statement, while still maintaining
that professional air," he said, throwing the tie she'd
chosen for him back at her, while he finished tying one
of his own choosing.

"I'm making a bagel, Mulder, you want one?" Scully
changed the subject, heading out the doorway towards the
kitchen.

"Shit," he seethed, disgustedly looking down his shirt
at the piss-poor job he'd done tying his tie. Flipping
at the uneven ends, he yanked the knot apart and held
the tie in his hands.

"Did you say something, Mulder?" Scully asked, poking
her head into the doorway. Seeing him struggle with his
neckwear, she walked over and gently laid her hands atop
his. Forcing his gaze, she gently took the tie from his
grasp, and looped it over his head and around his neck.
As she began re-tying it for him, he whispered, "I'm not
finished with this, Scully. I won't let anything happen
to you-"

Wrapping her arms around his waist as he encircled her
in his embrace, Scully murmured into his chest, "I know,
Mulder, I know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Down the street from Scully's apartment building was a
blue BMW parked up close to the curb. A very distinguished
fifty-somethingish man was seated in the driver's seat.
His eyes were trained at her window, a puzzled, pained
expression crossing over his features.

Lifting a high powered camera, he focussed it on
her bedroom window. Her curtains fluttered in the breeze,
revealing Scully and another, wrapped tightly in a
passionate embrace. As he changed the setting on the
camera, bringing greater clarity to the tableau, the
man's face became more focussed.

It was her partner, Mulder. He recognized him from
his previous visits over the last several years --
visits that had increased with frequency, although
Daniel really hadn't known they were intimately involved.

Daniel recognized the look on his face; it was the same
one that the camera had captured on his own features
he mused, looking down at the photo lying on the seat
beside him. It was the look of a man, desparately in love.

This changed everything.

Reaching into the cup holder, he brought a small
styrafoam cup to his lips, and took a last, tepid
sip. As his face contorted in pain, he crushed the
styrofoam in his hands, and threw it out his window.
He glanced down at the passenger seat at a hardcover
book that Maggie had given him. She had said he should
read it, since the ideas within may have helped save
his life. Lifting the book, he flipped it open to
the author's picture and biography.

Murmuring under his breath he read, "Dr. Colleen
Azar's book,'Everything Happens for a Reason', is a
monumental step forward in the research of holisitic
medicine. Dr. Azar, a former physicist, thoroughly
explores everything from heart chakra's to eastern
religious medical practices..."

Drawing his finger gently over her picture, Daniel
whispered, "What lovely red hair, and a physicist.
Perhaps she's the one."

He pulled away from the curb, and melted into the
morning's commuter traffic.


CHAPTER THREE:

A FEW DAYS LATER

He stood, shaking. His legs felt rubbery as though he'd
just run a 15k and not the several blocks he'd actually
jogged. His limbs were quivering and tingling with sharp,
intense spasms. The adrenaline rush had long since
dissipated and there was nothing left to hold him up. So
he fell forward to his knees, barely catching himself
against the sharp, angled corners of the building just
before he hit the ground.

He leaned heavily against its stone wall as though he
felt he could infuse himself with its granite strength
when he had so little of his own. He tried to catch his
breath, but found it difficult to succeed. Forcing
himself to take slow, even breaths, he gently exhaled
in_and_out. All these great gulps of air were pushing
him closer to hyperventilation. He didn't need that; he
needed to keep his wits about him. This had been too
close.

Things had not gone as planned.

Daniel's heart still raced. No matter how hard he tried
to slow the rhythm, to practice the biorhythm techniques
he'd taught himself, it just pounded in his chest like a
jackhammer - its staccato beat fast enough he feared his
heart would surely burst forth. And there he'd be, Dr.
Daniel Waterston, an expert in constrictive pericarditis,
dead because he couldn't control the heart fever that
boiled within his blood.

The fever named Dana.

~*~*~*~*~~**~*~

HOME OF COLLEEN AZAR
LATER THAT SAME EVENING

Scully unfastened her seat belt, and pushed open the
driver's side door. Stepping from the silver-gray
vehicle, she strolled up the walkway to the home's front
door. Only this time it was so very different.

Several months ago when she'd come this way, it had been
because of Mulder, his request that she pick up crop
circle papers from Dr. Azar, Ph.D. It had turned into
repeated visits as she'd gotten a chance to know
Colleen, discover how very much they had in common - two
scientists finding their ways in worlds that were, on
the surface, foreign to their analytical, scientific
minds.

Yet, these were worlds that fascinated them, intrigued
them, drew them in with a passion unparalleled in their
previous career choices. Each had found the very things
about science that she loved, the mystery, the allure
of the unkown, but in disciplines that seemed on the
outside, mismatched, but, in reality, were actually the
dreams curiosity designed.

Today was different.

Scully flashed her badge at the poor cop stuck with
guard detail, the thankless job of keeping gawkers and
the press back behind the police barricades. She lifted
the yellow police tape plastered across the front
threshold and ducked beneath it. Stunned, she looked
around the room.

The peace and serenity, that had dazzled her the last
time she'd been here, were gone. In their place were
chaos and disorder. No longer did the living room
speak of harmony and simplicity, but of dissonance
that struck her like a fist to her gut. She felt
physically ill.

Squashing down the uncharacteristic squeamishness,
Scully strode further into the room. Her investigator's
eye noted the overturned furniture, the broken glass, and
the candles strewn on the floor. Her eyes were drawn
to the hard wood floor, where she bent down to examine
one of the sculpted pieces that had been carelessly
tossed. She fought the urge to stroke its smooth,
oval outer design or the screw shape interior. Its
warm, wooden beauty was incongruous within the rubble
where it lay, but it was a possible clue to what had
happened here.

A hand touched her shoulder. Scully jumped.

"Mulder..." she nervously laughed.

"Guilty," he whispered as though he was standing in a
funeral parlor, afraid of disturbing either the dead who
couldn't hear or the mourners who couldn't understand.
Standing, she straightened and looked to the edge of the
coffee table. There she saw the splay of red hair fanned
out on the large throw rug.

It really was a mortuary, at least as far as this house
was concerned.

Stealing herself to go and view the body, to conduct the
examination she knew she'd have to, Scully asked, "Who
found her, Mulder. Was it Carol?"

"Yes, she came home to this --" he said, pointing to the
rubble that lay before them. "Colleen was already dead.
Carol called 911, and then fell apart. They've sedated
her, and taken her to the hospital for observation. She
was, obviously, quite distraught."

"Did she see anyone, anything?" Scully asked, stepping
over the vibrant pieces of shattered glass from the
large stain glass that had once hung in Colleen's
window.

Watching Scully gingerly pick her way through the
remains of Colleen Azar's living room, Mulder replied,
"No, she thought she might have heard something, but
frankly she was too traumatized to really compute
anything. All she managed to do was call 911."

As Scully stopped at the edge of the throw rug, right at
the outline of the body, Mulder walked up to her.
Glancing to see who might be paying attention, he bent
in closely, his voice low, for her ears alone.

"Scully...Dana...are you alright? I know the two of you
were becoming friends. Maybe it would be better if we
leave, this really is local police jurisdiction anyway."

Placing her hand into her pocket, Scully pulled out a
latex glove, and snapped it on.

"We stay, Mulder, we stay."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

DANIEL WATERSTON'S HOME
SAME EVENING

Daniel slammed the side door, instantly regretting that
action as he heard a voice from the living room.

"Daniel, that you?"

Hoping to waylay curiosity, Daniel responded as he
climbed the stairs to the second floor, "Mark, I just
got back from a run. I'm going up to take a shower. Is
Maggie here yet?"

"Uh...no, Daniel. We had a little argument this
afternoon...she, well she hung up on me," Mark said,
coming towards the stair landing. Looking up the long
staircase, he could barely make Daniel out at the top.
"I'm sure she'll be here; you know how it is. She's just
a little steamed with me, but she'll get over it."

"Sure, she will, Mark. You two were meant to be
together. You're good for her, son. Don't you worry; all
couples have 'lover's spats' right before the wedding.
It's all pre-marriage jitters. You'll see," Daniel said
as he moved down the hall to the study off of his
bedroom. Keying open the lock on his door, he walked
into his haven. He pulled the Polaroid from his pocket
and glanced at Colleen's pale image as he gently
closed the door behind him.

