Body of Evidence

By NoraC
nick_nora_charles@yahoo.com.au

Classification: M/O, S/O, MSR, UST/RST, XA, NC17 (There
is sex and naughty words folks)

Spoilers: Set s6 before Two Fathers. Special reference to
ep Gender Bender Season 1.
Bonus points for identifying specific episodes sprinkled
throughout the story.

Summary: An increasingly estranged Mulder and Scully are
assigned to solve the death of an American tour guide on a
South Pacific island where sexual tension is off the Richter
scale.

Author's Notes:
I am not an FBI agent, Australian Federal Police agent,
travel agent, lawyer, doctor, scientist or porn star.
Neither is Body of Evidence written for personal gain
(only satisfaction).
Full acknowledgement to 1013 Productions, Fox and all
other appropriate copyright holders.

This story was inspired by a 2001 holiday to Norfolk
Island, the 2002 murder on the island of Janelle Patton,
the 2003 news from acquaintances in the know about the
sexual proclivity of young Islanders,
the 2004 sex crimes prosecution of Pitcairn Islanders,
the 2006 arrest of a suspect in the Janelle Patton case
and 1993-2002 the TV series, The X-Files.

The stories and characters are pure fiction and reside
only in the head of 2302 and in a bunch of zeroes
and ones on the Internet.

Special thanks to:
My own one in five billion, my touchstone, my perfect
opposite. My protector and endangerer.

Also to other fanfic writers whom I've long admired.

 
PART 1

Cock Pit Falls
Norfolk Island
Australian Dependent Territory
South West Pacific
September 15, 9.45am

Australian Federal Police agent Jack Porter looked at his
cell phone and cursed.

It was second nature to reach for the device and after
three days he had still get used to the fact that he
wasn't on the mainland. Things are done differently here.

Norkfolk Island was charming.

It drew newlyweds for the pristine coastline, romantic,
isolated picnic spots and the duty free shopping.

And attracted the 'nearly-deads' for encounters with
friendly islanders - all descendants of the Bounty
Mutineers - and the early convict ruins that rose starkly
on the southern side of the island.

Norfolk Island was deadly.

At least it was for Wendy Millard, an attractive 32 year-
old tour guide, late of San Diego, California, USA, late
of the land of the living. Her naked and brutalised body
had been found 200 metres down the trickling waterfall
called Cock Pit Falls on the northern side of the island.

Elderly sightseers found her and it appeared for a day or
two that the locals might have to bury two instead of one
as the 79-year-old New Zealand man who found her was
hospitalised with heart palpitations and shock.

Porter took a final drag of his cigarette while he
watched one more set of waves crash on the rocks where
the bottom of the falls met the sea, before turning to
start back up the rise.

With long athletic strides, he picked his way around the
dark brown basalt boulders at the edge of the drop before
with following the cattle-trampled path back to the road.

Wendy was 10 days dead and they were still no closer to
identifying the killer.

He chuffed. It should have been straight forward, even
for the mainland cops permanently stationed on Norfolk.

How hard could it be to find a killer on an island three
miles by five miles in size with a population of 2500,
half of whom were frail and elderly tourists?

'Well, you're the hotshot profiler, you went to Oxford,
you work it out,' inferred his superiors.

If only it were that simple.

FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
September 15, 9.45am

"You're the hotshot profiler, you work it out."

For Special Agent Fox William Mulder the day, which had
already started badly, really turned to shit.

It started at 8.35am when he arrived at work to find on
his desk, along with his pay cheque, a form detailing his
immediate transfer out of domestic terrorism and back to
the Violent Crimes Unit and a summons to see the
Assistant Director.

The day worsened when he looked across the desk at his
partner, Special Agent Dana Scully, MD to see she had
received a similar inter-office envelope.

He watched her as she examined the contents.

Her blue eyes widened and her mouth parted slightly
before her customary cool, in control mask returned. It
took seconds. No one else noticed.

But Mulder did.

He waved his matching yellow envelope at her.

"Snap. VCU."

"Quantico."

"Hell of way to start the day, Scully."

Thirty minutes later, he and his partner were standing in
front of the desk of their supervisor  AD Kersch.

The imposing black man stared back implacably.

"It is not your place *Agent* Mulder to question
personnel decisions," he intoned.

"VCU wants a profiler, Quantico wants a forensic
scientist and your respective talents are not being used
to maximum efficiency in domestic terrorism. Your
objections are noted and will be taken under advisement."

"But it's The X-Files that *needs* us." Mulder hoped to
God that sounded impassioned and not whiny.

"You are well aware that is an option no longer open to
you," said Kersch firmly as he leaned back in his leather
chair to take in both agents.

Mulder's face bore the indignation he felt, Scully was
more difficult to read. Either she took the news with
quiet resignation or she was ready to stubbornly dig in
with her partner... make that former partner.

"You have a choice. Accept the reassignments or resign. I
trust you will make the *wise* decision."

Mulder turned to stalk towards the door.

"I'll take it under advisement," he muttered turning on
his heel.

Sensing Scully following behind, Mulder stepped back from
the door to let his partner exit before him.

Kersch called.

"Agent Scully, you are not dismissed. There is another
matter to discuss."

Scully glanced at Mulder who raised his eyebrows in
question. A slight shake of her head told him that she
had no idea what was next either.

"You may close the door Agent."

Without breaking eye contact Scully reached for the
handle and gave an almost imperceptibly nod.

Message received and understood. Mulder walked into
Kersch's reception and watched the office door close.

Cock Pit Falls
Norfolk Island

Porter watched a car door close up ahead of him as the
first load of sightseers for the day descended to the
picturesque spot.

While taking long strides to ascend the last 50 or so
metres back to his car he reviewed the facts he did have.

Wendy, world traveller, one time travel agent was
popular, well liked, had a boyfriend, even if the guy's
teenage daughter didn't like her much.

She was tall, a brunette, slim, quite pretty in that
exaggerated American way.

She had an extremely active love life. Tracing her sexual
history since she arrived on the island three years ago
required a detailed spreadsheet - possibly even a
genealogist, he mused.

That wasn't unusual admitted the island's senior
sergeant, a former lover.

As a resident, if you were healthy, could get it up and
were thrilled numb by the arrival of the twice weekly
flight from either Australia or New Zealand, partner-
swapping was one hell of a nice way to pass the time...

But Wendy's murder was savage and uncontrolled, judging
by the variety and depth of the stab marks that left
little of her well-toned stomach unmarked, thought
Porter.

It spoke of betrayal and revenge, something quite
different to the picture that had been painted for him of
an easygoing society where locals never locked their
doors, cars, wives or daughters and worst criminal
offence was occasional shoplifting.

It was clear Wendy had been killed somewhere else on the
island. There was not enough blood at the scene, although
an overnight rainstorm had washed evidence of footprints
and drag marks away.

While they waited for results of tox screens and other
blood work to come back from the nearest forensic testing
centre in Brisbane, 2000km and two hours away by jet,
Porter and his partner Murray Birch had reinterviewed
everyone who knew Wendy.

All expressed the appropriate amount of shock at her
death, articulated their desire to assist in any way
possible and agreed to supply DNA samples.

Porter ran a hand wearily across his handsome, tanned
face. Surely he was missing obvious connections and it
irritated him.

He was certain the killer was male but there may be more
than one according to the confused samples obtained by
the preliminary rape kit.

The motive was revenge he posited, based on the savagery
of stabbing and evidence of torture but now... now he
wasn't so sure. He had been so clear on his profile when
he left headquarters in Sydney three days ago. Now
nothing made much sense.

Perhaps he was distracted by the beauty and isolation of
this place or haunted by the violence of Norfolk Island's
convict past. Porter shook his head clear.

The spring morning air had warmed somewhat by the time
Porter reached the island-issue mini 4WD. He wound down
the driver's window before reaching for the two-way
radio.

"Mobile 1 to base, have you seen Murray today? He was
supposed to meet me at Cock Pit, over."

"That's a negative Jack. He's not been in the station
this morning," answered Sen Sgt Steve Thompson. "There's
the flight from Brisbane due at 010.00, perhaps he's at
the airport. Over."

Porter sighed.

"Okay Thommo, I'll check."

Despite a speed limit of 30mph on the island's narrow and
occasionally unpaved roads, Porter arrived at the airport
just as Flight 142 from Brisbane disgorged its complement
of holidaymakers.

He watched faces as they were processed through customs.
The elderly were part of package holidays and they
flocked together in groups like pigeons, the young were
more like doves, cooing at each other at every
opportunity.

While the story had received mainland coverage - after
all, the first murder in over 100 years is news - the
arriving passengers didn't care that someone's daughter,
someone's lover had been murdered.

But Porter did and it was beginning to bother him.

First rule of profiling - concentrate on the perp not the
victim. But that was becoming more and more difficult as
he thought about her lifestyle.

Two live-in lovers, four short term relationships and
casual encounters in various forms with at least another
seven men - that they knew of - in three years is pretty
good going for an island of 1800 permanent residents.

In a typical community, Wendy would be ostracised as a
slut, but here it didn't raise an eyebrow, although none
of the women who knew her were as candid about their own
sex lives in the police interviews. They just shrugged
and remarked 'It happens'.

Porter glanced at his watch, at 10.30am Murray, a
slightly built man in his 20s, a few inches shorter than
Porter exited the customs room with a large package.

"Where the hell were you?" Porter grumped.

The younger agent shrugged.

"We've been to the Cockpit every day this week Jack, I
didn't see any point in going over old ground, so I
decided to get a headstart on reading some of the
preliminary forensics." He waved the open package in
front of him.

They ignored the throng of visitors waiting for buses and
cabs and walked to the car.

"Anything interesting?" asked Porter after a minute.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I don't think the labs are
going to be of any help."

Porter shook his head in disgust. Could this day get any
better?


The Reflecting Pool
Washington DC
1.10pm

Could this day get any better?

Mulder mused the same the same thing cynically as he
stared out at the welling numbers of visitors and office
workers enjoying the last gasp of autumn warmth before
winter blew in.

He hadn't bothered to go back to the bullpen after he
left Kersch's office. He'd sat on this park bench for the
past two and a half hours radiating enough anger and
hostility within a three-foot radius to repel all-comers.

A petite female figure caught his eye, 5"4', red hair,
burgundy skirt suit and heels, striding purposefully
forwards him. He turned his attention away from her to
watch a gaggle of Germans consult a tourist map.

"I'm thinking of taking a lease here," Mulder deadpanned
as Scully sat beside him. She shifted his discarded coat
and placed it on his lap.

"So, which was it? The 'ditch the loser, you're risking
your career' or the 'play the game and you're back on the
fast track' speech?"

When she didn't answer he turned to look at her. Scully
stared straight ahead at the lake.

"Neither. It was neither." Another pause.

"Scully?"

"Kersch expressed great concern for my mental health. He
says he's seen this with agents before, particularly
male-female partners."

"What?" Irritation flared. Mulder already knew he wasn't
going to like the answer.

Scully turned to look at him, her blue eyes sparkled with
anger as well as unshed tears.

"It is," she sighed, "his considered opinion that I am
the victim of a form of emotional and psychological abuse
at your hands."

Mulder nearly burst out laughing until he saw she was in
deadly earnest. Nausea pooled in his gut instead.

"That your forceful and dominant personality has turned
me a mindless acolyte unable to express or act upon my
own will and desires.

"The worst part was he called in Dr Karen Kossoff who
spent an hour talking about breaking the cycle of abuse.

"I didn't know whether to express my desire for them to
shut-the-fuck-up or act on my will to commit grievous
bodily harm.

"Nevertheless, I've been ordered to limit unnecessary
contact with you."

Mulder slumped further down the bench.

"Shit."

"Double shit."

There seemed little else to say.

#end part I
PART II

Norfolk Island
Australian Federal Police compound
September 17, 5.30pm.

"I don't know what else to say Jack," said Senior
Sergeant Steve Thompson, laying a sympathetic hand on
Porter's shoulder.

"We appreciate the time that you've spent out here
looking for new evidence, but this was not going to be
the easy investigation Canberra thought it was going to
be.

"I don't think whoever killed Wendy is still on the
island. I honestly believe they took that Brisbane flight
out the next day. There's still 25 people we haven't
accounted for amongst the locals, not to mention the
tourists and the crew from the last flight in.

