by shannono
shannono@iname.com
 

Story, Angst, Mulder/Scully UST/Romance

Rated PG-13

Spoilers through "The End"

***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.
The songs lyrics used in the story belong to Billy Joel.

SUMMARY: On temporary assignment to Violent Crimes following
the closure of the X-Files, Mulder and Scully are sent to
Atlanta to investigate a serial killer case which may, or
may not, involve a woman with empathic powers.

THANKS: Great big HUGE thanks go out to Lisa Reeves, who had
the misfortune <g> of volunteering to beta read this story
the Beta Readers Circle. It took her all of three paragraphs
to find what I most needed to work on, and for that I am
eternally grateful; her comments have improved *all* my
subsequent work, not just this story.

SPECIAL THANKS: To CW, for beta reading the final version on
short notice. Love ya, sis!

DEDICATION: This one's for RocketMan, for all her (yes, *her*)
wonderful work, and for her encouragement in my own endeavors.

And now ... on with the story! :)

==========

Empathic
by shannono
 

J. Edgar Hoover FBI building
Office of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner
Monday, June 22, 1998
8:34 a.m.

Skinner looked across the desktop at the two agents sitting
opposite him. These two -- and one of them in particular --
had caused the AD no small number of headaches in the four
years they had been under his supervision. They broke the
rules, circumvented procedure, and generally caused havoc
wherever they went.

And he was going to do his damnedest not to lose either of
them.

"I trust you enjoyed your ... vacations, agents?" he said,
raising an eyebrow in a move he supposed he'd picked up
from the female of the pair.

Sure enough, her brow raised in answer, and she nodded
shortly. "Yes, sir," Scully said, not even looking at her
partner, who remained silent.

Neither of them really believed Mulder had enjoyed much of
anything in the four weeks since the destruction of the
X-files office.

Once some of the shock and outrage over the fire had worn
off, Mulder and Scully had spent the better part of a week
salvaging what they could from the office. Skinner hadn't
asked what they'd done with their finds, but somehow he
doubted the most vital recovered items would remain in the
building.

And, government property or not, he didn't really care.

"Good." Skinner responded to Scully's remark with hardly a
pause. The two agents had just returned from two weeks'
vacation, a move Skinner had quietly but firmly insisted
was necessary to allow things to calm down. He knew Scully
had spent most of the time with her mother, and Mulder most
of it alone.

For some reason, he doubted they'd spent much time together,
but he idly thought he'd hate to see what their telephone
bills would look like.

Skinner folded his hands in front of him on his desk as he
dove into the main order of business for this meeting.
"Agents, for the time being, you are being assigned to the
Violent Crimes division," he said. "You will remain
partners, although this assignment is temporary and you may
be sent elsewhere at any time. You will report to ASAC
Parker at one this afternoon, after completing the required
paperwork and a few final forms from your previous
assignment."

He paused, then directed his next statement to Mulder.

"Agent Mulder, I did want to tell you that ASAC Parker is
well aware of the ... less-than-stellar reputation you've
been branded with and puts as little stock in it as I do.
He has been very impressed with your job performance and
solve rate with the X-files and is eager to have you on his
team." His eyes shifted to Scully. "And that goes for *both*
of you."

Mulder couldn't resist. "Excuse me, sir, but what rock has
Agent Parker been hiding under?" His innocent gaze was
belied by the gleam in his eye and the one quirked-up
corner of his mouth.

Skinner acknowledged the sarcastic but relatively good-
natured barb with a tilt of his head. "I know the both of
you have run into quite a bit of opposition from some of
your co-workers in the past. But Parker specifically
requested your services and had high praise for your
abilities. He knows it's been a while since either of you
worked in the Bureau mainstream, but he's not going to
allow any bullshit from his other agents. That's not to say
that you won't get any bullshit, but he's going to come down
hard on people when you do."

Skinner paused again, then went on. "As I said, this
assignment is temporary. The department is short-handed
mainly because of the standard summer vacation schedule, as
well as a resignation. I don't expect you to be needed there
longer than a month or two."

Silence fell, until Scully spoke up. "Sir, if I may ask,
what can we expect following this assignment?"

Skinner looked down at the papers on his desk and replied,
"I don't know yet, Agent Scully." He raised his eyes back
to meet hers. "But you may rest assured that I will do my
best to keep the two of you together. I don't believe the
FBI can afford to split up its most effective team, no
matter where your final assignments send you."

Scully held his gaze, then nodded once before glancing at
Mulder. The senior agent's eyes remained on Skinner, but he
didn't seem inclined to speak again.