He had a package to assemble. It really was a lovely
gift, one befitting his Dana.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

X-FILES BASEMENT OFFICE
A FEW DAYS LATER

"When did it arrive?" Mulder asked as he stomped into
the office like a petulant child. Noting his partner's
distracted gaze as she sat and stared at the bulletin
board behind his desk, he asked again, "Scully, when did
the package arrive?"

Ignorning the escalating tone in his voice, Scully
placidly sat there, absorbed with the oddities of the
wall. "Mulder, where was this picture taken?" she asked,
pointing to a blurry blob.

"I mean, was there any way you could substantiate this
person's claims...that this was an actual UFO? It looks
like someone put his finger over the camera lens as he
shot the photo. If you look closely, you can see the
whorls of the fingerprint. That's no UFO, Mulder,"
Scully said, turning 180 degrees in her chair to look up
at her partner's worried expression.

"What's in the box, Scully? What did he send you now?"
Mulder whispered, noting the carefully unwrapped package
that sat on his desk.

"Well, apparently, my secret admirer thinks I look good in
white," Scully said, reaching her gloved fingers into the
box where she snagged a spaghetti strap, drawing a classical,
white negligee from the tissue paper.

"Hmmm...he sees you as pure," Mulder muttered, taking the
silk from her and running it through his hands. "You are
perfect in his eyes, he holds you in high esteem --
virginal."

"Virginal? In his dreams, Mulder-"

"Exactly, Scully, in his dreams. That's what worries
me," Mulder mumbled as he placed the negligee carefully
back into the box. Picking up the brown paper wrapping,
he noted the lack of return address, the typed SPECIAL
AGENT DANA SCULLY, HOOVER BUILDING, the Georgetown
postal stamp. Well at least he was consistent.

"Scully, was there a card with this lovely
Victoria Secret moment?"

"No, just the gift. I guess he's getting shy, tongue-
tied."

Walking around the desk to where she stared at the
screen saver on her computer, Mulder placed his hands
upon her shoulders. "No, I think he figures the gift
says it all, Scully. He looks at you as his bride."

"Mulder, I...I need to go for a walk. With this, and
Colleen's murder...and...I just...Mulder, the walls are
closing in on me," she stuttered, pushing against his
hands as she stood. "I won't go far; I promise, but I've
got to get out of this building. I can't breathe."

"Scully, you are not leaving this room without me. In
fact, after we drop this at the lab, I want to go to
Skinner, and request protection. It's time, Scully. This
guy's escalating. He's stalking you, and I'm afraid of
what might come next."

"Mulder, you take the box to the lab. I'm going for a
walk. Alone," she glared at her partner. "As far as
Skinner is concerned, notify him. That's procedure.
But I refuse to go into hiding like some scared rabbit.
I won't. I can't."

"Scully-"

"Later, partner," she said, grabbing her jacket as she
started to head out the door. "I'll be careful."

"Like hell you will, Scully. I repeat,
you_are_NOT_leaving_this_room_without_me, end of
discussion," Mulder steamed, throwing his arm across the
open threshold, effectively blocking her escape.

"Move the arm, Mulder."

"Gladly, are you going to be reasonable?"

"I said, move your damn arm, Mulder. Or, I'll move it
for you," she hissed, her voice evenly paced but firm.

"Scully...you are not going out this door without me-"

"I said, move_the_fucking_arm, Mulder. I don't care if
we are sleeping together; you have no right to order me
around."

"Well, technically, Scully-"

"If you try and pull that 'I'm the senior agent crap',
don't even try. We both know that's bullshit. And you
really don't want to tell Skinner that you are banging
your subordinate do you, when he asks about this little
problem we're having? I'll have to tell him that Agent
Mulder's all bent out of shape because he's in love with
me, and seems to have forgotten that I'm a trained
agent, not just his lover," Scully spit out as she
pushed under his arm, into the hallway.  

Mulder removed his arm from across the threshold as he
heard the quick, angry staccato of her heals clicking
down the corridor. As the elevator swished open, then
closed, he grabbed his own jacket. He'd be damned if he
let her walk out on this.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A FEW BLOCKS FROM THE HOOVER BUILDING

Scully stormed down the sidewalk oblivious to the stares
of pedestrians she passed, weaving in and out of the
natural traffic of tourists and business people.
Her countenance was fierce, determined. She had a 'stay
the fuck away from me' look about her. She was not to be
trifled with, and people gave her room, unconsciously
moving away from her as she crossed the street and
headed even farther away from Hoover.

'How dare he! How dare he presume that he could tell her
what to do. She was not some rookie agent to be ordered
around. She could take care of herself.' Scully thought,
fuming even more as she considered the smug manner in
which he'd thrown his arm against the door jam. His
actions were unconscionable to the extreme.

Reaching the corner of another street, Scully
momentarily paused, considering her options. Just as she
chose to go left, she was pulled roughly into a shady
courtyard, outside an office building. Struggling
fiercely against her attacker, Scully kicked and tried
to scream, but a hand snapped firmly across her mouth
as she was drug farther into the shadows.

Suddenly, she was spun in her captor's arms, until she
was forced, face forward against a stone wall, his body
pressed firmly against hers. He smashed her into the
rough stone edges, their harshness like sandpaper,
abrasive against her skin.

"Is this what it's gonna take to get you to listen to
me, Scully. I could be your 'friend'. I'd be all over
you, in a heartbeat, and there's nothing you could do
about it," Mulder hissed in her ear, just as he released
her.

Whipping around, her adreneline carrying her forward,
Scully swung her clenched fist out, catching the corner
of her partner's chin as she cold-cocked him, sending
his head snapping back.

"You Son of a Bitch!" she screamed, gasping for breath.
"How dare you!"

"How dare I, Scully?" Mulder asked, wiping the trickle
of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of
his hand. "I dare because I love you...I dare because
the thought of losing you to some sociopath stalker
scares me shitless. That's how I dare, Scully!" he shouted
back at her as he moved forward into her space, defying
her to lash out at him again.

"How dare you, Scully, be so cavalier with your life.
You don't think I know you can take care of yourself.
Hell, you've saved my ass so many times I've quit
counting. But I refuse to allow your pig-headed-"

Scully's eyebrows arched in reproach at his choice of
words.

"-Pig-headed, I mean what I say, Scully. You know
procedure. You know Skinner should be notified, and you
know that if he says you go to a safe house, you go to a
safe house. What's gotten into you?"

Scully's gaze softened with his words. She knew he was
right. Turning her head in the direction of a small
trickling fountain, she murmured in answer to his
question, "Pfaster...that's what's gotten into me, Mulder.
Donnie Pfaster."

Straightening her shirt that had been pulled up in their
tussle, Scully walked away from him towards the fountain.
As she neared the water, she was reminded of the soothing
sounds of the tiny water cascade sculpture that had rested
on Colleen Azar's coffee table. She shivered with the
memory.

As she trailed her fingers through the cool liquid, Scully
watched the way her hand created tiny ripples in the
water's surface. "Colleen said something to me, when we
were discussing Daniel's illness. I'll never forget it.
She said, 'When we hold onto shame, guilt and fear, it
creates an imbalance...makes us forget who we are.'"

"Mulder...I...uh-"

"Pfaster, really did a number on you, didn't he?" Mulder
asked, grasping Scully's wet hand, tenderly enclosing it
within his own. "From the very first time he took you,
to that last time, when you sh-"

"When I murdered him, Mulder, murdered," Scully
murmured; tears pooled in her eyes, ready to spill down
her cheeks the first time she blinked. "...Murdered."

Turning around, Mulder appeared to be looking for
somethingin the courtyard. Finally, his eyes settled
on a tiny alcove, snuggled between two of the buildings.
It was out of the way, not so visible to prying eyes.
Pulling Scully away from the fountain, he led them to
the hiding place, still visible to the street, but
nestled in shadows instead of harsh daylight.