"The best chance is to begin the investigation back on
the mainland."

"I still don't along with that Thommo. The murder was too
brutal, too specific, you don't exhibit that level of
violence without a trigger. Whoever killed Wendy knew her
well."

Thompson blinked. Porter was becoming angry and tapped
the faded laminate counter with his lighter.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the cop interrupted.

"Jack, I've been stationed here for 10 years. I know
these people. These are not mass murdering serial
killers, they're decent, hardworking people. You're
reaching...."

Thompson shook his head in genuine sympathy.

"I've phoned the mainland, spoken to the AFP and we'll
keep searching for more clues. We promise mate, as soon
as we find anything..."

Empty platitudes, but that's all anyone was offering on
this godforsaken rock.

"Let us look after you on your last night here," said
Thompson as he switched off his computer and headed
towards the door.

"Becky and I are going to the sports club for a few
drinks. Join us.

Porter returned the smile he was offered. He found
himself wavering between spending his last night
wallowing in self-recrimination and taking up the
invitation.

Thompson sensed the indecision. He played his card.

"We'll make sure you get to the plane on time. Police
escort if necessary."

Porter agreed and followed him out of the police station.

Getting obscenely drunk sounds like fun, he thought.
Because tomorrow all the same crap will still be waiting.


Violent Crimes Unit
FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
September 17, 5.30pm.

All the same crap was waiting for Mulder from the moment
he stepped back into the VCU.

A brutal sadist in Baltimore was taking teenage girls but
he was breaking accepted offender habits thus rendering
all accepted profiling theory useless.

All girls were from different ethnic backgrounds and
different socio-economic groups. Although investigators
discovered that all the girls came from a five-mile
radius, when it came to Baltimore, that was a hell of a
population density.

The perp was maliciously raping and in some cases
disfiguring the girls but the wounds were done in such a
way that with timely discovery and medical intervention,
three of the five victims were still alive.

Two of the girls had been awoken from medically induced
comas and given a description. Each completely
contradictory. Yet the MO was exactly the same.

The squad were on a high when the latest victim,
Stephanie Shaw was found alive too.

They were convinced they were close to a breakthrough;
the doer was getting sloppy, it was just a matter of time
before they caught him.

Mulder had not been convinced at the briefing and he
certainly hadn't changed his opinion now.

The first two days had been spent interviewing the
victims. He played nice with fellow agents, ignoring
whispered asides in meeting and the useful advice that
aliens, zombies and vampires are words that should not
pass his lips during this investigation.

He buried his inclination to tell them that they should
open their minds to extreme possibilities if they really
wanted to bring justice to these girls and if they
didn't, they could all go to hell.

And he would have done it too if Scully were partnered
with him. She would have restrained the worst of his fury
and smoothed over the ruffled feathers of his colleagues
and supervisors.

But he didn't, so he hadn't, focussing instead on the
certain knowledge that he could help bring impartiality.
A theory was beginning to formulate and he needed the co-
operation of the unit to make it happen.

The only brightness in the three days of misery since he
and Scully had been permanently separated was the
forensic report he had requested from Quantico.

It was a report analysing the blood work of all of the
victims. Its official typewritten report was accompanied
by a woman's handwritten note. He smiled sadly.

'I'm impressed. An obscure but effective drug was used to
subdue the victims. You'll see findings of significance
on pages 5,6 and 12 - DKS'.

Mulder had always been of the belief that nothing could
be worse than imagining the victim's terror at the hands
a violent serial offender. He was wrong as the victims
recounted the days they had been held captive.

Perhaps it would have been a greater mercy if the
sonofabitch had killed them. Maybe the suffering would
end.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned so loudly it echoed in the
office space. It may have only been 5.30pm but in the
absence of new leads, these men and women were still
public servants and they were happy to clock off.

Slipping on his reading glasses and reaching for the
switch on the adjustable desk lamp, Mulder pulled across
the text, A Psycho-Sexual Analysis of Anglo-Celtic and
European Fairytales and began reading.

He was sure he could discover something else about this
case.


Island Warriors Sports and Leisure Club
Norfolk Island
September 17, 11.47pm

Porter discovered something else about Norfolk Island.

Not only was partner swapping a much beloved activity by
the locals, so was drinking. While the staples, which had
to be brought in by sea or air were more expensive, duty-
free delights including alcohol were cheaper since the
Norfolk Island parliament deigned to make this a little
tax-free haven.

Encouraged by Thommo and his girlfriend Becky to drink
the Alphabet - anisette to zambucca - washed down by
beer, Porter was a little hazy about what happened
between Drambuie and Frangelico.

Sitting under the stars on a faded blue deck chair,
blowing smoke rings and staring across the sports fields,
Porter took a deep breath between drags, savouring the
way the late evening breeze cooled the sweat caused by
too heavy drinking and the too crowded club inside.
His mind returned to the lab reports Murray had opened.
He was right, they were an absolute mess, nothing made
sense. Unidentified residue in the stomach contents,
unexpected DNA results all added up to either the lab
fucking up big time or sloppy evidence gathering.

Neither possibility was appealing.

And as for Murray, the little bastard looked at him as if
he were certifiable when he suggested taking one more
look at Cock Pit Falls and retracing Wendy's last known
movements.

Again.

No wonder he'd disappeared for the rest of the afternoon.

About eight others milled under the verandah awning,
several were smokers who chatted quietly and indulged
their habit, others were an indistinct tangle of arms and
legs as lovers coupled in the shadows.

Porter watched one couple as they staggered hand in hand
down the side of the building, the man murmured something
in his companion's ear and she giggled, pulling the strap
of her tank top back to her shoulder.

They made their way to a tree-lined ridge that marked the
beginning of a reserve that slopped gently down to a
point overlooking the sea.

About 10 minutes later a man wandered in the direction of
the darked pine forest.

"Murray!"

The man had cleared the ridge before he was two-thirds
across the football pitch.

"Godammit Murray wait up!"

Light from the sports club was hidden completely from
view forcing Porter to stop as his eyes adjusted to
moonlight.

"Murray!"

At the sound of a snapping twig Porter looked right and
saw a narrow worn path. He followed it at speed for
several hundred metres, then he spotted her - strikingly
pretty, petite, brown eyes and skin, long dark straight
hair, about mid-20s.

"Where'd he go?"

"Who? You mean Murray, the name you called out?"

Porter wanted to throttle her but he was still waiting to
catch his breath. She made direct eye contact.

"Murray isn't here Jack. It's just me," she whispered
softly. "I know you're upset but there's nothing to worry
about."

She took his hand and started rubbing it slowly with her
thumb.

Although the Fed's presence on Norfolk was no secret,
Jack wondered how she knew him and he didn't know her at
all.

As the girl continued stroking his hand, he started to
sense the last surge of adrenalin ebb from him leaving a
pleasantly numb feeling before he experienced a tingle
across his skin, like static electricity.

He swayed slightly as the girl moved towards him, lifting
both arms around his neck, drawing him closer to her
already parted lips.

The first kiss was soft but intense. Instinctively Porter
followed, tasting her mouth with his tongue as she
stretched herself along his full length.

His body automatically responded. One arm brushed the
bare skin exposed by her halter neck dress, the other
dropped to caress her bottom before pushing her closer to
his swelling cock.

She purred into his mouth and rubbed her breasts against
his chest in approval. The girl broke the kiss and smiled
before reaching for his neck with her lips and his shirt
with her hands.

Laving his neck with her tongue and trailing with tiny
nips and kisses down his opening shirt, she sank slowly
to her knees. Porter tingled with sensation as he threw
his head back and moaned.

The pull of his belt drew his attention. He placed his
hand on her shoulders and shook them slightly.

"What are you doing," he whispered hoarsely.

"What does it look like?" she smiled without stopping her
task of unbuttoning his jeans and tugging his underwear.

He closed his eyes and sighed as her fingernails lightly
scored his fully engorged member and followed it with
light licks of her tongue. Porter's hands released the
button at the neck that held her top. At that she stood
and let the material fall to her waist.

God she was magnificent, he thought, reaching out to
flick her tight budding nipples with his thumb. Urgency
surged through him, his fingers weren't enough, his hands
weren't enough, his mouth wasn't enough.

The girl whispered her encouragement when Jack became
aggressive, grinding his pelvis against hers.

He pushed her against a tree and hoisted her on top his
hips, pushing aside skirt. She wasn't wearing underwear.

'Dear Christ what's happening?' wondered the fleeting
electrical impulse buried somewhere in his higher order
brain, as he plunged into her tight, wet warmth.

Porter could feel the girl's own climax growing around
his dick, she egged him on in curt syllables and groans
before a keening wail left her throat. It sent him
bucking harder and harder until he too came.

As his heart rate slowed, an odd feeling, akin to panic
coursed through him. The girl eased herself off and Jack
staggered back from the tree, his knees buckling.

His throat constricted forcing him to gasp asthmatically.
The girl eased him back onto the grass and stroked his
brow.

"It's okay, it's okay," she whispered near his ear.
"You'll be fine, shh, just relax."

The pleasant electrical tingle he felt in the first place
intensified. He felt pins and needles along his entire
length and he struggled for breath.

He could no longer hear the girl as the edges of his
vision drew dim.

Jack had one last coherent thought before he last
consciousness completely.

This isn't right.

#end part II
PART III

FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
October 29, 2.57pm

This isn't right, mused Scully as she strummed her
fingers impatiently along the armrest of the seat in AD
Kersch's reception.

She waited alone, the blonde bitch of a receptionist
wouldn't tell her anything about the purpose of the
summons, but she suspected it had something to do with
Mulder.

Scully wondered what it could be. The only professional
contact they had was a request for blood work. It was an
approved application, going through official channels.

Even before this enforced separation he started keeping
his distance from her - not physically, Dr Kossoff was
right when she observed that he was always invading her
personal space - but emotional distance, starting months
ago when she was unable to back up his theory in front of
the FBI's professional conduct panel about the alien
origins of Gibson Praise's DNA.

What did it say about her that she missed the intimacy
with Mulder's mind even more than his physical presence?

This was worse than the first time they were separated,
when Mulder's paranoia as much as the official orders
kept them apart.

Had she not taken the drastic step of engineering a
clandestine meeting with him Scully might have never
uncovered his plans to investigate solo. He could have
disappeared forever at Puerto Rico.

But it was different now. He trusted her then, he didn't
any more.

They worked long hours in their new roles. The only time
she had seen him in six weeks was a fleeting glance on TV
two days ago during a press conference in which Baltimore
District Attorney Adam Washington announced they arrested
a suspect in what the media had dubbed The Sleeping
Beauty rapist.

It was Mulder's profile that caught David Eugene Powell.
He drugged girls with a powerful but little used narcotic
to put them in a coma. He would try to awaken them, with
a kiss before raping them. He told police he was Prince
Charming.  Powell would slap them if they didn't awaken
on cue and cut them in the search for their real inner
beauty.

Scully was shocked by Mulder's appearance on TV. He was
thin and under his eyes were as dark as bruises. She was
still concerned.

As she rose to pace the room, Kersch's inner door opened
and Scully was beckoned in.

Mulder sat with his back to her but he didn't look around
to acknowledge her presence. She unsuccessfully tried to
quell a trickling edge of apprehension as she took the
seat next to Mulder's.

Scully glanced at him quickly but his eyes remained fixed
at the back wall over Kersch's shoulder.

"I want to commend both for your fine work over the past
six weeks," he started.

"It is gratifying to see you have obeyed directives and
begun to appreciate the importance of discipline. There
is hope yet you might be rehabilitated into the bureau
mainstream."

By now Mulder would have made some smart-ass comment that
would have raised Kersch's blood pressure but he remained
silent and that alarmed Scully all the more.

She spoke: "With all due respect sir, what is the purpose
of this meeting?"

"The purpose of this meeting is to answer a request from
one of our counterparts in Australia requiring the
assistance of the FBI to solve the murder of a San Diego
woman who was working on Norfolk Island, an independent
Australian territor which is located two hours east by
air of the state of New South Wales and three hours north
by air of New Zealand."