Skinner shifted in his seat, feeling inexplicably
uncomfortable under Mulder's scrutiny. "Agent Mulder," the
AD said. "Do you have any other questions?"

Mulder shook his head slowly, still not speaking.

Skinner looked at each of the two agents, then dropped his
attention back to the papers on his desk. "Then that'll be
all, Agents," he said. "Please report to Ann in Personnel
to take care of that paperwork. Parker's expecting the both
of you in his office at one."

The two agents rose in tandem, Mulder falling in place a
step behind Scully, and they left the office.

Skinner simply watched them go.

==========

Tuesday, June 23, 1998
Farmer's Market
Decatur, Georgia
8:43 a.m.

Sarah Owens walked through the busy farmer's market, humming
softly to herself, stopping occasionally to test a melon or
scrutinize a red tomato. It was going to be a typical late
summer Southern day -- hot and humid, chance of afternoon
thunderstorms -- and Sarah had decided to get her shopping
done early so she could retreat to her cool apartment during
the heat of the day.

She was just turning away from another stand when she bumped
into someone. In a split second, she registered that it was
a man, just a couple of inches taller than her, with graying
hair and a thin build. He was wearing a business suit and
carried a basket brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables.

She looked up at him, an apology on her lips, when the
thoughts fell like a landslide:

<<He holds her, face down, pressing her bound arms into her
bare back, as whimpers leak past the duct tape crisscrossed
over her mouth. He draws the knife across her neck, then
pauses to cut off a piece of her long, blond hair before
throwing her limp body to the ground ...>>

Sarah drew in her breath sharply, her heart pounding, as she
stared after the man, who was already striding away from her
through the crowd. Other thoughts, similar but somehow
fainter, branded themselves onto her memory, and the basket
she held slowly began to slip from her suddenly nerveless
fingers.

A single tomato rolled across the aisle as she turned and
fled.

==========

Atlanta Police Headquarters
Atlanta, Georgia
10:05 a.m.

Detective Carl Robitz, a tall, thickly-built man with
thinning brown hair, strode down the hall at police
headquarters, aiming for the interrogation room at the
far end. As he approached, his partner, Karen Brochnard,
emerged, closing the door behind her. She was several inches
shorter than him, slender, with a muscular build
and close-cropped ash blonde hair.

Robitz stopped before her, planting his hands on his hips.
"So what've we got?" he asked.

"Her name's Sarah Owens," Brochnard said, turning from the
door and walking a few feet to one side. "She claims to know
the identity of the killer."

Robitz raised his eyebrows, "You mean the 'Haircut Slasher?'"
he said sarcastically, referring to the name the local media
had given the serial killer.

"Yeah, but that's not the best part," Brochnard said. "She
says she knows because she ran into him at the farmer's
market ... and she read his mind."

Robitz snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, boy, a live one,
huh?"

Brochnard smiled. "Sure looks that way," she said. "But she
does know several details about the killings that haven't
been made public. So the question is, do we book her now or
wait for the FBI's finest to get here?"

"You talking about us?" Robitz and Brochnard turned to face
two men in dark suits, wearing visitors badges. The men
removed and flashed their FBI badges as they approached --
Agents Wilson and Montrez.

"Good to meet you, guys," Robitz said. "But we may have had
a break in the case."

"What's up?" Wilson asked

"Well, we've got a woman who says she knows who the killer
is," Robitz said. "The kicker is, she claims she knows
because she ... *saw* what he was thinking."

"She says she's an empath," Brochnard added.

The two agents exchanged a long glance, then Montrez spoke.
"I think there's someone else you should talk to," he said.

==========

Downtown Atlanta
6:33 p.m.

Inside yet another Ford Taurus, Mulder and Scully sat in
silence as he negotiated the busy streets, his long fingers
absently drumming the steering wheel.

The pair had barely had time to settle into their new desks,
side-by-side in the VC bullpen, when Parker had called them
back into his office with this assignment. Apparently, the
Atlanta field office hadn't heard about the latest X-files
shutdown, and they had called Skinner's office to request
Mulder and Scully's help with the case. The AD had then
passed the request down to Parker, who was happy to let the
partners handle the job.

Skinner had been true to his word about their new boss. ASAC
Parker had nothing but praise for the both of them and seemed
truly eager to have them working for him, even temporarily.
Mulder had relaxed a bit during the agents' first meeting with
Parker and had been acting more like his old self -- a fact
which relieved Scully greatly.