"Scully, you will listen to me, and you will hear what
I'm saying," Mulder began as he pulled a reluctant
Scully into his embrace. "I can't begin to understand
what you went through with Pfaster. I can't understand
the terror you must have gone through knowing the
horrific atrocities he had planned for you. I don't know
your state of mind at the time; I can assume, I can
postulate based on similar cases with similar victims-"
Mulder tightened his hold on her as Scully cringed at
the word 'victim'.

"Frankly, Scully, more than you shooting the bastard,
whether we argue the semantics of it being justified or
not, my fears for you are more for how that horrendous
moment may color your future actions."

Placing his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face
to his. "Scully, I worry that given the split second
decision making process that occurs in a situation like
that, where you might find yourself in the clutches of
another madman, that you might 'blink'."

"Blink, Mulder?" she whispered as a single tear slid
free, tracing her cheek.

"Yes, blink. Realizing you might question your actions,
your resolve, your right to use deadly force to defend
yourself, and therefor, in that 'blink' give the upper-
hand to the perp, and consequently lose your life,
scares the hell out of me, Scully."

"I won't blink, Mulder," she murmured under her breath.

"What, Scully, I didn't hear you," Mulder said, forcing
her to speak more audibly.

Straightening her shoulders, pulling away from his
embrace, Scully spoke with confidence.

"I_will_not_blink, Mulder."

With measured steps he closed the distance between them,
until she was within the confines of his arms.
Only this time, tenderness was the farthest thing from
his mind as he pinned her once more against the wall.
Scully groaned as his mouth accosted hers, stealing her
breath with the intensity of his kisses.

Sliding her hands through his hair, she met his ardor
measure for measure with a fervency that scared her. Her
mouth seared his skin as she twisted her head within his
grasp, biting and nipping at his wandering lips, tasting
the salty tang of his blood where she'd hit him. Branding
the pulse point at his neck with sweet caress, she
inhaled the scent of his morning's after shave.

Her hands burrowed beneath his jacket and grasped the
smooth linen of his dress shirt. Pulling it from the
waistband of his pants, she slipped her hands beneath
the starched cotton to claw at his back. She needed
to feel his skin against her.

"Mulder...we shouldn't, this is wro-"

Her words were eaten as his mouth once more claimed
hers, his tongue frantically dueling with her tongue.
Grasping her own shirt, he lifted it high to reveal the
black lacy cups of her bra. His hands climbed her body,
from where they'd held her hips pinned to the wall,
until they firmly settled upon her breasts. Without
hesitation, he yanked down the tiny, lacy scraps until
he'd bared her chest.

Scully gasped as her exposed flesh experienced the cool
air within their alcove, her nipples hardening not only
from the outside temperature, but in sexual response to
the thrill of being exposed in such an open location.
However, before she could truly register the chilly
breeze or her own carnal response, Mulder bent, his
teeth latching on to her exposed flesh, pulling her
nipple firmly into his mouth's warmth.

As he suckled at her breast, and molded the other one
with hands rough with passion, she moaned her pleasure.
Reaching between them, she placed her hands upon the
bulge in the front of his pants, palming him as he
ground his pelvis into her hand.

"Scully...now, here, now-"

"Mulder-" Scully paused, reality intruding as she
noticed a car parked at the curb in front of them. She
knew the driver probably couldn't see them, but
nevertheless, realizing the possibility of it brought
her to her senses.

"We're too visible, Mulder. There's someone out there-"

Mulder pulled his mouth from her breasts as he felt her
body tense. Scully, pulled her shirt down, not even
bothering to fix the bra her partner had so cavalierly
pushed aside.

Turning, Mulder followed the line of her gaze, watching
a BMW hurriedly pull from the curb into the stream of
traffic. Scully walked farther into the light, until
she stared at the empty parking space where the car
had been.

"Scully, what is it? What did you see?" Mulder asked,
concern evident in his voice.

"Daniel."


CHAPTER FOUR:



COURTYARD, JUST OUTSIDE HOOVER



"Daniel? As in Dr. Daniel Waterston, the man you once

had a relationship with?" Mulder asked, haphazardly
tucking his shirt back into his waistband as his eyes
searched the street for the BMW.

"Yes...at least I thought it was," Scully murmured as she
surreptitiously adjusted the bra beneath her shirt. "But
Mulder, I could be wrong. My line of sight was impaired,
as was my cognitive ability at that moment."

"Plainly speaking, you were pre-occupied with my obvious
skills as a lover," Mulder quipped, sliding his hand
gently against her cheek and shoving an errant lock of
hair behind her ear.

"Plainly speaking, I was using very poor judgement,"
Scully answered, stepping away from his touch. "We know
better then to allow something like that to occur. We're
not a couple of teenagers, Mulder. We're-"

"--Super G-Man and Super G-Woman, defending the free
world against aliens, conspirators, and liver bile. We
may scale sewers, escape from alien ships, and defeat
flukemen, but we're not allowed to be human."

Looking at her partner's incorrigible face, she smiled.
"Ok... but just every once in a while. And Mulder?"

"Hmm..." he said, his mind, obviously, still puzzling over
the empty parking space at the curb.

"I've always wondered what was under Superman's cape,"
she said, giving his butt a gentle squeeze as she walked
out of the courtyard, back onto the sidewalk.

"Anything for you Super G-Woman, anything at all," he
murmured, wondering what Daniel Waterston looked like,
and if he happened to be distinguished, and fifty-
something-ish.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THE OFFICE OF DR. DANIEL WATERSTON, M.D.
LATER THAT SAME DAY

Mulder stood beside the desk, tapping impatiently on the
computer monitor as he waited for the secretary to look
up from his keyboard. When the gentleman finally finished
typing, and raised his head, he came face to face with the
official FBI badge Mulder held open in his hand. Mulder was
playing a hunch, a hunch that would either pay off, or
put his ass in a frying pan so hot he'd have third
degree 'Scully-burns' by the time she was done with him.
But the jumpy feeling at the back of his neck just
wouldn't go away.

"Yes, may I help you," the young man asked, his
curiosity evident in his inflection.

"I'd like to see Dr. Waterston, please."

"Do you have an appointment? Dr. Waterston's schedule is
quite full today. He got delayed earlier, and that
pushed him back. He's just now beginning to catch up,"
the secretary said as he pulled the doctor's day planner
into view.

"Excuse me, Brad, is it? This_is_my_appointment," Mulder
reiterated, holding his badge once more in front of the
young man's face.

"Ah...gotcha. Why don't I call the doctor and let him know
you are here...uh...Agent--?"

"Mulder... Special Agent Fox Mulder. Brad, I think we're
finally doing business now."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


"Agent Mulder, I believe my secretary said it was
urgent. What can I help the FBI with this afternoon?"
Dr. Waterston asked as he came out from behind his desk.
He walked to where Mulder was entering the door, and
extended his hand out in greeting.

Giving the doctor's hand the obligatory clasp, Mulder took
in Daniel's appearance. He was a man in his mid-fifties,
graying hair, a moustache, and distinguished looking in
his charcoal gray suit. He fit the florist's description
perfectly. There was no doubt in his mind, that the good
doctor was Scully's 'secret admirer'.

The question was, why?

Dr. Waterston, returning to his seat, motioned Mulder to
a chair in front of his desk. Mulder decided to accept.
Nonchalantly dropping his body into the place proffered,
he smiled across the desk.

"Dr. Waterston, I'll get right to the point. I'm Agent
Dana Scully's partner."

"You're Dr. Scully's partner?" Waterston repeated,
obvious in his intent at using her medical designation
instead of her FBI title. "Is there something wrong with
Dana?"

Looking across the desk at Waterston's expression of
concern, Mulder had no doubt it was false. As he held
the man's attention, he asked, "Why don't you tell me,
Dr. Waterston. You seem to have become inordinately
interested with her, lately."

"Agent Mulder, I'm not sure what you mean by
'inordinately'. We haven't spoken to each other in
months. Although, I've always been interested in
Dana; we're very close friends," Waterston replied, his
gaze never wavering from Mulder's. "But I hardly see how
our personal relationship has any thing to do with you,
as her professional partner, I mean."

Deciding to quit pussy footing around, Mulder pulled a
pink envelope from his pocket, where he unsheathed the
card, holding it up so Waterston could see it. He asked,
"Dr. Waterston, did you send Agent Scully this card?"