Kersch passed Scully the file that had background on the
woman, crime scene and autopsy photographs. She glanced
at it. It was very thorough.

"It's not a major case," he said, then nodded at Mulder.
"Nor is it as grand as high profile captures but it is
important to me.

"I want to see if you can be trusted working together. I
am mindful of your solve rate on the X-Files and I want
to see if we can replicate that in more... productive areas
of Bureau investigation.

"I consider inter-agency co-operation vital." Kersch
stood, picking up papers on his desk and walked to
another door to their right.

"Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.

"Don't embarrass me agents."

Scully rose slowly. Mulder still hadn't moved.

"Who requested our involvement?" Mulder looked at
Kersch's retreating back, acknowledging him directly for
the first time.

"A senior profiler with the Australian Federal Police,
Jack Porter," Kersch answered without looking back.

Mulder grinned for the first time in months.

"What?" whispered Scully, noting the change of
disposition.

"Sometimes there's a silver lining after all."

"Mulderrrr?" she asked, drawing out the last syllable of
his name.

"I'll tell you on the way back to your place. It's time
we got packing."



Sydney International Airport arrival lounge
Australia
November 1, 10.37am.


Porter almost missed him in the throng of jet lagged
looking passengers that had now cleared customs.

Although he'd not kept a close track of the career of his
friend and former drinking and skirt-chasing mate, he was
surprised to see a more careworn face than he remembered
from Oxford.

You don't get to smile a lot any more do you, he thought.

Porter mentally shook himself and swiftly moved forward
with a fixed smile.

"Look at ya, you old bastard, you're still as ugly as
ever," he called from a few feet away.

The agent turned and the smile that broke was genuine. "I
see you don't believe in mirrors, I've always been better
looking than you."

"Mulder, are you sure *this* man is your friend?"

Porter noticed that Mulder turned to the redhead beside
him who had observed the exchange with surprise.

"Ahh, where's your cultural sensitivity Scully? This is
how Australian males show affection. It actually means
we're blood brothers."

She folded her arms and gave him *the* look, a twist of
the mouth, a raise of the eyebrows, with which the other
man appeared very familiar. He chuckled and raised his
hands in mock surrender.

"Honest injun."

Scully shook her head to conceal a half smile and turned
to their host with an outstretched hand.

"Excuse the old bastard his lack of manners, I'm his
partner Dana Scully."

Porter took her hand shook it warmly. He liked the woman
already.


******

Scully had to admit she was impressed, not only by the
city but also the accommodation Jack had secured for the
day and a half before they headed back to the airport for
the two hour jump to Norfolk Island.

The apartment suite at Darling Harbour boasted two
bedrooms separated by a common lounge and dining space.
Sliding glass doors onto the balcony accessed an alfresco
dining setting for four.

Floor to ceiling windows framed the view of Sydney
Harbour and its iconic bridge.

Peak hour was growing steadily as the last light of the
afternoon cast a soft rose glow over the city. As the day
turned to night, neon-like red and white streaks from
traffic overpowered the spotlights that outlined the
bridge's distinctive coat hanger span.

Despite the 12-hour leg from Singapore to Sydney, Scully
felt surprisingly alert, helped by a four-hour sleep and
a soak in her ensuite spa.

She pulled her attention from the view as Mulder and
Porter entered the suite. Mulder seemed entirely
untroubled by the long flight, she noted ruefully.

It was no surprise that Mulder and Porter were friends.
From the couple of hours Scully witnessed this afternoon,
they shared the same incisive wit and offbeat sense of
humour. She could also see how they broke hearts across
England in the 1980s.

Even now, with similar heights and athletic builds they
turned heads. In terms of mannerisms and energy, they
might even pass as brothers, she mused. But that's where
the similarity ended. Jack's blond hair, blue eyes and
golden tan contrasted sharply with Mulder's dark hair,
hazel eyes and paler skin.

The sun god and the dark prince... Scully frowned, where
did that thought come from?

"Hey Scully, you're up," said Mulder as he bounded over
to take a place opposite her on the couch. "Jack says
he's taking us to one of the best seafood restaurants in
the city.

From her vantage point she could see the momentary look
of surprise on Porter's face that indicated that he'd
said no such thing.

"Yeah, but it's Mulder's shout since he was telling me
how much more a G-man earns than a poor old Aussie
agent," he rejoined quickly.

"What kind of host are you? What about inter-agency co-
operation?" Mulder shot back, his demeanour showing a
lightness that Scully noticed had been missing for many
months.

Porter laughed. "Okay then my treat, but you're picking
up the wine."

Later that evening Scully admitted defeat, unable to
finish the dessert, a lime cheesecake served with vanilla
icecream rolled in pistachio nuts surrounded by a swirl
of berry coulis.

Content to sit on the sidelines and watch Mulder and Jack
to catch up on the years, she mentally congratulated
herself that she had packed at least one thing more
suitable than work wear. Her soft green summer dress was
a last minute decision - and a perfect one for the balmy
spring evening.

She sipped her glass of Hunter Valley chardonnay and
listened.

They discussed Phoebe Green, now a Scotland Yard
Inspector, whom they both seemed to know rather
intimately.

She noticed Mulder glance at her as he deftly skirted
answering detailed questions about his former partner
Diana Fowley before steering Porter's direction to how he
and Scully first met.

Fowley is a deceitful cow, Scully mused bitterly.
Claiming to be on Mulder's side in preserving The X-
Files. Lying slut. All it takes to reel Mulder in is an
open mind and open legs.

Then Porter's next question focussed her attention to the
present.

"So, what are The X-Files again? Some kind of cold case
squad?"

Mulder dropped his eyes for a moment as he recalled
reactions of other law enforcement when he told them. He
looked up and pinned Jack with a stare.

"No, the X-Files specialised cases involving unexplained
or paranormal phenomena that everyone else had either
given up on or deemed unworthy of investigation."

There was none of the incredulous reaction or derisive
laughter Mulder encountered with past colleagues, just as
slight narrowing of his eyes and Porter turned
investigator.

"Past tense. Does the X-Files no longer exist?"

 "No, they're there," answered Mulder softly. "We're just
not investigating them any more."

"I still investigate monsters but the ones I profile are
of the very human variety."

He knew with the acute awareness of a psychologist that
the other man was leaving a lot more unsaid but Porter
nodded in sympathy. Monsters were in his job description
too, although nowhere near the same scale. Not that it
made it more palatable.

It wasn't his place to ask for details and he knew his
mate wouldn't tell. He was Mulder's friend, not his
psychoanalyst and besides, for this investigation he
needed an investigator, not a basket case.

"You are now I guess... investigating an X-File that is."

That got Mulder and Dana's attention, Porter observed
with satisfaction.

"Because what's been happening on Norfolk Island is not
covered in any investigator's handbook.

"And before we fly out, I need to tell you... something
happened to me when I was there."
 
*****

Later that night, Mulder ran through Porter's story in
his head again.

Especially intrigued by the girl and her ability to
render unconscious a man a good six inches taller and 50
pounds heavier with a good fuck.

He was reminded of the cult that he and Scully had
encountered about five years ago, an Amish-type colony
who largely kept to themselves until one of their order
went on a murderous sex spree.

He would select one victim, have sex, which would kill
them, before somehow changing genders and striking again.

Scully would have been a victim too had he not burst
through the doors as she and one of the cultists were
about to do the horizontal mamba.

The way Jack described the way the girl rubbed his hand
was familiar, but the rest of the encounter was all
wrong.

Perhaps these people had adapted - what better place to
settle than an island that they could control?

What of the murdered girl? Had she discovered who they
were?

He turned to discuss the idea with Scully and remembered
that she had gone to bed hours ago. Mulder rolled over
and settled on the bed.

He missed her and not just since their partnership had
been dissolved. Their professional and personal
relationship had been on tenuous ground ever since that
bombing in Dallas.

He had been scared to death that he had lost her in
Antarctica when Scully had been infected with the virus.
After their rescue he was ready for more from this
relationship, but then Diana had set him straight.

"Ask yourself why Agent Scully won't back you up when you
most need it Fox," she had told him.

He knew the reason. Scully had been at pains to explain
that the data didn't support his conclusion. But he *was*
right - an alien virus, an alien conspiracy and
colonisation like a ticking time bomb.

It still galled him that she refused to back him up at
the OPR hearing.

"I don't doubt what you saw, Mulder. I don't doubt you,"
she had told him afterwards. "I'm willing to believe, but
not in a lie and not in the opposite of what I can prove.

"It comes down to a matter of trust. I guess it always
has."

Unfortunately it wasn't enough.

Mulder licked his wounds by keeping his emotional
distance from Scully and drew comfort from Diana, even
though her proprietorial claims on him bridled.

He knew Scully was hurt but he wasn't quite finished
being a prick enough to forgive her.


PART IV

Norfolk Island International Airport
November 2
7.50pm.

Since they would be landing in darkness, there was not
much to see from the windows of their mid-size jet.
Mulder fell asleep within half an hour of take off, so
Scully busied herself reading through some of the Norfolk
Island tourist literature.

The crime scene photos really don't do the place justice,
she thought.

They landed on an airfield first established by the US
Navy during World War Two.  The island was an important
refuelling and supply post to support the allied forces
driving the Japanese out of the South Pacific.

In fact the road from the airport to the island's only
town, Burnt Pine was named after General Douglas
Macarthur.

Captain James Cook first mapped the uninhabited island in
the 1770s - although there was evidence that Polynesian
sailors made the island a stopping point. Norfolk was
then settled by convicts, male and female, deemed too
violent and irredeemable even for the Sydney penal
colony.

In the 1850s Queen Victoria offered title to the
descendents of the now forgiven Bounty Mutineers, known
as Islanders, after it was determined Pitcairn Island
could not support its several hundred residents.

Some of its famous, non-islander residents include author
Colleen McCullough and singer Helen Reddy.

Today, access to the outside world is largely by smaller
jumbo jets. Norfolk Island is not on the cruise ship
route, although small private yachts do drop in on their
way to New Zealand, Australia or the major south Pacific
islands groups of New Caledonia, Fiji and Vanuatu.

Many of the island's major goods are supplied by ship but
have to come in by special tenders, known as lighters.
Satellite Internet access is available but not
widespread.

"You'd be surprised by the autonomy of the Norfolk
Government," said Porter as they made their way out to
their micro compact hire car.

"A year or so back, a film star was holidaying here but
the media found out and came in on the next flight. As
soon as they arrived, the government refused them entry
as undesirables. And they were ordered back on the next
flight.

"Priceless," he chuckled.

"With that much authority it could be an easy matter for
Wendy Millard's killer to simply leave if he or she were
known to one of the government members," whispered
Scully, mindful of keeping out of earshot.

Porter raised a finger to his lips.

"Everything has ears here. We'll save the theorising for
the house."
     
Mulder and Scully's accommodation was two miles from the
township, a fibreboard beach holiday home, vintage 1960s,
that belonged to a lawyer from the mainland who rented it
out for much of the year.

It was small with only two bedrooms, but it was fully
self-contained and well provisioned.

Porter explained that he would be staying with senior
sergeant Steve Thompson and his girlfriend Becky at Burnt
Pine. Smart casual dress was the accepted on-duty dress
code here, but firearms were not. They would have to be
locked at the police station in the morning and would be
returned before the flight out.

"Settle in folks," invited Porter as drained the last of
his black coffee. "I'll organise another car tomorrow and
start with a 9am briefing with Thommo.

"We'll do a tour of island and the crime scene so you can
get a feel for the place. Dana, I'll introduce you to the
hospital staff. The chief doctor is also the island's
surgeon."

Scully nodded and stifled a yawn.

Yes, a good start in the morning would be best, she
agreed.

"Mulder, I think you and I should go through the suspect
list to see if there is any connection to Wendy that
you've managed to source from her history in San Diego."

"Sounds like a plan. Tomorrow it is then."


The Highland Fling Cafe
Fern Road
Norfolk Island
9.35pm

The powerfully built man rocked back on his chair as he
listened to the conversation richochet across the room.

"I can't say that I'm thrilled about this. We've gone too
far as it is."

"It's the FBI for godsake. The more people we involve the
less chance we have of this mess quietly going away."

The front legs landed sharply on the timber floor and all
other conversation ceased.