And so far, the case seemed like old times. The two agents
had been around and around about the facts already, during
the flight from Washington. He thought Sarah Owens could be
telling the truth, and she thought the woman had to be the
killer.

"She's too small, Scully," Mulder had insisted. "Five nine,
160 -- the forensic evidence indicated someone at least two
inches and thirty pounds heavier, probably bigger than that."

"The file says five-nine to six-one, 160 to 200 pounds,"
Scully countered. "She's at the low end, but she's within the
range. Besides, there's no other way for her to know about
the way he tied them with duct tape. That hasn't been made
public."

"Unless she could read his mind, Scully," Mulder shot back,
garnering a glare from his partner.

Now, several hours later, neither of them saw any use in
arguing about it any more until they had the whole story. So
they barely spoke during the drive from the airport, until
Mulder pulled up in front of police headquarters.

The agents stepped from the pleasantly cool car into what
could only be described as a steam bath. Heat waves shimmered
off the pavement as they headed inside through the sticky
air.

Mulder pulled at his collar as they walked. "I guess this is
what they mean by, 'it's not the heat, it's the humidity,'"
he said wryly.

Scully's mouth pulled up at one corner. "Actually, in this
case, I think it's the heat, too," she said. "It's probably
still around 95 degrees, and all this pavement and concrete
just makes it worse."

Mulder shook his head as he reached to pull the door open.
"I don't think I could live here," he said. "I'd never get
used to it."

Scully looked at him sideways as she walked through the door.
"Why do you think they invented air conditioning?" she asked.

==========

Atlanta Police Headquarters
6:40 p.m.

Mulder and Scully walked down the hall toward the
interrogation room, visitor's badges clipped to their
jackets, and stopped as they approached the two detectives
and two agents standing outside the door. Mulder nodded at
Wilson and Montrez, then looked at the detectives and said,
"Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI, and this is my partner,
Special Agent Dana Scully."

"Detective Carl Robitz," Robitz introduced himself, reaching
to shake their hands. "And my partner, Detective Karen
Brochnard," he added, as she stepped forward and shook hands
as well.

Montrez spoke next. "I told the detectives you two should
probably be in on this," he said. "This woman may be a
loony, but it sounded right up your alley."

Mulder ignored the look Scully shot his way and turned to
the detectives. "You've questioned her?" he asked.

Brochnard nodded. "Yes. She told us she ran into some guy
at the farmer's market and ... saw him killing a woman."

"*Saw*," Scully repeated. "You mean, in person?"

"No," Robitz put in. "In her mind."

Scully fought to keep from rolling her eyes and turned to
Mulder. "Why don't you talk to her, Mulder, and I'll take a
look at the case file and autopsy reports so we can tell if
the stories match," she said.

"Good idea," Mulder said, a determined and fascinated look
playing across his face as he turned toward the door.

==========

Interrogation room
Atlanta Police Headquarters
7:01 p.m.
 
Mulder stepped into the bare interrogation room to see a
young, generally nondescript, yet still attractive brunette
woman sitting alone at a beat-up table in the center of the
floor. She held a Styrofoam cup, and Mulder could see it was
still nearly full of black coffee.

The woman looked up as he entered, a quizzical expression on
her pale face, and Mulder was startled at the bright green
eyes which met his. He stepped towards her, reaching for the
back of the empty chair at the end of the table. "Agent
Mulder, FBI," he said by way of introduction. "I'm here to
ask you a few questions."

She paused, then nodded and set down her cup, wrapping her
hands around it and staring at it as if it held all the
answers. "They think I did it, don't they?" she asked in a
flat voice.

Mulder smoothed down his purple-and-blue paisley tie as he
pulled out the chair and sat, folding his hands in front of
him on the table. "I'm not here to wrench a confession out
of you, if that's what you think," he said, smiling to
reassure her. "I just want to hear your story."

She looked up at him for a long moment, then sighed, closing
her eyes for a moment before returning to her contemplation
of her coffee. "All right," she said. "I was at the farmer's
market over in Decatur this morning, just doing some shopping.
I turned around and ran into a man ... and all of a sudden I
saw him, holding a woman down ..." she trailed off, fear in
her voice.

Mulder leaned forward. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "Go
on."

She glanced up, then back down, and swallowed. In a shaky
voice, she said, "Her hands were tied behind her back
with ... something. I couldn't tell what. She had duct tape
over her mouth. He had a knife ... and he cut her throat."
She paused again, then went on: "Then he cut off a piece of
her hair and left."

Mulder looked at her for a long moment, then asked, "How did
you see this?"