"Yes, Agent Mulder I did."

"Unsigned?"

Taking the card held out before him, Waterston opened it
to the verse inside. Smiling, he silently read the words.

"Again, I don't see how this is any business of yours.
This is between Dana and I, but, yes, I did not sign the
card."

"May I ask why not?" replied Mulder, his voice thick
with controlled anger. "Was there some particular reason
you felt the need to send Agent Scully this card,
unsigned; flowers, unsigned; and intimate apparel,
again, without any acknowledgement of who the sender
might be."

"Before I answer that, Agent Mulder," Daniel smiled,
leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers across
his chest, "I'd like to ask you a question. Does Dana
know that you are here interrogating me?"

Wishing he could wipe the smug, arrogant smile from his
lips, Mulder kept his cool. Forcing himself to relax, he
smiled in turn. "No, Daniel, Dana does not know I am
here."

Chuckling, Daniel sat forth in his chair. "You are
either a very brave man, Special Agent Fox Mulder,
or extremely fool hardy. Either way, I wouldn't want
to be in your shoes when Dana finds out."

"And...in answer to your question," Waterston continued,
just as Mulder was going to reiterate, "I didn't sign
the card because I knew Dana would understand the
significance of it. That particular play of
Shakespeare's holds great meaning for us. But, perhaps,
she'd rather tell you about that. I feel as though, at
least'I' should respect her privacy."

Ignoring the not so subtle jab, Mulder repeated, "And
the flowers and the nightgown?"

"As far as the flowers are concerned, I did send a card.
Perhaps something happened to it when it was delivered
from the florist. As far as what it said, that was
private. And the...nightgown, as you so eloquently put
it...that didn't have a card, but it shouldn't have
needed one, if she had received the one I put with the
flowers. In light of that card, the negligee...uh...spoke
for itself. I'm sorry to hear my message wasn't delivered.
That explains why she hasn't gotten back to me."

Looking at his watch, Dr. Waterston stood. As he
sauntered over to the door, he asked, "Tell me, Agent
Mulder, do you normally get so intimately involved in
your partner's personal affairs?"

Realizing the meeting had been deemed officially over,
Mulder stood as well. Joining Waterston by the door, he
replied, "Only in so far as her safety is at issue. And
when 'Dana' receives personal gifts without the benefit of
acknowledgement, or fingerprints for that matter...you did
know Dr. Waterston, that there were no finger prints on
any of her special gifts?"

"No, Agent Mulder, I did not. I have no idea how that
could occur."

Glancing down at a hardback book thrown carelessly on
the end table by the couch in Waterston's office, Mulder
asked, "Dr. Waterston, you don't happen to drive a BMW
do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"And did you happen to be in that car, parked near the
FBI building this afternoon?" Mulder asked as he picked
the book up, and turned it over in his hands. Dr. Colleen
Azar's picture stared back at him from the dustjacket,
her laughing face mocking him like a surreal ghost. It
was as though she had just stepped across his grave, her
footsteps silent testimony to the chills running down
his spine.

Coughing slightly, Daniel replied, "No, Agent Mulder, I
was at a meeting this afternoon. I was nowhere near your
office. Why would I be?"

Handing the book to Dr. Waterston, Mulder slipped
through the office door. "Why indeed, Dr. Waterston?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

LATER THAT NIGHT

He moaned. His body tensed. His legs twitched. His
eyelids fluttered. His breathing became more labored
with each flashing scene. Tossing his head from side
to side, he tried to escape, but he couldn't.

Blood...bright red, flowing, vibrant-pulsing blood. It
pooled on the floor beneath her head, intermingled with
auburn strands of hair. It shouldn't have happened. She
was the one. She had the credentials; she was a
physicist, a woman of science. Surely she'd understand
his point of view.

Screams...earsplitting screams of terror, outrage, cries
of confusion--Which were hers? Which were his? Glass
breaking, shattering into piercing shards just like his
heart, breaking into pieces, again. She wouldn't
understand; she couldn't understand.

Colleen thought he had come to her to discuss the
miracle of his recovery, to investigate the imbalances
in his life that might have added extra medical stress
to his body. She thought she might be able to convert
the great Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D. to her misguided way
of thinking about the world.

He was not the one who needed conversion, she was. And
she couldn't see. When he suggested all her mumbo jumbo,
voodoo, chakra, aura, energy field crap was nonsense,
she dismissed him, actually had the audacity to request
he leave her house.

She wouldn't listen. She was patient, but she was firm
in the defense of her beliefs. The more it became clear
that she would never understand how fallacious her ways
of thinking were, the more his blood boiled within his
soul. He no longer heard her words, her entreaties that
he "just leave". All he could hear was Dana's sparkling
laugh, the splash of the ocean spray against the rocks
on their beautiful day, their magical weekend. It was so
obvious now, how could he have ever felt Colleen Azar
could measure up to his Dana.

As the pounding surf's roar filled his ears, he turned
away from her, feigning interest in one of the
sculptures. It was delicate, as though it was a dancer,
arms splayed out, skirts twirling. He took the surgical
gloves from his pocket, and slipped them, with practiced
ease, upon his hands. He'd been careful to not touch
anything in her home. He hadn't left his fingerprints
anywhere.

Giving the dancing sculpture a gentle spin, he turned,
and advanced on her.

The serenity, the peaceful expression she must surely
have practiced, disappeared. The pupils in her eyes
dilated as they beheld the latex upon his hands. Her
nostrils flared, comprehension coming to her in panicked
waves of dread. He could smell the pungent aroma of her
fear; it was fierce.

She didn't beg like the others had. He could see her
eyes wildly tracking the room, trying to establish a way
out. She thought her intellect would save her. She was
incorrect in that assumption. As he lunged for her, she
fell back, her head crashing hard against the coffee
table, sending a waterfall sculpture tumbling to the
ground.

As he beheld her glazed expression, her momentary
confusion, he seized his moment, picking up the fallen
sculpture and smashing it against the side of her head.
He lashed out at her, over and over, until he knew this
doppelganger was no more. Then he looked at the simple
beauty of her living room, its shrine to her bizarre
beliefs,

and went berserk....

Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D., the epitome of control, lost
it. He smashed everything he could get his hands upon.
He threw candles through the stain glass windows; he
yanked silky sheers from their hooks, and tossed
sculpture and Buddhist temple knick knacks around like
he was Hurricane Daniel. Until, finally, spent, bent
over double, he cried out in rage and impotence.

It was at this moment, that he saw car headlights flash
through the front windows. No! He wasn't done.
Frantically, he searched for his briefcase, tossing
pillows and candles aside in his frenzy. Grabbing it
from beneath one of the fallen sculptures, he fumbled at
the clasps, jerking it open. He snatched the Polaroid
camera from inside, and quickly snapped her picture. He
needed to record this, to remind himself that there was
no other for him, no one else that could replace his
Dana. Never again would he stand for a poor
substitution. Next time he would have the real thing.

Just as he heard the key in the front door lock, he
exited out the back door, running like he had the hounds
of hell at his heels. His breath burned in his lungs.
His arms held his briefcase tightly to his chest as he
made his way down the street as quickly as his legs
would carry him. He was sure the sirens he heard were
after him; they had to be. His eyes glazed over with
fear, his lips were parched, his--

"Dad, wake up. Daaad."

Waterston's eyes flew open as his body jolted awake. He
registered the hands shaking at his shoulders as the
voice continued, "Dad, you're having a nightmare. Wake
up, Dad."

Clarity came swiftly to him as he took in his
surroundings. His body was drenched in sweat; his heart
raced. But he was home, seated in a leather recliner,
the seat tilted back so that his feet rested on the
reclining stool. The television flickered light across
the room, the sound droning in his ears. Maggie was bent
over him; her cool hands stroked his brow as she tried
to soothe the blood fever she knew nothing about.

He wasn't sure what the nightmare signified, other then
being violent, and vivid, beyond anything he'd ever
experienced before. Why he would be dreaming about that
Azar woman was beyond him. It was probably a response to
that book Maggie had given him, but the savagery of the
night terror was so out of character.