Mike glanced across to those assembled, both seated and
standing, before turning to the tall shadow who had been
leaning against one of the posts apart from the group.

"You know them, how they think, what should we do?"

Murray Birch stepped out of the shadow to observe the
other conspirators - two men and three women.

The discussion had been spirited but the argument had
been lost. Porter and his FBI colleagues were to be dealt
with starting tomorrow.

"I don't know how you talked me into this, any of you,"
Murray grumbled. "I'm federal agent for crying out loud.

"Everyone thinks I'm back in Sydney."

"You know why," snapped the older of three women, an
elegant brunette with fashionably short hair. Murray knew
her. They went to high school together, although she was
a couple of years older.

"Our culture is at stake, in fact our entire way of life.
If this isn't stopped now then it will be more than the
six of us facing court.

"Do you want an investigation into our sex lives like
they're planning on Pitcairn? Lives will be ruined and it
will be just the excuse needed for the Australian
Government to strip the island of its independence.

"Your parents would never have wanted that."

Murray glowered at her.

"Low blow Sylvie."

The woman sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? But the fact
remains that you know as much of what going on as the
rest of us. And you're up to your eyes in it.

"We need to you to help us. If we can use this... this
gift, this reaction, we can get rid of the police... FBI...
whatever they are and go back to the way things have
always been."

Mike spoke next. He was slightly older than the others in
the room and thus was elected leader of sorts.

"That's the point I'm trying to make here Sylvie," he
sighed.

"Things stopped being the same when they found Wendy's
body. Do you really believe the authorities will let go,
that they'll forget?

"We will always be under suspicion - each and everyone on
the island who knew her."

"Are you blaming me for dumping Wendy, because I didn't
see any of you upright citizens helping me that night,"
hissed another man who stood behind Sylvie.

"No Rob, we've been through this, we're not blaming you,"
said the first man.

"This goes deeper than the death of Wendy Millard. I
think we can all agree on that. Something is happening to
us, to the islanders and it's affecting everyone we're in
intimate contact with.

"We need to control it or contain it, otherwise it really
will be the end of everything.

"I just don't want to risk further exposure. It increases
the chances of us getting caught."

"We can do this but you all need to do exactly as I say."
All eyes turned to Murray.

"We mustn't forget we have a lot of friends here. They
may suspect that you are all involved in Wendy's death
but they fear the threat to their... to *our* way of life
more.

"Although I've only known Porter for as long as we've
been assigned to this case, I think I know him well
enough as an investigator. And we've seen how effective
the gift is.

"Janine said she was impressed, in more ways than one."

Sniggers in the room turned to nervous laughs and the
tension was broken.

"What about the other two? The Americans?" asked Rob.

The youngest, a girl in her late teens spoke.

"I was on customs duty tonight and I had a quick look at
their entry and passport details," she said.

"He's a psychologist like Jack and she's a doctor of some
kind."

"We need to find out more," said Birch. "If we're going
to use the gift we're going to have to find out more
about their background and get into their heads.

"Anyone here know a policeman?" he smiled.


Sea Mist Cottage
Three Mile Road
Norfolk Island
12.57am

Anyone here know a cable guy? If he'd known that was no
TV, then he wouldn't have signed on for this gig.

Mulder flicked the TV off in disgust and stretched out on
the bed as the distinctive sound of the closed-for-the-
night station ID pierced silence.

Norfolk Island had one TV station that produced basic
local programming, mostly advertisements for the duty
free shops. After hours it would screen the occasional
out-of-copyright movies and close promptly at 1am.
Tonight it had been an Ed Wood film, a classic - Glen Or
Glenda.

Local residents watched mostly satellite television but
the cottage's owner didn't spring for that luxury here.

He turned on his side and watched the gentle rise and
fall of Scully's chest as she slept beside him.

He missed this.

Since being grounded on domestic terrorism they weren't
on the road as often and he had forgotten how much they'd
settled into a routine.

Mulder stroke her cheek softly before settling himself
beside her.

He wasn't sure when it started or who started it. Maybe
it was her nightmares, his nightmares, exhaustion after a
day's investigation or a subconscious acknowledgement of
mutual loneliness - whatever justification fitted the
day.

They would end up together asleep in one bed until dawn,
when one or the other would leave.

It was what they did - no awkward examination of feelings
- just the unspoken acknowledgement that they were halves
of the same whole.

He wanted that back but Diana had driven a firm wedge
between them.

The truth was he wanted them both.

Diana was comfortable and predictable - her unquestioning
belief in him and his quest, her soft, ready,
uncomplicated warmth while Scully was uncompromising and
demanding - she challenged, irritated and excited him to
the point where he believed his only choice might be to
either slap her or fuck her.

Diana he could control, compartmentalise, keep away from
his core but Scully would consume him.


End of part IV



PART V

Seamist Cottage
Norfolk Island
November 3, 5.45am

Scully opened her eyes and breathed deeply. The riot of
birdcalls roused her from an exceptionally deep sleep.
She woke up alone, as she always did.

Although not fully light, she could see that the shrubs
bearing unusual yellow flowers outside the window were
home to chattering crimson rosellas who were watched
serenely by a pair of emerald-hued green parrots perched
higher on trees that bordered the yard.

She smiled at the sight as she opened the sliding glass
door. Two of the nearest rosellas screeched their
displeasure at being disturbed at their feeding.

The breeze was tinged with the slight tang of salt, so
Scully went to investigate, discovering a sandy path at
the end of the yard.

The journey ended at a tiny sandy beach, bordered by
rich, chocolate coloured volcanic basalt rocks. To her
right was one of the small outlying islands she'd read
about on the flight over.

The tiny island just a half a mile from Norfolk was
uninhabited and had been used by early settlers as
grazing and hunting ground as well as further convict
punishment. Today human activity was limited to
government reafforestation programs, and organised
camping and fishing tours.

Scully picked a place on a rock and fingered a smooth
round pebble watching the sky change from grey, purple,
rose, and gold as she thought about last night.

She could almost believe that she and Mulder were back to
'normal'... well, as normal as they ever got. The closeness
disappeared after Antarctica, after Diana Fowley was
appointed to the X-Files.

Despite what Mulder wanted, she in all good conscience
wouldn't abandon what could be proved, but it didn't mean
she didn't believe... in him, the work, in what she could
substantiate to support his beliefs.

Scully threw the pebble back into the sea.

Maybe Dr Kossoff was right after all, perhaps her life
was too intertwined with Mulder's, maybe she did need to
re-establish her own identity as a professional... a
person... a woman.

Yet last night, as she fell asleep with Mulder beside
her, she clung to hope that maybe things didn't have to
change after all.

But it would have to wait until this case was solved. And
that was a problem, she realised.

They drift from one case to another and put off talking,
*really* talking, betting against the house that one or
the other of them wouldn't be consumed with the graveside
regret of having words unsaid and feelings unexplored.

But reality, in the here and now, is that a woman was
dead.

It really would have to wait.

*****
7.45am 

"Coffee's fresh," Mulder pointed with a piece of toast to
the pot on the stove.

He was in a rare mood, focussed, full of energy,
travelling at a million miles a minute.

"I've been through Wendy's background from the San Diego
field office and there are a couple of leads that I'd
like to make a start on today," he said between bites.

"Did Jack say what time he was going to pick us up?
Because I definitely want to check out..." he paused to dig
out a map that was buried under file notes.

"Cock Pit Falls and possibly the refuse disposal station
on the western side of the island.

"I'd be interested what you can make out from your
medical investigation. There's something in the odd DNA
samples that the original investigators obtained..."
Mulder stopped as he looked at his partner properly for
the first time.

"What?" he asked.

Scully stood at the kitchen door, rolling the stem of a
pink hibiscus flower between her fingers.

She gifted him a smile.

"Good morning to you, Mulder," she said airly before she
crossing the kitchen to pour herself a coffee.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her
uncharacteristically flirtatious greeting.

"And a good morning to *you* Ms Scully," he replied,
doffing an imaginary cap.

"Ahh, it is true after all," Scully acknowledged the
salutation with an exaggerated nod. "Manners do maketh
the man."

Mulder good-naturedly tossed a tea towel in response.

Scully caught the cloth with one hand. It should always
be this easy between us, she thought wistfully.


1.45pm
Cooks Point
Norfolk Island

Mulder and Porter sat on a picnic bench at a park perched
on the northeastern edge of the island.  The wide-open
park was bordered by denser rain forest that marched its
way up to a tall rocky peak, Mt Bates. At 318 metres it
was a popular climb with adrenaline junkie adventure
seekers.

After a briefing meeting with Senior Sergeant Steve
Thompson, which ended in an invitation to dinner, Porter
had taken the agents on a tour of the island to visit
'sites of interest' in the case.

Following lunch, Scully taken the second car to the
hospital to review the DNA and forensic results gathered
thus far in the investigation into Wendy Millard's death.

Sitting in the dappled shade created by the shadows of
large Norfolk Island Pines and other rainforest giants,
the park at Cook's Point was a refreshing contrast to the
midday heat.

"You weren't kidding about circumnavigating the island in
an hour and a half," said Mulder. "I've been in traffic
jams longer than that."

Porter tapped his cigarette lighter on the table.

"I've been copping a lot of flak from my supervisors.
They were expecting a quick result but they don't
understand that most of the residents here are related
through blood or marriage.

"They may have their suspicions but they're not going to
dob in family.

"It's the reason why I want to confer with you here. If
we met somewhere in town or even at the police station
everyone would know our business before we stepped out
the front door.

"My working theory on Wendy's death is that this is more
than a crime of passion. In her peer circle, which is
roughly half the island population, these people have
more lovers than Elizabeth Taylor has diamonds.

"No one sees anything wrong with that, it's been island
culture since the Bounty mutiny days. The attitude is
sexual activity is almost a resource."

"Share and share alike," added Mulder.

"Exactly. I still believe that sex is the reason why
Wendy was killed but it was because she had been involved
with someone or knew something that would damage the
island as a whole.

"If it were an 'ordinary' crime, like drugs or theft she
could have gone to the police or anyone of the island's
members of parliament. But she didn't, she wanted to get
away. She had a one way flight to Brisbane the next day."

Mulder nodded, the reasoning was sound. He could
appreciate Porter's frustration with the lack of
progress.

"I think I may have something."

Porter leaned forward with interest.

"The field office in San Diego started a detailed
background on Wendy when we were informed of her death.
According to some of her friends, Wendy had quit her
travel agent's job after a falling out with new
management.

"Officially she wasn't working for six months before she
left the United States to explore the world."

"Prostitution?"

Mulder shook his head and handed over the file.

"The next oldest profession. It seems that Wendy
subsidised her severance pay by making a number of cheap
porn flicks under the stage name Randy Wilde."

Porter burst out laughing. Mulder grinned.

"Yeah, well what she lacked in imagination she made up in
volume - six titles over those six months."

"Yet Wendy travelled across Europe, south-east Asia and
Australia for nearly 18 months before arriving on Norfolk
Island," Jack frowned, flipping through some of his own
notes.

"She would have been just about broke, yet she had enough
money wit her to satisfy immigration and her
job application was sponsored by Rabs Warren."

"Rabs? As in Rabbit?"

"Real name is Andrew Peter Warren. His son is Peter
Andrew Warren, he has a cousin also named Andrew Warren.
There are another three Warren families on Norfolk, so
it's accepted Island policy to use nicknames for informal
identification," Porter explained.

"It based on either a variation on a first or last name,
looks, personal habits or occupation.

"Warren put an employment ad in an international travel
magazine. He said he was impressed with Wendy's
credentials and sponsored her application. We can't find
any other connection.

"And the guy is 77 - he's not a suspect either."

Mulder made additional notes.

"What do you know about the TV station?"

"It's owned by a husband and wife, Shaun and Clover
McKenzie. They're nice enough - he was a lawyer and she
ran a New Age healing centre on the mainland before
arriving here. They specialise in documentaries
around the south Pacific. The Island broadcast is more of
a sideline really."

"Perhaps it's not their only one."

Jack frowned. "Norfolk Island has never come up on our
radar as a centre for porn production."

"It's perfect - an independent close-knit community,
liberal attitudes to sex with a 'don't ask, don't tell'
philosophy that would make the US military proud.