She looked at him again, then dropped her eyes to the table
as she released her stranglehold on the coffee cup. "I just
saw it, in my head, like a memory," she said, lowering one
hand to her lap and leaving the other on the table beside
the cup. "I've always been able to do that, to see other
people's thoughts -- or really, their memories. I just have
to touch them."

Mulder sat back in his chair, still studying her, then asked,
"Do you always see things, or can you control it?"

She looked up. "I can control it, sometimes," she said
uncertainly, shrugging. "It's usually the strongest feelings
or the most vivid memories I see clearly. Everything else is
just a jumble, unless I really concentrate."

He leaned forward again, sliding his hand across the table
toward her. "So if you touch my hand, you can tell me what
I'm thinking."

She still looked uneasy, as if she wasn't sure if he believed
her or was baiting her, and wouldn't quite meet his gaze.
"No," she said. "I would probably see something from your
memories, something you remember very well. Or something you
feel very strongly about. What you feel, not what you think.
I'm empathic, not telepathic."

He chuckled. "Well, my memory is near photographic," he said,
finally succeeding in capturing her eyes with his again.
"What would you see then?"

"Probably a jumble, mostly," she said, then pulled back in
her seat. "Why are you asking me all this?" she said. "I know
you don't believe me. Nobody ever believes me."

He reached across the table and grasped her hand before she
could react. "But I do believe you, or at least I *feel* I
do," he said. "Can't you tell that?"

She froze, then slowly drew her hand back and dropped it
into her lap with the other. "Yes," she said, her voice
sounding faint and far away.

He waited for her to say more, but she when she didn't, he
asked, "Is that all you saw?"

"I saw ..." she said, pausing, then seeming to gather herself
before she continued. "I saw a lot of things," she said, her
eyes directed toward a corner of the table but moving back
and forth rapidly as she spoke. "Strange things. It was all
mixed up, like I said it might be, but I saw a ... a pile of
bodies ... strange bodies, like something was wrong with
them." Her voice was shaky as she went on. "I saw a tank full
of ... green water ... and a bright light ... and you, with a
gun, and ..." Her voice trailed off as her brow furrowed, and
then her head suddenly snapped up and her eyes, now a much
darker shade of green, locked back on his. "You're him,
aren't you?" she asked with wonder in her voice, as a
questioning look crossed his face. "You're that guy who
found all those killers. The one they called Spooky."

Mulder didn't move, and barely breathed. "How did you know?"
he said softly.

She looked down at her lap again, dropping her head so that
her hair formed a curtain across her face. "My cousin's
college roommate went to the FBI academy for a while," she
said in a low voice. "He told us these stories he'd heard
about an agent who profiled serial killers and was almost
always right -- so right it was spooky, he said. He said the
guy was the best, but he started working on all these weird
cases ..." Her voice trailed off again, and she looked back
at him from behind her hair. "And that's why you're here,
isn't it? Because this is ... because *I'm* a weird case."

Mulder sat back, stunned despite himself. "You saw that when
I touched you?" he asked incredulously.

She closed her eyes, then exhaled shakily and shrugged. "I
saw your most vivid memories," she said, returning her gaze
to her coffee cup. "You were right; you do have a lot of
strong memories. Most of them were strange ... things I've
never seen before." She looked at him again. "It just made
sense that you must be that guy he was talking about."

Mulder nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as
he held her gaze. Then he leaned toward her again, placing
his hands side-by-side, flat on the table in front of him.
"You said you could see memories *and* feelings," he said.

She looked away and reached for her cup, nodding as she took
another swallow of the by-now cold coffee. "Yes," she said,
her voice a little stronger. "Sometimes, if they're very
strong feelings. It usually takes a little more effort." Her
eyes returned to his, before flicking away again. "And
sometimes, very strong feelings can come through like
memories."

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Well, for instance, if you had a strong fear about something
happening to you, or even to someone else, something you'd
thought about or imagined a lot, it might ... project as
clearly as a real memory," she said. "It's rare, but it can
happen."

He moved one of his hands toward her. "Can you tell me my
strongest feelings?" he asked.

She looked at him again, then replaced her cup on the table.
She hesitated, then stretched her hand out and, closing her
eyes, laid it on his. He watched her face as her eyes moved
behind her eyelids; then, she gasped, and her eyes flew open
as she pulled her hand away.

"What?" he asked.

"I saw ... you were in pain," she said in a faraway voice.
"But not physically. You were hurting ... inside." She
shifted in her seat, then went on: "You were walking into a
room, a dark room, with a bed in it ... there was a woman in
the bed." She furrowed her brow slightly. "It was dark, but
it looked like a hospital room. You went to the bed and bent
down ..." She inhaled convulsively. "You were crying," she
said.