Lately, however, it had become the norm. He was having
more and more unexplained dreams like this, each more
horrific than the last. Sometimes he felt as though he
were split into two people, and it was getting harder to
reconcile each with the other.

He shivered.

"Ma...aggie. What are you doing here? Why aren't you home
with Mark? It's late; you shouldn't have come out."

"Uh...Dad, Mark and I-"

Daniel saw the floral suitcase and matching garment bag
sitting on the floor at the entrance to the family room.
Looking up he saw the tears welling in Maggie's eyes.
She turned her back to him, and fussed with the
newspapers that were scattered on the coffee table.

"Maggie?"

"I don't want to talk about it tonight, Dad. Please...I
just need a place to say," she said, stacking the
newspapers, then gathering them up in her arms as she
headed for the recycle bin in the garage.

"I'm tired, I just want to go to bed. We'll talk in
the morning, ok Dad?"

Daniel pulled the handle of the recliner, snapping the
footrest back into position beneath the chair. He really
didn't want to deal with this tonight. His brain was
still trying to process the images of Dana and her
partner engaged in lewd behavior out in the open like a
couple of horny teenagers who didn't know better.

He hadn't been able to clearly see anything, but his
imagination provided the details his eyes had missed. It
was not a pretty picture, and one that would have to be
dealt with, immediately, especially since Agent Mulder's
visit to his office earlier that day.

Fox Mulder would not get in the way of his plans.

Rising, he walked to his daughter, laying his hand upon
her shoulder, and stopping her departure.

"Maggie. I want to know, now," he said, his voice firm
and resolute. "Why are you here, without Mark?"

Daniel felt the trembling of her shoulders as Maggie
quietly cried. "It's off, Dad. I called the engagement
off."

"Maggie, that's crazy. You're just having pre-wedding
jitters. Sweetheart, that's all it is. Why don't you
call Mark, and work it out? I know you want to," he
said, picking up the portable phone and holding it out
to her. "I'm sure he's beside himself worrying about
this whole thing."

Maggie, ignoring the phone, wiped her eyes with the back
of her hands, smearing her streaked make-up even more.
"Dad, no...This was not a quick decision on my part. It's
been building for several days. He's...he's just too
controlling for me. I thought he'd change if we were
able to talk things out. I thought once he understood
where I was coming from, he'd listen," Maggie said,
walking into the kitchen, laying the papers on the
counter, and grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

As she filled the glass with cold water, she continued,
"I've told you how I want to drop out of law school-"

"Maggie, and I've told you how big a mistake that is.
You would make a wonderful attorney. You are doing so
well; you are so gifted," Daniel snapped, grabbing
his own tumbler from the cupboard. Only he filled his
with a shot of Jack Daniels, throwing it back in one
angry, swift gulp.

"This whole writing idea of yours is crazy, Maggie. If
you want to write, fine...just get your law degree first,
and write on the side. It's a great hobby, but not a
career."

Taking a deep breath, and carefully placing her glass in
the sink, Maggie turned to leave the room. "You sound
like, Mark, Dad. Have you been coaching him? I heard
those same words from his mouth. 'It's a hobby, Maggie.
Play time, Maggie. You aren't serious, Maggie.' You two
get along so well; you marry him," she hissed,
attempting to step around her father.

Daniel reached out, grabbing her arm. He roughly turned
her to face him. "You are crazy to think that this
choice of yours will make you happy. You are turning
down a promising career, a chance to make a name for
yourself, the opportunity to excel under my tutelage.
You have no idea what you are throwing away. What I can
offer you, Dan...Maggie-", he screamed at her, his flushed
face, contorted with frustration and rage, inches from
hers.

"Dana?! Are you experiencing deja vu, Dad? Is this how
it was between you? The great Dr. Daniel Waterston
tried to control her life, too. No wonder she left you!"

"How dare you mention Dana. You_have_no_idea what it was
like, what we were like."

Jerking her arm free, Maggie hurried into the living
room and grabbed her suitcases from the floor. She
turned, yelling across the room at her father who stood
in the kitchen, shaking. His eyes were stunned, glazed
with rage; his body trembled with the vehemence of his
outburst.

"I'm outta here. I don't need to listen to this twice in
one night. If you can get yourself under control, and
want to talk, I'll be at Sarah's. But whatever your
decision, Father, know that I am doing what's best for
me. I am taking care of myself. I learned from a very
early age not to depend on you!" Maggie screamed as she
slammed out the front door.

Throwing his empty glass into the sink where it broke
into dozens of splintered pieces, Daniel hurried after
her. He threw open the front door as her car sped from
their driveway. "Dana, you'll be back! You know I'm
right! Medicine's your passion; I'm your passion! Don't
you run from me! I'll follow you."


CHAPTER FIVE:

THE FBI BUILDING
A FEW HOURS EARLIER

Mulder walked down the corridor as if on autopilot, his
eyes unfocused. As the elevator doors swished open in
front of him, he heard a shout. It was Larson from
VICAP.

"Hey, Spooky, you look like a dead man walking. Did you
do something beyond the usual to upset the 'little'
woman?"

Looking up just as he entered the elevator, Mulder
caught Larson's friendly smile and mumbled, "You don't
know the half of it." Thrusting his hand out, he blocked
the sliding door before it closed behind him.

"By any chance, you wouldn't be needing a new partner,
would you, Larson? I think I might be available for the
position in about...oh... say 10 minutes or so," Mulder
said, glancing at his watch.

"That's ok, Mulder. I'm not sure anyone else but Dana
could handle you. You'll talk yourself out of this one.
You always do," he joked as the door began to close.

"I wouldn't bet the farm on it," Mulder murmured,
sliding dejectedly against the back wall of the
elevator. "My ass is soooo fried."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

X-FILES OFFICE

Scully paced the office for what had to be the hundredth
time. It wasn't that large of an area, but she felt as
though she had surely walked a mile or two over the last
half an hour. Checking her watch, she swore, "Damn him;
where is he?"

First he gave her hell because she wouldn't take this
'stalker' thing seriously enough to get protection. Then
he breezes by her in a whirlwind when they reach the
office, saying he's heading to the lab to check on the
results from their most recent gift acquisition.

That was two hours ago.

It was bad enough that he had turned his cell phone off
so she couldn't reach him, but when she'd called the lab
to check on him, she'd felt like his homeroom teacher
asking 'has Agent Mulder returned his hall pass, yet?'

"Damn you," she snarled as he entered the office, his
smile frozen in place as he caught a glimpse of her
face. "Where the_hell_have you been for the last...two
hours...Mulder? And don't even attempt to tell me that you
were at the lab, or that you got waylaid into a consult
with VICAP, or that the zipper in your fly got stuck and
you've been struggling with it in the bathroom for the
last hour and a half trying to get it unstuck. Whatever
story you've concocted between here and wherever, you
can just forget. Because I'm not buying it."

"Well, Scully, actually-"

Closing the door behind him, she turned, pointing her
finger into his chest to punctuate her denunciation.
"Forget it, Mulder. I'm not sure I even want to hear
your excuse. You left me holding the bag. I had to talk
to Skinner. I had to convince him that I did_not_need
protection, which, by the way, was easier since you
didn't even bother to make an appearance at the meeting
you instigated.

"Scully-"

"I'm not finished, Mulder. Shut up! Then, to top it all
off, I had to listen to the crude, asinine jokes from
the lab boys when I called to ask if you'd made it up
there for the results. Imagine my surprise when I heard
not only had you been there, and left, but that you had
found it necessary to inform them that this particular
lingerie was mine. Thank_you_very_much, Mulder, for the
clarity with which you delivered that parcel."

"Scully, they're just getting your goat. I told them
that package was from an unknown person, or persons, and
it was part of an escalating pattern of gifts, a
possible stalker.  They know it was serious, and not
some smarmy joke on my part," Mulder said, finally being
allowed a word in edge wise.

"I know that, Mulder. I know the jokes were not because
of you, but it still didn't make it any more pleasant to
listen to, you know?" she huffed, her energy level
running down as she collapsed into her chair.

"I hate this, Mulder. I hate to have to defend myself to
everyone from you, to Skinner, to Mike in the lab. Who
is sending these things to me?"