"Perhaps Wendy was continuing her film career here. We
should check it out."

Jack shook his head. "Drop me in town, there's something
else I want to look into first."

Mulder raised his eyebrows in question.

Porter looked away, concentrating on the sound of the
ocean crashing on rocks 10 metres below them.

"I've got to find that girl... I haven't been able to
stop thinking about her since that night," he said
softly.

"I'm going to go back to the sports club and ask the
staff there, see if they know her, recognise her."

"Have you seen a doctor? Because what you describe
happening after you had sex is not normal, there might
have been some residual..."

He was cut off with a shake of the head. "I've been
thinking about it some more.

"Mulder, I was drunk, upset and angry. Those things
account for what happened."

"You can't be sure Jack, that's all I'm saying. Scully's
a doctor, let her run some tests."

"Speaking of Dana, what's the real story with you two?"
Porter asked, seeing an opening to change the subject.

"Our relationship is," Mulder paused to capture the right
word. "Complicated."

"So you two never..."

Mulder shook his head.

"She's an outstanding doctor, a fine investigator and the
most honest person I know. It's the healthiest
relationship I've ever had with a woman.

"I'd be crazy to screw that up."

"Don't give me that sensitive new age guy bullshit. So
you're telling me you're not attracted to her? Man, I
wish I had a partner who looked like that."

"I've thought about it," Mulder conceded. "But it's just
never happened. Perhaps it never will."


Norfolk Island Base Hospital
2.15pm

The Norfolk Island Base Hospital comprised of three
single storey buildings that sat squat and unassuming two
streets back from the shopping streets of Burnt Pine.

The hospital was constructed of large painted concrete
blocks and connected by covered breezeways.

Scully had followed Dr Neil Schofield, Norfolk Island's
senior doctor along one of these walkways. The doctor was
deeply tanned and only a few inches taller than Scully.
And although aged in his mid-40s, he maintained a well-
muscled physique that would do a wrestler proud.

The first building was a clinic, which also doubled as
the administration and makeshift accident and emergency
centre. The second was a general ward and labs while the
third housed maternity and recovery wards.

Patients requiring intensive or critical care were flown
by charter jet to either Sydney or Brisbane, explained
the doctor.

"We're fairly well equipped to handle the basics -
general illness, injuries, falls, marine stingers, that
sort of thing," he expounded.

"If it's critical we can stablise a patient until medivac
arrives. That's usually in the form of an Royal
Australian Air Force medical transport plane."

The covered walkways were bordered by gardens filled with
birds of paradise, hibiscus and gardenias while rolling
lawns had large fig trees standing like islands out of a
lush green sea.

Six people, new mothers and their infants, patients in
recovery as well as hospital staff either strolled across
the grass or enjoyed the late afternoon on park benches
located under the larger trees.

It seemed as though those who were ambulatory were all
outside.

Scully and Dr Schofield entered the second building and
walked to the hospital's basic pathology department.

Scully took a quick glance around. It was as promised -
well kept but basic. As the doctor said, this hospital
was designed to give general care.

"I'm presuming Wendy Millard's autopsy wasn't performed
here?" she asked.

"It was performed in Brisbane. That was the first flight
off the island," Dr Schofield nodded in affirmation.

"I gave her an external examination when the police
recovered her body and the cause of death seemed self
evident.

"I photographed, took swabs and drew blood samples to
protect what evidence there was, but as you can see we
are in no position to conduct an autopsy especially one
sophisticated enough to find meaningful forensic
evidence.

"They were packed up along with the body for the flight
back to Brisbane."

Scully nodded. She appreciated that back in Quantico she
could access some of the most cutting edge equipment in
the world and draw on the expertise of the best
technicians.

"Did you know Wendy?"

She was on the receiving end of a mild admonishment.

"Agent Scully, everyone knows everyone here," he said
blandly.

"Yes, I knew Wendy but not terribly well, she was a good
15 years younger and mixed more with her peers. She was a
nice girl, very popular."

Nice, pleasant, friendly - all safe words, mild words
that Scully had seen cropping up again and again in the
police interviews with Wendy's friends and associates.

Scully was becoming convinced that they were euphemisms.


Coral C Productions
2.30pm

'Our office hours are between 10am and 2pm Tuesday,
Thursday and Friday unless we're on assignment. Have a
joyous day!', informed the printing on the cheery apricot
coloured paper taped to the inside of the glass door.

Coral C Productions occupied a house on a rise about a
mile out of town. Like the name of the company, the two-
storey fibreboard house was a coral hue but the oxidation
on the siding had caused the pigment to soften further.

Despite being in the right place at the wrong time and
the wrong day, Mulder checked the door anyway and was
mildly surprised to discover it unlocked.

The lights were switched off in reception but there was
enough daylight to make out the photographs on the wall
of spectacular landscapes or broadly smiling South
Pacific Islanders.

Mulder took a step closer to view each one.

There were two people in common in each of the
photographs - he was in his early 40s, beard, dark brown
hair curling to his shoulders. She was about the same
age, her shock of black hair stood out at angles. Shaun
and Clover McKenzie.

Mulder tried an internal door but found it locked.
Undeterred he walked around the back noting that all
windows on the ground floor were boarded up.

The white picket gate groaned softly in protest as Mulder
opened it.

He followed a flower border around to an expansive back
garden to see a nude woman 12 feet away emerge from a
stone clad swimming pool.

She stretched languorously, brushing her fingers through
long gold hair.

She was breathtaking.

The gentle curve of her waist and hips hinted that her
full breasts were natural. Her skin was a soft tan - all
of it, no hint of tan lines anywhere. There was no
telling if she were a natural blonde either.

The Venus saw him and made eye contact quite
unselfconsciously, making no attempt to cover herself.

"If you're the extra, you're overdressed and if you're
not, you've just spoiled this take," she called.

So much for the element of surprise, Mulder thought
ruefully. He held up his badge for the benefit of his
audience.

He took in the six other people in the yard - two men in
their 20s stripped to the waist wearing what looked like
buckskin trousers and shouldering replica muskets while
at their side was willowy brunette eyeing him with
unabashed interest. She wore a white cotton bodice
unbuttoned to the waist with a thin skirt that was
transparent in direct sunlight.

The other three people were fully dressed. One man with a
beard shouldered a camera, ayounger man leaned against a
boom microphone and a woman with wild black hair sat
cross-legged with a large make-up kit and a TV monitor
beside her.

"Special Agent Mulder, FBI," he called as he walked over
to Shaun McKenzie. "I want to talk to you about Wendy
Millard.

****
Norfolk Island Base Hospital

"This is interesting," remarked Scully as she compared
the spotted bands of DNA on the light box.

"What is?" Schofield asked. He left his microscope to
walk over to the bench where Scully had set up her
research.

"There appears to be a variation here carried on the
female line and to a greater or lesser degree it's common
to many of the men who were tested. Had you noticed
this?"

Dr Schofield smiled.

"No, the film only came back two days ago. I haven't
looked at them, but I can solve the mystery Agent Scully.

"I think you'll find that all of the men who have the
variation are descendents of the original Bounty
mutineers. The Polynesians have been intermarrying for
years without the usual cases of genetic defects showing
in children."

Scully paused, taking in Dr Schofield's skin colour,
build and deep brown eyes.

"Like yourself."

He grinned broadly. "Absolutely, I'm a direct descendent
of one of the crew."

Leaning in closer, he added more soberly, "But I also
have an alibi for the night of Wendy's murder in case you
were wondering."

Hair stood to attention on the back of Scully's neck and
arms as he stopped just inches away. She could feel his
breath tickle her cheek.

Collecting herself, Scully met his gaze head on, despite
being unsettled by his proximity and annoyance at the
stab of intimidation she felt.

Scully took a step back to regain some personal space,
wishing for the first time that she were not unarmed.

"Fine. We'll leave it at that shall we?"

Schofield shrugged and headed towards the door.

"I've got rounds. You can page me if you want anything."

Scully sighed, wiping a hand across her face as she
turned back to her notes.

Schofield had answered her question in part, but the
explanation didn't explain the fact that there was
something else, a virus, in the blood tests that affected
all of the men tested, not just the ones born on the
island.

On a hunch Scully reached for Wendy's file and quickly
scanned pages until she found the serology findings. The
technicians had been thorough; no mistakes had been made.
There, half way down on the third page was the answer
Scully had hoped to find.

Wendy had the virus too.

Opening a fresh page in her notebook, Scully started
writing.

'Each test indicates the presence of an unidentified
virus. It is not known how it was contracted, nor can it
be determined at this point what purpose it has.

'It was also found in Wendy Millard but not to the same
degree as the islanders. Some of the men tested who are
not islanders but who have lived on the island almost
exclusively for past three years or longer also show that
they too have the virus, but not the genetic variations
found in those descended from the Polynesians.

'It appears well accepted that these islanders have some
form of genetic immunity to the medical defects found
with interbreeding. Could this virus play some part in
this remarkable example of nature's pragmatism?

'This is a medical mystery which may find a conclusion as
a result of this investigation, however it does not help
answer the question of who was responsible for Wendy
Millard's death, nor why she died.

'To answer the second, we must uncover the first. To
answer the first we must examine the evidence in front of
us - reason and an intimate knowledge of the human psyche
- to recognize those who have the means, motive and
opportunity and then employing science to identify the
guilty.'

Reclipping her hair in a short ponytail, Scully bent to
read through the notes that accompanied the information
on the virus. Frowning, she lifted the DNA film up to the
light again.

Spreading the results of prime suspects in front of her,
she methodically compared blood tests with DNA swabs.

After analysing the sixth test result, Scully started to
formulate a theory.

What if all of the men had contracted some kind of
sexually transmitted virus that didn't present with any
illness but whose sole purpose was to eventually alter
DNA structure?


End of part V


PART VI

"Dr Scully I presume?"

"Be right there Mulder," Scully said without looking up,
absently as she tried to decipher the protein code of the
virus she had identified

"It's not Mulder." Porter grinned as she looked across
the bench. Scully blushed as she realised her mistake.

"Sorry, force of habit," she smiled.

Porter shook his head. "Think nothing of it.

"But I did wanted to talk to you alone."

Scully raised her eyebrows in question, inviting him to
continue.

"Mulder's convinced me that I should talk to a doctor
about my, er, close encounter," he stated matter-of-
factly.

"I take it he's told you his theory about this alien sex
cult thing that you've apparently dealt with?"

Scully nodded. "Mulder and I disagree about the specifics
of the case, but he is right about one thing. You should
have seen a doctor before this."

"I suppose I should confess - I don't like doctors much.
No offence," he offered.

She turned physician, scanning the man in front of her
with a clinical eye.

"None taken," she smiled. "Just ignore what I'm doing,
talk to me instead.

"Now that I've heard about the crazy things you and my
partner used to get up to, tell me how you met."

Porter sat patiently as she took his blood pressure and
temperature while told her about growing up in the steel
manufacturing city of Newcastle, north of Sydney and his
mother's struggle to raise him after his father was
killed in an industrial accident when he was just 14.

He had been an angry and confused young man until a minor
run in with the police and some timely advice from the
family priest made him realise the best way to keep his
father alive was to honour his memory. From there he had
returned to school becoming the first in the city to
apply for and be accepted to Oxford.

"That's my story, pretty much," he finished.

"Do you mind if I ask you something Dana?"

"Sure, ask away," she said pulling out a syringe and
several vials for blood tests.

"Tell me about you and Mulder"

Scully sighed, where to begin, she thought, as she probed
for a vein on Jack's arm.

"Our relationship is somewhat..."

"...complicated, I got that."

Scully inserted the needle.

"Ouch."



The residence of Steve Thompson and Becky White
7.55pm

She would never look at a night sky the same way again
Scully vowed as she gazed heavenward.

The sky was a rich, inky black, untainted by light
pollution. She'd forgotten that there were so many stars.

Under her breath Scully rattled off constellations as she
identified them, although they were upside down. She
closed her eyes and inhaled the briny freshness of the
easterly breeze and with a slight pang recalled childhood
memories when the Scully family would go camping. Her
father used to tell stories about ancient heroes and
medieval explorers who navigated using the stars as their
guide.