"Well, Scully, I can help with that." With his words
Scully's eyes rose in expectation, until she saw the sad
look upon his face.

"Dr. Daniel Waterston."

"What?" she asked, her eyes betraying confusion as if
she hadn't heard him correctly. "Daniel?...no...he wouldn't
do that. Why would he, and why wouldn't he tell me if he
were?"

Crossing to his desk, Mulder perched his right hip
against it as he bent forward, capturing one of her
small hands within his own. "I assure you, I've checked
this out thoroughly; the gifts are from him."

"You finally found fingerprints -- on the lingerie box?"
Scully asked, pulling her hand from his and standing up.
Walking over to the large skylight, she looked up. Storm
clouds filled her view as they heralded the beginning of
the bad weather the weatherman had predicted that
morning.

"No, actually, just like the others, nothing turned up on
that box," Mulder explained, his voice way too
thoughtful and kind as he stood, and walked over to join
her.

"I figured it out from your comments this afternoon. From
your belief that Dr. Waterston was watching us while we
were in the courtyard, I had a 'hunch'."

"A hunch, Mulder. You are basing this wild assumption of
yours, all...on a hunch," she said, turning until she met
his eyes. His face was composed, his gaze steadily held
hers until her breath hitched, and she gasped, "You went
to see him. That's where you've been. You went to see
Daniel."

"Yes, Scully, I did," Mulder replied, continuing to narrow
the distance between them. Scully backed up with each step
he took, until there was no where else for her to go.

"How could you, Mulder? How could you do this to me? Why
didn't you tell me...of your 'hunch' before you went off
all...all...macho?"

Mulder reached out, but his hands fell lamely to his
side as Scully shook him off with just a look. "Scully,
I had to-"

"You had to what?" she asked, pushing past him, and
reaching for her jacket that was hanging from a hook
near the door. Shrugging into it, she picked her brief
case off the floor, and opened it. As she began shoving
papers into it with little regard for what condition
they'd finally end up, Scully caught her fingernail on
the edge of the case, tearing it.

"Damn it!" she hissed, shoving her finger into her mouth
and sucking on the injured digit. "Tell me something,
Mulder. Was it good for you? Did you and Daniel enjoy
talking about me behind my back? Did you compare notes?"

"Scully, no...I just had to know for sure. I had to know
if this were the crazy bastard who was sending you these
gifts. I couldn't drop the ball again. I had to act on this
feeling. I just knew it was Waterston, and I couldn't
fail you."

"Fail me? What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?"
Scully asked, impatiently snapping the case closed. "How
have you failed me?"

Grabbing a tissue off the desk, he handed it to her so
that she could wrap it around her finger. Begrudgingly.
she accepted it, holding it there until she could get a
Band-Aid from the drawer.

"Pfaster, Scully. I failed you with Pfaster."

"That's crazy. He came after me; there was no way that
you could know he'd do that," she uttered as she placed
the tiny bandage on her finger. Her voice betrayed her
revulsion at having to think about him again, twice in
one afternoon.

"Wasn't there? Scully, come on, I'm a profiler. I'd
dealt with him before; I knew the fixation he had on
you. After all, you were the one who got away; you were
the one who was responsible for finally putting him
behind bars. Why wouldn't he come after you?
Intuitively, I knew this...I knew it. And...I_did_nothing."

"Oh...Mulder. You couldn't have known."

"Scully, I should have know. I shouldn't have ignored
the nagging feeling that I had for as long as I did. I
almost lost you, Scully, because I didn't follow through
with my gut. And I'll be damned if I let that happen
again."

Scully searched her partner's earnest face, saw the love
that shown from his eyes, his concern for her, and she
nearly relented.

Nearly...

"Mulder if you suspected Daniel, why didn't you tell me?
Why go there alone?" she asked, her voice calm, but
resolute. "This isn't all about Pfaster. You were
curious, weren't you? Curious about Daniel and me, our
relationship?"

"Yes...I was interested in the man you had told me about,
the man you had nearly agreed to spend your life with,"
he admitted, his eyes, obviously, wary about revealing
so much of his insecurities to her.

Fighting the urge to drag him through the coals once
more, Scully asked, "He admitted to sending the gifts?
He told you this, or are you working on a hunch again?"

"Scully, he looked me in the eye, without hesitation or
concern of any kind, and admitted sending you all of the
gifts. He didn't care that I knew. In fact, he seemed
pleased."

Ignoring his evaluation of Daniel's behavior, Scully
continued, "Why would he send those now? And why
wouldn't he sign them, if he did? It doesn't make any
sense, Mulder."

"Well in his mind, it made perfect sense. He felt
that each gift was significant enough for you that you
would be able to discern he was the giver. In fact, he
was quite confident in that," Mulder said, handing
Scully the original card she'd received.

As she took it from his hand, she ran her tongue over
the bottom of her lip, wetting its dry exterior.
"Shakespeare in the Park-" she uttered, her voice
trailing off as she dropped the card onto the desk. "The
quote, it's from Measure for Measure. Daniel and
I...uh...saw it together."

"And the daisies?" urged Mulder, his voice soothing but
firm.

"He bought them for me. There was a person in the park
that was selling flowers. He wanted to get me roses, but
I told him that I preferred the daisies. It fit my mood
that day, more carefree, more spontaneous than I usually
was."

Scully paused, contemplating the rest she was going
to tell him. Mulder, for his part, remained silent as
though allowing her the time to compose her words. He
had to know this was difficult for her.

"The lingerie, the white nightgown, I had one like it. I
wore it...that night-" whispered Scully, "-the night we
first made love. But you knew that, didn't you?" she
queried, seeing nothing but love in his hazel eyes.

"I figured it was something like that, but I wasn't sure
of the particulars."

Scully fiddled with a pencil on her desk, one marked
with Mulder's gnawing teeth marks. "Well, I guess that's
the end of that. I'll tell Skinner the 'scare' is over,
and then I'll call Daniel, or go and talk to him, and
explain that I don't want-"

"No, Scully," Mulder said, his hand reaching across the
desk to grab hers. "I don't want you to go anywhere near
him, or have any contact with him what so ever."

"Excuse me, Mulder. You don't want me to do what? I
don't think it's any of your business how I intend to
handle this with Daniel. In fact, I think you've been
involved quite enough," she said, drawing her hand back
from his. "It's over, Mulder, I'm ready to move on. I
will inform Daniel of that, and you and I can get back
to 'real work'."

"I don't think it is over. I think there's more to this
then just a jilted suitor making a last ditch effort at
getting your attention. I think...Scully, I think Daniel
was involved in Colleen Azar's murder."

"Now you've really lost it, Mulder. You've protected me
from Daniel's unwanted advances; you've solved the
mystery. But to think he's involved with Colleen's
murder is ludicrous. It's beyond ludicrous, it's-"

"Is it, Scully? He knew her; he had her book in his
office-"

"I have a book on JFK in my office, Mulder," Scully
said, placing her arms together, hands out in front of
her, "better snap the cuffs on. Obviously, I was part of
the conspiracy involved in his assassination."

"Scully, have you ever asked yourself what kind of man
would quit his job, leave his family, follow you across
the country, and never contact you the entire time he
was here. Never once, in ten years, did he call you,
or write you, or contact you in any way. What kind of
man is that, Scully?"

"A very confused, and lonely man, Mulder. But that's not
indicative of someone who's a killer. Daniel would have
no reason to kill Colleen, no reason at all," she
huffed, grabbing up her things and yanking open the
office door.

"You are so far out in left field on this one, Profiler
Mulder, that you aren't even in the ballpark," she said,
stepping through the door. "And do me a favor. Sleep at
your own place tonight; I need some time alone," Scully
said, slamming the door behind her.

"I don't think so, Scully. Something's just not right
with him. I_feel_it." Mulder lifted his cell phone out
of his pocket, hitting speed dial. "Frohike, turn off
the tape. I want you to do something for me."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

LATER THAT EVENING
SCULLY'S APARTMENT

Scully stared at the ceiling. She resisted the urge to
turn and look at the bedside clock. She knew it was
late; she knew she missed Mulder. And she knew, without
a doubt, his car was parked right outside her apartment
building, and he had his binoculars trained on her
windows. That is if he weren't already sitting in the
corridor outside her apartment door.

This was crazy. she harrumphed, slapping her pillows
into a little ball, and rolling over on to her side.
How in the world could Mulder leap to the conclusion
that Daniel was a murderer? Even for him, that was a
monumental chasm to jump, intuition or not.

Daniel?-a murderer?

Scully breathed deeply, practically smelling the salty
tang of the ocean air where she and Daniel had stayed.
It had been in La Jolla. They had taken a picnic down to
the ocean, spread a blanket on the rocks, and watched a
brilliant sunset.

Then afterwards they'd stumbled into the middle of a
Shakespeare Festival, a totally amateurish rendition of
Measure for Measure. If it weren't for the fact that
they had lain on their blanket, and spent more time
making out like a couple of teenagers than actually
watching the production, she'd have been bored to tears
with the community's lackluster effort.

He had bought her flowers, and stuck them behind her
ears like some schoolboy who had just discovered girls.
She, in turn, had made daisy chains, and acted 'totally'
out of character.

The entire weekend had been unlike her, from the
moment she had agreed to go with him, to that night when
they'd made love. It wasn't too many days afterwards
that she had realized her mistake, and-"

{{Briiiiing, Briiiiiing.}}

"Yes, Mulder?" she asked, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Scully, what are you wearing?"

Sliding down into her bed, she pulled the comforter over
her shoulders, and captured the phone between her pillow
and her ear. "Your Knicks T-shirt."

"The gray one, with the tear in the sleeve?" he asked,
sirens sounding in the background of their conversation.
Yep, he was close by. She could hear the siren through
the phone, as well as outside her window.

"Mulder, come on up to bed. I can't sleep; you aren't
sleeping. This is silly."

"You sure, Scully?"

"I'm sure," she whispered, her limbs already relaxing as
she realized he'd be up soon. "Just keep your cold feet
to your side of the bed."

"Up in a sec, Scully. Don't start anything without me.
On second thought, go right ahead. I can quickly catch up,"
he laughed, pushing the 'end' button on his
phone. Grabbing his leather jacket off the seat, he hit
speed dial.

"Ok...guys. I'm heading up; I'll want that information by
tomorrow...Don't give me your shit, Frohike. You are
always telling me your kung fu's the best. Well I expect
you to make good on that boast. You three had better get
those fingers walking...Dig into everything. Waterston
makes my skin crawl...I have a very bad feeling about this
dude, boys...very bad."


CHAPTER SIX:



EARLY THE NEXT MORNING



Scully was curled up in the overstuffed chair next to

the window, her legs tucked under her, and an afghan

carelessly thrown over her shoulders. Diffuse morning
light trickled into the room by way of the pale shears
hanging at her window. The city was poised at the brink
of another day.

Slowly her eyes traveled her bedroom, briefly settling
on the various pieces of furniture, registering the
similarities and differences that existed between her
room's current state and its decor at the time Phaster
invaded her home. She smiled, in spite of those memories,
as she realized the biggest difference, her pillow
snatcher - Mulder, asleep in her bed, clutching her
pillow to his chest.

But other things were altered as well. Gone was the
metal etagere that she had pulled down upon Pfaster,
sending knick-knacks crashing to the floor. The lamps
she had used to defend herself had been replaced. She
had not bought a new dresser mirror to replace the one
he'd slammed her head against. Soon, but not quite yet,
she'd be able to do that.

The bedroom's character had changed in subtle ways, too.

She still had her sleigh-style bed, even the same pale
green duvet, but the prints that hung behind her
headboard were now framed with green matting, instead of
beige. Even the chair she was sitting in had been re-
upholstered to bring out the green tones as she subtly
changed the color scheme of her room. Too bad it had
been out of necessity, instead of choice. The material,
torn by glass shards that had pierced so many areas of
her bedroom, had been beyond repair.

She hadn't wanted Pfaster to steal her security, to
force her to change too much of herself. He'd taken
enough already; she refused to allow him anymore access.

Mulder rolled over in bed, his hands restless against
the sheets as he searched in his sleep for
something...something...that he knew should be there but
wasn't. He's reaching for me, she thought, warmth
spreading through her as his eyes snapped open. She
watched him listen for the sounds of her breathing,
holding his breath to afford his ears the small nuances
of sound in the dawn's stillness.

"I'm here, Mulder."

"Scully?"

"Mmmm...hmmm."

"Are you ok?" he asked, lifting his head from his pillow
and looking across the room to where she sat, shadowed
and hidden.

"I'm fine, Mulder. Just thinking...remembering."

"Reflection tinged with 20/20 hindsight is not always
what it's cracked up to be. Rarely do we come out on the
winning end, you know?"

Ruefully, Scully shook her head. "Don't I know it,
Mulder." Pausing, she gathered her thoughts until,
finally, she spoke. "Pfaster said something, when he
first overpowered me, out there in...in the hallway-"

"Scully, stop-" Mulder murmured, pushing back the duvet,
and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. Wiggling
his toes against the floor, he snagged his boxers, which
he quickly pulled on.

Walking to her chair, he knelt on his knees beside her,
his hands sliding up her lap to rest upon her own cold
hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she continued,
"Pfaster said, 'You are the one who got away; you are
all...all I think about."

"Scully, don't," Mulder admonished. She ignored him, her
eyes focused out the window to where the sun's light
began to drench the street below with morning luster. "I
told him, that the only reason he hadn't been executed,
the reason he'd been given life, was that I had asked
the judge for leniency. I had spoken on his behalf."

"I know, Scully," he soothed, his hands reaching up,
gently stroking her hair.

Ignoring his tenderness, because she desperately wanted
not to, Scully finished her thought. "When I was in the
hospital... with Daniel, I told him that he needed to take
accountability for his actions with Maggie. And that he
needed to move forward, that we weren't the same people
we once were. Mulder, he said, 'Dana, it was only to be
with you. You are all I lived for'."

"Eerily similar..." Mulder confirmed, his fingers tenderly
tracing her cheek as he encouraged her to look at him.
Bringing her gaze from the window, and concentrating on
his silhouetted face, she murmured, "He can't be like
that, Mulder. Not the Daniel I knew...not the man whose
passion for science, for medicine was so all consuming."

"Not all consuming, Scully. His passion, obviously,
extends to you.

"You'll have to prove it to me, Mulder. I won't take
your leap of faith; I won't blindly follow you. Not this
time, not with this..."Scully whispered, shrugging the
afghan from her shoulders as she brought her hands to
Mulder, pulling his head onto her lap, running her
fingers through his hair just like he'd done.

"I know, Scully," he softly sighed against the soft
cotton of her T-shirt. "I know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


X-FILES OFFICE
LATER, SAME MORNING

"Scully? Where are you off to?" Mulder asked as he
watched her gather notes, stuffing them into her
briefcase. It was similar to the night before, but
definitely in a much more organized, less painful,
manner.

Scratching something out on one of her tablets, she
stuck a pencil between her teeth. Muttering around it,
she said, "I've got a consult with VICAP, Mulder.
Skinner's requested I look at something for them. You
knew that; remember I told you this morning...in the
shower," she chuckled, watching the glazed expression
come to his eyes.

"Well, as I remember, Scully, I was...uh...occupied at the
time you mentioned these meetings and I probably wasn't
concentrating."

"Occupied, that's an interesting word for it. I always
thought it was called-"

{{Briiiing! Briiiiing!}}

"Hold that thought, Scully," Mulder said, snatching the
phone from his coat pocket.

"That's ok...Mulder. You take your call; we can discuss
semantics later."

"Hang on," Mulder said into his phone, placing his hand
over the receiver in order to give them privacy.

"Uh...Scully, I'd rather not 'discuss' semantics. I'm 'a
hands on' kind of guy. I'll compare definitions with
you, but in a much more tactile manner. Sometimes words
just aren't enough. Date?"

"Date, Mulder," she agreed, tossing her pencil in his
direction. "I don't think it's sharp enough for you, but
you might as well add it to your collection," she said,
nodding her head at the few haphazard pencils that
remained stuck in the ceiling above his desk.