Scully started as she heard her name called. She opened
her eyes and found herself looking directly into
Mulder's.

They stood outside the home shared by Steve Thompson -
Thommo and his girlfriend Becky White.

Mulder smiled indulgently as he reached across to place a
hand at the small of her back to guide her along the path
to the front door.

It was a familiar touch, something he did often over the
years, but somehow tonight it was different. Everything
was different here.

No, Scully mentally corrected herself, everything was
right here. She smiled.

"Beautiful."

Scully turned to Mulder questioningly.

"It's a beautiful night," he whispered.

She couldn't agree more.

Porter opened the door and led them through to an
expansive timber deck at the rear of the house; climbing
bougainvillea and its raspberry coloured flowers framed
the rafters while the light breeze carried the thick
scent of jasmine from elsewhere in the garden.

"Thommo is cooking his specialty tonight - barbecue,"
grinned Porter, as they made themselves comfortable
around a large octagonal jarrah wood table.

Steve Thompson stepped through the sliding glass doors
carrying a large plate of meat. He waved briefly to his
guests with barbecue tongs as he made his way to the
grill. 

A woman carrying a tray of salads and bread rolls
followed Thommo.

"Dana, Mulder, I'd like you to meet my better half
Becky," he introduced.

Mulder's eyes widened in shock - the blonde at Coral C.
Recognition flared in Becky's eyes too, but she quickly
hid it behind a smile as she welcomed Mulder and Scully
warmly.

Porter had joined Thommo at the barbecue. No one else
noticed the exchange.

"Can I get you a glass of red or white wine?" she asked.

"Bring 'em both," called Thommo.

"I could use a hand," Becky appealed to Mulder.

He followed her to the kitchen.

"I could say it's nice to see you, but I ready have,"
Mulder intoned as he gathered a corkscrew and wine
glasses from the bench.

Becky glared at him as she held a bottle of red in one
hand and a white the other.

"Don't tell anyone, please," she hissed. "No one else
knows about this - not even Steve.

"I promise I'll tell you everything I know about Wendy,
but later."

Scully hadn't seen Mulder's face but her investigator's
experience told her that her partner and this woman had
met before.

As they returned from the kitchen, she caught Mulder's
eye. He shook his head briefly - don't ask now.

The evening passed pleasantly, a decent amount of wine
was consumed and a great number of tall tales were told.

Thommo was an ebullient host and he and Porter competed
to tell the most outrageous stories.

Scully participated enthusiastically. The two Australians
reminded her of brothers Bill and Charlie so she matched
their good-natured banter with a carefree lightness that
she had not felt in a very long time.

It was a little sad though, that she couldn't remember
when she had this much fun.

Scully tamped down the memory of Dr Kossoff telling her
that she ought to consider finding a wider circle of
friends.

As the evening grew later Mulder and Becky slipped away
from the group unnoticed. They sat on an ornamental
garden bench just out of sight of the pavilion.

"There is something you need to understand about how
things are on Norfolk," Becky began softly. "I grew up
here."

She didn't look at Mulder, instead staring out at the
garden

"Yes, we have liberal attitudes to sex but we also have a
very strong code of behaviour. Everything is done with
discretion. Affairs aren't flaunted and everything that
happens - threesomes, voyeurism, BDSM - is all
consensual."

"Did Wendy break the rules?"

Becky sighed and turned to him.

"Wendy... that's say she threw herself into the lifestyle
here enthusiastically. She'd join us whenever the mood
took her at Coral C's. She kept her mouth shut about
*that* but she wasn't very smart when it came to her
affairs."

"Jealous husband or jealous wife?"

Becky shrugged. "All I know is what Wendy told me - that
she and her latest lover Rob argued a lot and that it was
beginning to get physical. Rob's daughter Cherie
instantly took a dislike to her but Wendy was trying hard
to win her over."

"Have you spoken to anyone about this, to Thommo, Jack or
his partner Murray?"

"No, Agent Mulder, I can't. Like I said before, I never
talk to Steve about what I do or who I meet and he's
never asked. We both know his job would be in jeopardy if
the mainland ever found out what I did with the
McKenzies.

"I've never told Steve that I knew Wendy as more than
just someone I saw around the island."

Becky took Mulder's hand and looked him directly in the
eye. Unshed tears glittered in the dimness of the starlit
garden.

"I swear to you, Steve and me had nothing to do with
Wendy's death and we don't know who killed her. I've told
you everything I know."

Mulder nodded as he processed the information, only
peripherally aware at first of the prickling across the
back of his hand and wrist.

"Promise me Agent Mulder," she urged.

Becky continued to gently stroke his arm. The tingling
hit his groin and his cock twitched in response. Mulder's
arms and legs felt heavy and his breathing became
shallow.

He mustered the rising panic into action as Becky's
stroke grew bolder, her fingertips travelled up to his
bicep when he stilled her hand.

She tried to pull her hand away, but Mulder was stronger.
His eyes bore into hers as his hand remained clamped over
hers.

"Enough," he murmured. "That's enough."

Porter observed the last part of the exchange from a
discreet distance away as he took a full drag from his
cigarette.

They sat closely, heads bowed conspiratorially and Porter
certainly didn't miss the way Becky's arm stroked
Mulder's.

He shook his head briefly.  'I sure hope you know what
you're getting to mate,' he mused.

After stubbing out the butt, Porter turned to walk back
to the house. He saw Scully step down from the deck to
the backyard towards him.

"Have you seen Mulder?" she asked, looking past him into
the darkened garden.

"We should get going if we're going to get a good start
in the morning."

Jack reacted quickly, placing his arm across Scully's
shoulder to turn her around and lead her back to the
house.

"Yep. Just saw him. He's coming."

****
Becky and Thommo smiled and waved as their guests left
for the evening.

He kissed her on the cheek softly and again softly,
closer to her mouth. On the third try, their lips met.

"I'm just going to tidy up outside, then why don't we go
to bed," he hummed into her ear.

Becky grinned. "I'll see you there, lover."

As Thommo moved out of sight, Becky reached for the phone
in the hall.

Rapidly dialling a series of numbers, she paused as she
waited for the other line to pick up.

"Murray? I can't speak for long, but they've gone," she
whispered urgently.

"So, what did you find out?" he said, matching her tone.

"I tried him tonight. He's particularly vulnerable, but I
really couldn't tell so much about her, she's quite self-
contained. I don't know about them together though,
they're close, but not lovers as we thought.

"She seemed to be particularly relaxed in male company
but I think she'll be put off by the direct approach, so
tell Mike will you? If she's going to be reached, it will
have to be indirectly."

"Good work. Keep them distracted for a little while
longer. I'm working on something that will get them off
the island for good."

*****

"So that's the theory anyway," explained Scully.

"I don't know if I can narrow down a suspect for Wendy's
murder from the evidence I've found, but it may begin to
explain an additional motive as well as the symptoms Jack
said he experienced.

"The only problem is that we won't be able to get the
pathology reports back for a few days."

She put her hairbrush down and looked at Mulder through
the reflection in the mirror. He was lying on her bed
propped up on his elbow.

"Jack said you were investigating a lead this afternoon.
Find out anything?"

Mulder shrugged awkwardly.

"Not really. I spoke to someone at the TV station who
knew Wendy and was pointed to the boyfriend as a
potential suspect," he yawned rolling onto his back.

"But that's hardly a surprise. He's already been
questioned but I'm going to talk to him myself in the
morning."

He stretched out an arm across the bed to snare the
remote for the TV. The Wasp Woman opening credits rolled.

"Was it Becky?" Scully tried to keep her voice neutral
but even to her own ears it sounded like an accusation.

It was not her imagination that observed the flash of
recognition when Mulder and Becky were introduced and she
knew they had disappeared for a time during the evening.

Scully moved to the other side of the bed and lay down
beside her partner.

"Hmmm?"

"That you spoke to. At the TV station."

"Becky? No, it was a woman called Summer."

Mulder avoided looking at his partner by manufacturing a
yawn. Conversation over.

It wasn't exactly a lie and Mulder justified it by
telling himself that the use of Becky's 'professional'
name wasn't breaking a confidence nor was it hampering
the investigation.

He could tell Scully wasn't convinced even without
looking at her. Skepticism simply radiated from her like
body heat.

Mulder was irritated that she hadn't accepted his word,
although the irony of the misplaced emotion wasn't lost
on him.

It was irrational to keep the truth from her, this need
to mete out only bits and pieces on information whenever
they were on a case.

But was the only thing he could control about their
relationship and even then he felt he had given Scully
far too much already.


PART VII

Captain William Mulder, known by his company as The Fox,
dismounted from his sable coloured horse and led it down
to the cool green canopy of trees the lined the brook.

He'd spent all morning on the hunt for a murderer, a
convict who had killed and horribly mutilated a guard.
Mulder had combed his sector thoroughly, but there was no
evidence to be had that the escapee had even come this
way.

His assignment had been a waste of time and he had told
his colonel that, but the man would not be persuaded to
let him back performing his other duties.

As Mulder drew closer to the water he heard a splash that
was too loud to be caused by anything other than a
person.

Swiftly tying his mount to a tree, he unclipped his
pistol from his belt. He also felt for his dagger.

Moving stealthily towards the sound, keeping to the
shrubs and overhanding branches, he approached the pool.

To his surprise a naked woman glided through the water,
her silky blonde hair shimmered like a gold thread in the
wake behind her.

It was the governor's mistress, a woman who had been sent
to the colonies as a harlot and who had now parlayed her
skills into a comfortable life.

He envied the governor.

He sensed that she noticed his presence and was
continuing her display for his benefit. He put his pistol
back in its holster.

"What are you doing here," asked the voice behind him
coolly.

Mulder reacted but not quickly enough. The petite flame
haired woman on her own was no match for his size and
strength but the small pistol aimed at his chest equalled
the odds.

"I could say I was enjoying the view but I fear that
would earn me a musket ball to the shoulder... or some
other place," he replied.

There was a slight twitch of amusement in her lips but
the woman straightened the pistol to let him know that
she had not let her guard down.

"It is your good fortune that your fears are unfounded.
For today at least," she replied. "What brings you here
captain?"

His amusement evaporated.

"A convict has escaped and a detachment has been sent to
hunt him down," he spoke gravely. "He is considered
violent."

He watched as the woman absorbed the information. It
seems she too had not been long out of the water. She was
dressed in a plain cream cotton shift that matched the
complexion of her skin. The opening dipped across her
breasts. Where the wet ends of her hair met the fabric
was transparent.

Her soft skin was not reddened or weather-beaten as other
female convicts who had been assigned fieldwork. She
appeared to have been chosen to serve as part of the
governor's domestic staff.

"Has there been a sighting near here?" she asked.

Mulder shook his head. "There has not but it is likely
that he will be on the move."

Weighing the risks, the woman nodded her head.

"Then you should escort us back to the compound," she
replied.

He nodded, mentally applauding her judgement and the
calmness with which she assessed the situation.

"Katie? Katie, who is this man?" It was the mistress who
was now more or less clothed who joined them. Her fussy
apple green dress was slashed dangerously low across her
decollete.

"Mistress, this is Captain..." She raised her eyebrows to
the man.

"Captain Mulder, mistress, at your service."

Rebecca smile coquettishly, she liked the look of the
officer.

"He has come to escort us back," Katie answered.
"Apparently there is an escaped convict."

The blonde pouted. "I am sure we are perfectly safe
here."

"Be that as it may, it would be wiser to return now."

The woman shrugged. It was useless to argue with Katie
when she had made up her mind. She turned her attention
to the captain.

"Will you help me mount?" she appealed, stroking her hand
along his arm.

Her nipples were hard against his arm and the gentle
rocking motion was arousing him further when Mulder
awoke.

He savoured the sensation a few moments as sleep and the
memory of the dream receded.

Opening his eyes, he familiarised himself with his
location - a double bed, his arm across Scully's T-shirt-
clad chest, a morning erection that was more substantial
than usual at her back.

'No good, this is no good', Mulder thought to himself as
he slipped out of bed hurriedly, watching his partner for
signs of wakefulness.

This is what he wanted to avoid, one more chink in
armour, another breach in the wall that kept he and
Scully separate, necessarily apart.

Mulder walked to the shower.




The Police Station
Norfolk Island
November 4
9.05am

"You look like shit," said Porter amiably as he watched
Mulder rub darkened eyes. He walked to the coffee
percolator and poured his friend a generous amount of the
black liquid.

Mulder sneered at the comment but accepted the coffee
anyway. He snagged a file from the pile to his left and
half-heartedly examined the notes from the interview
conducted with Rob Davenport, Wendy's last boyfriend.

He admitted that he and Wendy argued and the alibi for
the night of the murder was not exactly watertight.

Rob had been seen drinking at the sports club until 10
and he was seen driving towards home a little after
10.30pm. He said he was so drunk he staggered into bed,
alone and didn't awaken until Steve arrived to give him
the news of Wendy's death.

"I want to talk to Rob again. He was never asked if he
knew anything about Wendy's 'extracurricular' activities
at Coral C - I'd like to know if he did," intoned Mulder,
not looking up from the notes he was making.

"Sure. Did Becky shed any light? What's Dana's take on
all this?"

Mulder looked up at the use of his partner's first name
and considered the man in front of him.

"I saw you two in the garden last night." Porter answered
the unasked question.

"Scully's back at the hospital this morning," Mulder
shrugged ignoring the first part of the inquiry.

"She and the local doc are going back over Wendy's cause
of death. Also she seems curious about the virus she
found in the suspect DNA samples and in Wendy... and in
you, apparently.

Mulder watched as Porter nodded, taking in the
information. And then: "Any luck finding the girl?"

Porter straightened but kept his arms folded.

"Janine Gardener, 23, teachers's aid. Left for Sydney a
week ago to finish her teaching degree. Clean criminal
history, no known connection to Wendy," he responded
swiftly.

Mulder didn't respond.

Porter sighed. "We still don't know what the virus is. I
feel fine, the hospital hasn't reported any epidemic.
Whatever this virus is, it's not an illness and there's
no ongoing effects."

Mulder tapped the end of the pen on the desk and nodded
slowly.

"Since you're feeling so good, you can drive."


Norfolk Base Hospital


Scully closed her eyes for a moment to give them a rest
from the autopsy notes and photographs in front of her.

Despite running through the analysis from the mainland
lab, she found herself drifted back to breakfast with
Mulder.

Scully had seen Mulder in moods many times before. This
morning over bacon and eggs she recognised classic Mulder
mood number three: 'I know something that I don't want
you to know'.

That, of course, was opposed to the shit-eating grin of a
mood number four: 'I know something you don't know and I
can't wait to tell you'.

Mood number three was the prelude to the ditch, something
which with Scully was depressingly familiar over the
years. It usually resulted in him taking dangerous risks,
putting himself and her, in danger.

Again, she could only guess what her partner was keeping
from her. Certainly it was something to do with this
woman, Summer, and his meeting at the TV station.

"Penny for your thoughts," a voice whispered softly at
her ear.

Scully jumped and turned to the grinning face of Dr
Schofield.

She took a deep breath and reflexively placed her hand on
her chest, before indulging in a rueful half smile.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were that deep in
thought," he laughed.

"No... I'm mean that's all right, I was just in a
daydream, that's all."

It took Scully a moment to realise that Dr Schofield had
a hold of her other hand and was rubbing it. She pulled
it away and immediately felt the prickling that caused
goosebumps across her arms and across to her belly
subside somewhat.

"What were you thinking?" he asked lightly but his mood
had sobered, matching Scully's as he watched her reach
for Wendy's autopsy results.

"There was signs of strangulation before she was
stabbed."

Silence reigned for a minute. The sounds of the air
conditioning and the rattle of a passing trolley seemed
unnaturally loud.

Dr Schofield frowned.

"The cause of death was blood loss from multiple stab
wounds."

Scully nodded, "So the question is, why try to strangle
her too?"

There was silence from her colleague. In a beat, Scully
answered her own question.

"Because there was more than one person present at her
death."

Dr Schofield's eyes widened further.

"You see, it makes sense," rushed Scully, no longer
focussed on Schofield, her attention now on the mortuary
photographs, a theory beginning to coalesce.

"There were at least two people present at her death. The
strangulation marks were made pre-mortem because the
bruising around the stab wounds suggests that there was
blood circulating at the time she was cut.

"Also, despite the fact that there were a large number of
burst blood vessels around the eyes there was no foaming
around the mouth or fluid in the lungs consistent with
death by asphyxiation."

Dr Schofield nodded, leafing through some of the pages of
the report.

"It makes sense, but how does that bring you closer to
the killer?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, but it means we have to change the profile
and possibly examine additional motives for the killers,"
she suggested.

"According to the AFP report, everyone was working under
the assumption that it was just one perpetrator involved,
most likely a man because Wendy was moved from the
location where she was killed to where she was found at
Cock Pit Falls.

"The whole investigation may need to be reframed."

"Dr Scully, I don't understand what that has to do with
the virus mutations you were so interested in yesterday.
I can't see a connection."

"I was primarily interested in those because I thought...
we all thought, that Wendy's cause of death was straight
forward - but the marks around the neck change things
completely.

"There may not be a connection at all, although I've
arranged for blood tests for someone who has been on the
island recently who believes they may have been infected.

"What if the virus we've discovered is not benign and has
some psychotropic effect over a period of time..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, do you have any idea how crazy that
sounds?"

The incredulous tone from Schofield pulled Scully up
short.  She blinked as she realised that this wasn't
Mulder she was talking to, the man who encourages her
crazy ideas when nothing else really makes sense.

She had borne witness to enough of Mulder's wild theories
to not dismiss them lightly.

Scully still had problems with *extreme* possibility, but
exploring 'slightly out there' possibilities was
beginning to suit her well.

Dr Schofield folded his arms. He was not convinced.

"I think it's a waste of time. The virus has no
deleterious effect. How can it when no other symptoms
have emerged and as you yourself noted, so many people
appear to have it?"

"I don't know," conceded Scully. "But I have learned over
the years as an investigator to not dismiss anything out
of hand."

"Well... good luck with that I suppose." Schofield shook
his head and moved to the door.

"Oh by the way, I came here to do this morning was to
invite you, your partner and Jack to a party on Saturday.
Locals and invited guests only."

He nodded his head toward a flyer on the bench,
'Convicts And Colonials
Saturday from 8.30pm to dawn
Food, drink, music and dancing under the stars
Costumes Available from Faerie Realm, Harbour Road'



The offices of Deep Blue Game Fishing Charters
Harbour Road
10.45am

The buzz and clack of the old wall mounted fan provided
only a faint breath of relief from the morning sun
heating the tin shed which housed Rob Davenport's fishing
charter business.

Mulder had abandoned the suit but couldn't quite bring
himself to follow Jack's lead and wear a polo neck shirt
while on duty. Mulder's concession to the warm, sub-
tropical spring day was to wear a business shirt without
the tie and with sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Davenport was dressed more casually still, a pair of dark
blue board shorts and a patterned singlet were filled out
by his surfer's physique. He was a handsome man in a
rugged outdoors way, deeply tanned with sun bleached
hair. He was also full of pent-up energy, Mulder noticed.
He had difficulty remaining still in his seat, bouncing
his left leg at a jackhammer pace on the cement floor.

Conscious of the poor presentation he was making he took
a deep breath, stilled his leg and turned to Mulder.

"I don't know what I can tell you that I already haven't
told him and the other one," said Davenport, nodding to
Porter. He sighed and closed his eyes, rattling off the
answers to the questions he'd been asked a dozen times or
more in the past six weeks.

"Yes, Wendy and I were together on the night she was
murdered. But I left her about 7.30pm. No, she didn't
come back to the house. No, I didn't go after her. Yes, I
went to the sports club. Yes, I got shit-faced drunk. Yes
we always argued about my bitch daughter. Yes, I also
yelled with my daughter that night. No, I did not murder
Wendy. I heard about her death the same time everyone
else did."

Davenport opened his eyes and looked directly at Mulder.

"Anything else you want to know?"

The intensity of the stare was matched. Mulder didn't
speak immediately, allowing a good few seconds to pass,
noting with some satisfaction that Davenport's bravado
wavered some before he broke off eye contact.

"What do you know about what happens at the Coral C?"
Mulder asked softly.

The question was unexpected. Davenport frowned.

"They make documentaries, Shaun and Clover McKenzie
occasionally charter my boat for some of their
documentaries. You know, underwater footage of coral,
sharks, dolphins, turtles."

"Wendy accompany the crew on these trips?"

"Not really, maybe occasionally, she had a job of her own
you know."

"Did she ever tell you that she wanted to get back into
acting?"

"Acting? Like Hollywood?" Davenport shook his head in
disbelief. "Wendy's never been an actress."

Mulder tapped his case file.

"No, not like Hollywood, I suppose, but before she left
the US she did spend a few months working as an actress."

Davenport leaned back on his chair and folded his arms,
looking more confident than at any other time during the
interview.

"That's crazy. If she wanted to be an actress, she didn't
say nothing to me about it. Anyway, why would anyone come
to Norfolk Island to be actress?"


****

"Well it tells me that people are very good at keeping
secrets from one another on this island," said Mulder as
he and Jack reached the car.

"It seems everyone involved in the McKenzies' second line
of business has kept their mouths shut about it."

Porter adjusted his sunglasses and put the car into gear.

"I find it hard to believe that no one knows what's going
on there considering how sexually charged this place is,"
he mused.

"Obviously the talent is being paid well enough to keep
it a secret and the titles don't seem to be finding their
way back to this part of the southern hemisphere from
what we know - most porn in Australia is either home
grown or imported from the US or Europe.

"Like I told you, Norfolk Island has never cropped up on
the radar as skinflick central.

"The only thing I can think of is the final editing and
distribution is being done elsewhere and the island is
simply a location. Raw footage could easily make it back
to either Australia or New Zealand on the international
flights."

"Made even easier if you already have customs clearance,
thanks to an insider," agreed Mulder.

"Which brings us back to exactly where we started,"
Porter sighed.

"One victim, an island full of suspects, multiple motives
and nothing to tie anyone to the crime. There has to be a
motive we're not seeing. I want to contact Sydney and get
more information on vice rings.

"We also have the chance to observe everyone more or less
in the one place at Saturday's Convicts and Colonials
party. It will be interesting to see who spends time with
who."

Mulder tongued a sunflower seed and stared at the passing
scenery.

"Suspects who hide in plain sight... Hey Jack, after the
interview with Rabs, drop me at the Coral C, I want to
see if I can talk my way into getting a hold of some of
the McKenzies' coming attractions."

Porter glanced at him and chuckled. "Purely for official
business, of course."

"If they're any good I might buy shares," Mulder grinned.



Deep Blue Fishing Charters
12.15pm

"Calm down Rob," demanded Sylvie.

"No I won't fucking calm down, we're supposed to be in
this together and I have to hear from some Yank cop that
Wendy was... doing God knows what with you and the others
at the Coral C," Davenport dragged the phone's extension
cord around the boat shed.

"I mean it's one thing if you and she want to do that
kind of shit but to film it? My God, you're sick woman
Sylvie."

Anger spread down the phone line. Sylvie collected her
thoughts and her temper.

"Look, I had no idea she was going to have such a violent
reaction - that's never happened before. All the other
times it was fine. I've told you before I thought she was
dead after the convulsions."

"I want a meeting with the others. I want something done
about the Americans and Jack Porter. Now dammit!"

Davenport slammed the receiver and rubbed his face
willing himself to calm down in order to face the
afternoon charter passengers who had just arrived.


End of part VII



PART VIII

Emily Bay
2.35pm

Emily Bay was the safest of Norfolk Island's beaches.

Originally Turtle Bay but renamed for the Governor's
wife, the inlet was almost circular in shape and
protected from large ocean waves by a rocky reef that
stretched along this side of the island. It  had been
regularly used since settlement. And today Scully had it
all to herself.

She had re-read the tourist literature. Until the early
20th century the bay's primary purpose was to supply
seawater for the salt distillation - an operation vital
for curing and preserving meat.

The disused structure lay 400 yards from the nearest
convict ruins in the village of Kingston, Norfolk
Island's original settlement and officially its capital.
The Governor's House built in the Regency style of the
1820s, had been magnificently restored and worked as the
island's seat of Government.