Scully left the office, closing the door behind her.

As he heard her swift, sure footsteps, becoming less
distinct the farther she got from his office, Mulder had
a twinge of guilt for what he was about to do. But only
the barest twinge.

Sticking her pencil behind his ear, he asked, "Frohike,
what do you have?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


ACROSS TOWN
SAME TIME

"Mark, son, glad you could meet me for breakfast. Have a
seat," said Daniel, standing as Mark reached his table.
Mark, who was whip-wire thin with wavy red hair, pulled
out his chair, seating himself.

As Daniel took his own seat, he reflected again that
Mark was a nice looking, clean-cut young man, definite
son-in-law material. What's more his ideas were so in
line with his own. How could Maggie jeopardize her
security, her future with all her nonsense?

Nodding affirmatively to the server who asked about
champagne, Daniel continued, "I know it's a little out
of the way here, Mark. But they have the best, I mean
best, eggs benedict that I've ever tasted."

"Thank you, Sir, for the invitation, but I really don't
see the necessity of it. Maggie made herself quite clear
to me last night," Mark replied, taking a sip of orange
juice. "She doesn't want to get married, at least...not
to me."

"Mark, Maggie doesn't know what she wants. She's young;
she's impressionable. She gets wild ideas in her head,
but that's where you come in, Son. You need to help set
her straight," Daniel said, leaning in, his elbows
resting on the table. He didn't want Mark to miss a word
that he was saying. He would be able to give Maggie
everything she needed, help mold her just as he had
tried to mold Dana.

He just needed guidance.

"Mark, Maggie's always been head strong, opinionated.
She's so much like her old man it's scary," he chuckled.
"She's also gifted, Mark. She's got brains, talent.
She's driven. She'll make an excellent attorney."

Smiling at him across the table, Mark picked at the
breakfast the server had just delivered. "I've told her
the same thing, Dr. Waterston-"

"-Daniel."

"Right...Daniel, I'm sorry. I've tried telling her that as
well. Maggie is so accomplished at whatever she does; I
really hate to see her throw a year and a half of law
school down the drain, just like that."

Daniel poked his fork in Mark's face, punctuating each
comment with a wave of the utensil. "Exactly, she has
too much potential within her to waste on something so
stupid as this writing idea. I mean-"

"Excuse me, Sir, but Maggie's writing is brilliant.
She's very talented."

"Mark, don't get me wrong. I know my daughter is
talented. I'm sure she writes well; that will come in
handy when she has to write all those briefs, but to
throw that all away, to drop out of law school to become
what...some...romance novelist? Not, Maggie, not my
daughter," Daniel said, feeling his blood pressure rise
even as he thought about her stupidity.

"Daniel, first of all, she doesn't want to become a
romance novelist. Although, if she did, I'm sure she'd
be a damn good one. She wants to write medical
thrillers...believe it or not. She feels with her exposure
to medicine over the years, that she might be good at
that. You know, the next Robin Cook?" Mark chuckled, his
face betraying his affection for Maggie.

"Be that as it may, Mark. It's still an 'undignified'
career choice for my daughter. She would be throwing
away years of education for what...dabbling in triviality,
creative writing, playing with words. What kind of a
life is that?"

Daniel contemplated as he chewed. Mark needed to be more
assertive with her; he needed to lay down the law to
make her see. "Mark, Son, you just need to talk to her
some more, make her understand that you only have her
best interests at heart. She'll listen to you. She loves
you. Maggie will do what you say."

"I don't know, Daniel, the more I thought about it last
night, the more I realized she is probably right. What
good is it to follow some career path that you know is
not what you want? I think she should go for it. If she
doesn't, she'll never know for sure. And that's what I'm
going to tell her," Mark said, smiling for the first
time since he'd sat down. "You should support her,
Daniel. Writing's her passion."

It was like a volcano erupting. Daniel, his face beet
red with anger, hissed across the table,
"Don't_you_DARE_tell me what Dana's passion is. You have
no idea; you are just some sniveling, snot-nosed kid who
doesn't have the balls to get the job done. How dare you
presume to know her? How dare you presume anything?"

And with that Dr. Daniel Waterston, M.D. exploded from
his chair, smashing into the server behind him, sending a
large tray careening to the floor. Without so much as a
backward glance at the storm he'd left in his wake, he
slammed through the room, leaving behind a shocked, and
startled wait-staff, and one very concerned and puzzled
former, future son-in-law.

"What the hell just happened," Mark uttered, "And who's
Dana?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


STONEYVILLE PENITENTIARY
TWO HOURS SOUTH OF DC

"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. I should be on your
visitor list. I called this morning about seeing Dr.
Neal Samuels," Mulder said, displaying his badge for the
guard. "I was told you'd have it all arranged."

"Yes, Agent Mulder, we have Samuels in a conference room
awaiting your arrival. If you'll follow me please,
we'll get your weapon locked up for safe keeping and
then I'll take you right to him," said the young guard,
whose arms looked about the diameter of tree trunks.
Mulder knew he'd think twice about messing with someone
who looked like that.

After locking up his weapon, and traversing several
corridors of beige walls and slick linoleum, Mulder and
the guard arrived at a metal door. Swiping a card key
through the mechanism, the guard punched in several
numbers. He then yanked it open, revealing a man dressed
in a prison orange jumpsuit. His face was lined, fatigued,
and he sported a black eye and a knot, the size of a golf
ball, on his forehead.

"I'll be right outside the door, Agent Mulder. Just yell
and I'll let you out. You won't have any trouble from
this one; he's scared of his own shadow."

"Guard is he alright? He looks like he needs a doctor,"
Mulder asked, his voice laced with concern. "I'd say
he's had a pretty rough go with his shadow."

"He's seen the doctor, Sir. I'll be outside."

Mulder hesitated before walking over to the man seated
across from him at a long, wooden conference table.
Samuels' eyes were fearful, tracking his every movement.
As Mulder finally seated himself, he watched the man
flinch, as though he was sure something awful was about
to happen.

Pulling a file from his briefcase, Mulder laid it on the
table between them. Several papers and glossy photos
spilled out across its hardwood surface. Mulder pulled
one of the photos out, and slid it across to Samuels.

He sat there, silent, non-responsive, as though he
didn't even register the picture in front of him.

"Dr. Neal Samuels?" Mulder asked, attempting to get the
man's attention. "Dr. Samuels?"

Nothing, the man had turned out all the lights upstairs
and gone to bed. No one's awake in there, Mulder
thought. Trying once more, he said, "Dr. Samuels...I'd
like to talk to you about Dr. Daniel Waterston."

"Waterston, that son of a bitch. He's a murderer,"
Samuels' belted out, his face animated for the first
time since Mulder had walked into the room. "What else
do you want to know?"

"Let's start with your assertion that he's a murderer.
What makes you say that?" Mulder asked, trying not to
betray his excitement.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Samuels' asked, "Do
you have a smoke?"

"I'm sorry; I don't smoke."

"Figures. I'm trying to quit, but you know how that
goes. Anyway, Waterston, he killed that chick, that
doctor they said I murdered, and he got away with it."

"Your saying he killed her, and framed you?" Mulder
asked. "Don't you think that would have come out at the
trial? You were convicted of her murder, you know. Or
have you conveniently forgotten that fact?"

Pointing to his bruised face, and the knot on his head,
Samuels replied, "Agent Mulder, I couldn't forget that
little fact if I wanted to. I'm reminded every day of my
sorry existence that I'm paying for Dr. Waterston's
crime...but no one will listen to me. I tried to tell
them, but they wouldn't listen to me," he muttered, a
tear slipping down his face.

"Well, I'm listening. Do you have proof that he killed
Dr. Janice Leonard?"

"No...Agent Mulder. I don't. You have no idea how much I
wish I did. However, I have proof that he killed
Emergency Technician Ashley Jenkins, but that's a story
no one wants to hear."

Standing, Mulder walked to the door, wrapping his
knuckles hard against the metal. "Guard...Guard."

The door pushed open, and the guard stuck his head
inside the room. "Ready to leave already, Agent Mulder?"

"No, get me a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Dr.
Samuels is going to tell me a story."