Despite the hard work of the islanders and Australian
Federal Government's funding for restoration projects,
only a quarter of the original buildings had been
restored, such as the original customs house, now museum
and the doctor's house, which had been converted into
golf club.

Most of the other buildings, including the jail and the
soldiers' barracks, which lined the waterfront next to
Emily Bay, were mere sandstone shells.

Scully felt a twinge of guilt as she lay her towel on the
sand and furtively glanced back up the road to the ruins
of Kingston and Governor's House beyond.

There was still a good three hours of day light in which
she could research infectious agents, sexually
transmitted viruses and Wendy's medical history but here
she was, in a turquoise bikini, an impulse purchase from
one of Burnt Pine's stores, walking towards to the clear
blue water.

Scully needed time to think through her viral infection
theory and try and make sense of what appeared to be a
mutation. She also needed to get away from Dr Schofield.
There was something about him she didn't like.

He was professional and courteous but whenever he stood
close, her investigator's instinct started sparking on a
subconscious level.

Although not particularly tall, he did have a strong
physical bearing. Perhaps that was it. Although well
trained, Scully knew that being unarmed against a man
several inches taller and a few stone heavier put her at
a disadvantage.

She thought about all the other times she's been put at a
disadvantage and had to rely on her partner for help.
That brought her thoughts full circle. Walking towards
the clear blue water she willed herself not to think of
Mulder at all.

Scully's stomach clenched as the cool water reached her
midriff. From there she took long, powerful strokes
towards the pontoon anchored in the middle of the bay.

Mike watched her, hidden the shadow of the trees that
stood a few metres away from the waterline. Dana Scully
was magnificent, more so than her conservative work
clothing would suggest. She was well-toned but with the
physique of a woman, not a girl. He revelled for a moment
in the throbbing arousal she stirred in him.

He had received a call from Sylvie. It was time to call a
meeting. Rob was getting twitchy after being interviewed
by Agent Mulder and his questions about Coral C. And he
wasn't happy to learn about Agent Scully's mutating virus
theories either.

While it started to explain a lot of things about Wendy's
death, they were disturbing on a number of different
levels and everyone had the right to know what they were
up against.

Something had to be done about Porter, Mulder and Scully
soon.

After one last look at the woman swimming towards the
pontoon, Mike returned to his car and drove back to town.
Murray had called some favours in, sources who were only
too happy to share the gossip about the FBI agents and
their run ins with authority and their lukewarm
reputation within the Bureau.


*****

Her stomach knotted as she watched them lean intimately
into one another, their hands clasped. She turned away
from the door and walked swiftly down the hallway knowing
that she had not been seen.

She had news to tell Mulder. Important information he had
been seeking but then this woman came giving him words he
wanted to hear and it had turned his head.

Impatiently she brushed the tears and ran a tired hand
through her red hair. Twin frissions of shame and fear overwhelmed
her.

Embarrassment that she had allowed her growing feelings
of attraction towards him turn to jealousy, humiliation
that she felt intimidated in the presence of his
'chickadee'.

Katie exited the side door and stopped, resting her cheek
against the smooth stone of the Governor's House.

A small boy about the age of 12 emerged from the gloom of
a late afternoon drizzle.

"You there," she called. "I need you to run an errand."

The boy nodded and held out his hand; profiteering
techniques were learned early in the colony. He was
rewarded with a coin.

"Do you know Captain Mulder?"

Again the boy nodded.

"Tell him Katherine has important news and she wishes to
meet him at Bloody Bridge at his earliest convenience. Be
discreet."

She ignored his knowing leer and watched him enter the
building. She turned to run towards the stone bridge that
lay to the east of the settlement.

The drizzle turned into rain and Katie sheltered under
one of the bridge's supporting arches. She was soaked
through. Shivering slightly, she clutched her grey
woollen shawl around her tightly and closed her eyes.

She opened them again with a start. The late afternoon
had turned into early evening. William placed a hand on
her arm and rubbed it, bring warmth with his touch.

"It's not wise that we're seen together Katie."

He looked at her tenderly and Katie swallowed the desire
to touch the face and caress the lips that were near
hers. Reading her eyes, he obliged by moving his body
against hers, whispering in her ear, "We are being
watched."

She allowed herself to be completely aware of him as a
man. Her nipples hardened and arousal settled at her
core. She put her arms around his back and felt evidence
of his attraction to her.

"So we should make this assignation look convincing," he
said kissing her neck. "Talk to me Katie, why am I here?"

Katie swallowed and collected her thoughts.

"I've overheard that the man you've been seeking has a
hideout, a cave somewhere in the peak. They say it is
hard to find without help."

William pulled back slightly and frowned at her. "Who
told you this?"

"As I said, I overheard it. I was cleaning the anteroom
Colonel Spender's quarters when he and his sergeant
entered," Katie's voice was swift and urgent. "They
didn't know I was there.

"They're planning a mutiny against the governor. Spender
arranged for Hawkins' escape to allow him time to win
over some of the worst brigands. I think other officers
are involved too. That's why the patrols come back with
nothing, some of them have been meeting in secret."

William looked at her thoughtfully and saw her
earnestness.

"Why have you not gone to the governor yourself?"

"I would but for his mistress - she's been keeping
company with Spender too."

The hands which had warmed her a second ago gripped tight
and pulled her out of the embrace.

"No. That cannot be true."

Katie ignored the pins and needles now coursing to her
fingers and looked at him directly, her voice firm.

"I saw her myself today Captain, leaving his chambers
before dawn."

William released her swiftly, shoving her against the
wall.

"I don't believe it Katie, I know this woman."

"Be that as it may, but she has been keeping secrets from
you."

He stepped back out from the shelter of the arch, away
from her. "Jealousy has affected your judgement."

Kate's cheeks flamed as she followed him out into the
rain. She called to his retreating back.

"It comes down to a matter of trust, I guess it always
has."


******

Coin-sized drops of cold water landed on Scully's back
bringing her out of a dream.

"You'll burn," advised Porter. "The sun's more fierce
here."

Scully mustered the energy to open her eyes and found
herself looking into a pair of intense blue ones. Jack
was treading water, resting one arm effortlessly on the
edge of the pontoon.

"I don't care," Scully murmured. "Especially considering
where I spent the summer."

Porter looked for an explanation. Despite the 80-degree
temperature Scully shivered momentarily shaking off the
memory of Antarctic snow and cryo chambers.

"Doesn't matter - long story," she dismissed.

To her relief Porter too seemed happy to leave it at
that.

"Where's Mulder?"

This time Scully was fully awake. She shifted to sit
upright and enjoyed the contrast of warm sun at her back
and the cool water as her legs dangled in the water. Jack
pulled himself up joined her on the edge of the pontoon.

Scully found herself watching the water drops fall from
his shoulders, down his chest and shimmer briefly off his
black Speedos but quickly pulled her attention back up
when Porter spoke.

"We finished interviewing Davenport, his daughter and
Warren. We didn't turn up anything new.

"Mulder was going to review case notes again and get a
start on the report."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "That's got to be a first," she
smirked.

"This case must really be bugging him, Mulder's not one
for volunteering to the do the paperwork."

Silence sat between them comfortably for several minutes.

"What was Mulder like in college?"

Jack tried to study her mood; Scully didn't give much
away. She turned her slightly pink face out to sea.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Mulder and I have been partners for six years, there are
times I feel like I know him better than I know myself.
Other times, he's a complete stranger to me.

"And this is one of those times?"

Scully didn't answer directly.

"Mulder's always been passionate, brooding, intense,
brilliant... especially about his work but I wondered
whether there was a time in his life where he... I don't
know... had any joy in his life."

Porter answered her question as honestly as he could.

"Joy? Impossible to say."

Scully turned to him, her face serious.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me, Mulder and I had fun, a lot
of laughs - but joy is another creature altogether. Joy
is self-determined.

"I do know his parents' divorce and his sister's
disappearance cut deep, though."

"How?"

"Because he never talked about it to anyone."

Scully nodded and turned contemplate the hypnotically
rhythmic roll of the small waves churning white over the
coral breakwater.

"Can I ask you a question?" Porter asked gently.

"Hmmm?" Scully turned towards him.

He leaned in for a breath of a kiss. Scully didn't pull
away. Emboldened Porter intensified the contact, moving
softly, sweetly over her salt tinged lips.

Tentatively she returned the kiss, savouring the
sensation, opening her mouth to his. Trembling awareness
of him travelled across her body and sank lower.

She was slightly breathless as the kiss ended.

"What did you want to ask?" she breathed.

"You've told me everything I needed to know."


End of part VIII

PART XI

Bloody Bridge Road
5.15pm

The shock of foot meeting pavement was a pleasurable,
primal feeling for Mulder. It was strong, regular and
tangible. He could concentrate on his heart rate and
breathing.

It was one of the few times he could exist without
thinking. Not even sleep could give him that kind of
release.

It was an apt metaphor for his life really. Just keep on
running - either towards the truth or away from those who
want to end that search.

His dreams were becoming more vivid and when they turn
into fantasies of his partner doing wonderful,
unspeakable things to him, it's time to run, put some
distance between them that makes their professional
partnership one of the longest running and most
successful in the Bureau.

It also didn't help that he'd just watched 12 of the 15
videotapes from Coral C.

Each smack of shoe on tarmac was an admonishment.

Save the sex for the anonymous models in his videos and
magazines. Save the sex for Diana because it was easy,
safe. Scully was not easy and not safe - his quest, their
work were not easy, not safe.

He wanted Scully, all of Scully - the investigator, the
doctor, the skeptic, the friend, the woman, the lover -
but he wanted too much. He tamped down those feelings.

As Mulder followed the curve of the road and its slight
incline, he felt a light shove on his right shoulder.

"You're it," Becky called before putting on an extra
spurt of speed to move ahead of him.

She turned her pony-tailed head to see if he was trying
to catch up. He wasn't, he kept his pace while frowning
curiously, so she laughed at him.

"C'mon old man!"

That stirred Mulder's competitive drive and he added to
his pace. This was a race.

Becky laughed in delight as she found Mulder catching up
to her with each of his long athletic strides. She veered
off the road, climbing a grassy knoll off to the left of
the pavement.

Her unexpected detour took Mulder by surprise for a
moment, but rapidly he had matched her direction. Becky
had cleared the top of the rise as Mulder reached it.  He
stopped.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled.

"Catch me," she called back.

Mulder shook his head and against his better judgement,
headed down the grass towards the line of trees that
followed the line of a creek.

He followed after her at full throttle. Just as his lungs
were about to burst he caught up with her.

Becky stumbled on the uneven grass. Mulder dropped to her
side concerned that she may have injured herself.

But the uneven breathing and the broken sounds were that
of laughter bubbling to the surface.

"That felt great," she gasped as she rolled up on to her
knees.

"You're a strange girl," Mulder puffed in response.

Before he knew it, her hands were on him and rubbing his
shoulders underneath the sleeveless shirt he had worn to
go jogging. The pins and needles started to radiate from
where her fingers touched skin.

The constriction in his chest came on rapidly,
exacerbated by the run.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Shhhh, just relax Mulder."

Becky moved forward and kissed him softly full on the
lips. He found himself unable to move. The kiss was
light, Mulder exhaled, unaware that he'd been holding his
breath.

She brought both hands to his face and kissed him more
fully, her tongue slid between his teeth and roughly
explored his mouth.

She felt him stiffen as he tried to resist. She moved her
hands to the hem of his shirt and ran her finger nails up
the length of his bare chest.

He groaned as the sensation went straight to his cock.
Becky pushed him on to his back and straddled him.
Fingers then caressed the bulge in his shorts and she
smiled knowingly.

"It's all right. I want you; you want me. There's nothing
wrong with that Mulder," she kissed him on the temple.

"Fox." A roll of her tongue on his ear.

"Mulder." Another kiss on the lips.

Mulder was fully erect, aided by the heat he could feel
between her legs.

"There is no right, no wrong," she went on as she removed
her tank top. Becky went braless.

"All that matters is how we feel. What are you feeling
Mulder?"

Mulder felt intoxicated as she watched her fingers leave
his chest and slowly work their way across her thighs,
her belly and up to