Mulder started to speak, then thought better, waiting for her
to continue.

"It was so strong," she said. "The memory, and the
feeling ..." Her voice trailed off, and then her eyes shot
up to his as a startled look crossed her face, and she said:

"You love her, don't you?"

==========

Homicide Department
Atlanta Police Headquarters
7:21 p.m.

Scully sat on the edge of a chair next to Detective
Brochnard's desk, which was situated along one wall of a
long, narrow room filled with similar workstations. The
detective herself sat behind the desk, her pen scratching
across paper as she filled out forms while waiting for Scully
to finish.

Scully's glasses were perched on her nose as she leafed
through the case files. Four murders, all women, all blondes,
all by the same method, all tied with a specific brand of
duct tape, similar autopsy reports -- and, of course, all
with the signature mark of a missing lock of hair.

She sighed as she closed the last file and removed her
glasses, looking up at Brochnard. "Well, it looks like a cut-
and-dried serial murder case," she said. "Have there been any
suspects so far?"

Brochnard looked up, laying down her pen as she shook her
head. "Not a one -- at least not until today," she said.
"It's obvious it's the same guy -- uh, person -- though. The
pattern of the tape used to tie the victims, the way they
were dressed -- those weren't released to the media, so it's
unlikely we're dealing with a copycat."

Scully nodded. "And this woman, Sarah Owens?"

Brochnard sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on
the desk. "It's the weirdest thing," she said. "She just
walked up to the front desk this morning and told the
sergeant on duty she knew who the 'Haircut Slasher' was."
Brochnard paused, then said ruefully, "That's what the
media's calling him now, anyway, much as we hate it."

"Does she have an alibi for the killings?" Scully asked.

"We don't know yet," Brochnard said. "We only questioned her
briefly before Agents Wilson and Montrez arrived. As soon as
we told them her story, they recommended you and your
partner."

Resisting yet again the urge to roll her eyes, Scully exhaled
and stood. "Well, I guess I'd better go have a chat with that
partner of mine," she said. "What do you plan to do with Ms.
Owens?"

Brochnard considered. "Well, we can hold her at least
overnight without filing formal charges, since she came in of
her own free will," she said. "That'll give us a chance to
question her further and check her alibi. And *that* may give
us enough evidence to charge her."

Scully nodded and turned to go. "Oh, Agent Scully?" Brochnard
said, and Scully turned back. Brochnard smiled and said,
"Good luck with your partner."

Scully tamped down a flash of jealousy, and smiled shortly
before leaving.

==========

Interrogation room
7:23 p.m.

Mulder sat frozen in his chair, staring at the woman across
from him. The impact of her words, softly spoken, had hit
harder than a sledge hammer against his forehead. When he
found his voice, he managed, "What did you say?"

She looked at him as a tear ran down her face. "I can feel
it," she said softly. "You're in love with her. She's your
best friend, your ..." She drew in her breath sharply, her
pale face growing whiter. "Your *partner*. Oh, Agent Mulder,
I'm sorry. I didn't realize ..."

Mulder cut her off. "It's okay." He leaned back, then ran his
hand through his hair and down his face. "Listen," he said.
"When my partner -- Agent Scully -- gets here, let me tell
her about our conversation."

She nodded. "Don't worry, Agent Mulder," she said. "I would
never say anything to her. I know how ... delicate the
situation must be."
 
He held her gaze, nodded, than allowed a small smile to creep
across his face. "Actually," he said, "it feels kind of good
to let someone else know."

She returned the smile briefly, and he stood to leave the
room.

==========

Hall outside interrogation room
7:31 p.m.

Mulder had hoped for a few minutes to calm himself before
facing Scully, but he saw her walking toward him as he
stepped into the hall and had to settle for one deep breath.
He smiled slightly as she approached, and she stopped next to
him, looking toward the interrogation room.

"How'd it go?" she asked briskly.

He hesitated, then said, "Before you say anything, Scully,
just hear me out." She shot him her best "I-can't-believe-
you're-buying-this" look, and he held up a hand to ward her
off. "I know you won't believe it, but I'm going to tell you
anyway. I think she's telling the truth."

She sighed. "Mulder ..."

"Now, I said hear me out," he interrupted. "She says she's an
empath, that she can read other people's strongest feelings
and memories. She told me things about me, about my work --
just by touching my hand."

Scully looked at him. "*Things*?" she prompted, the word
edged with mild sarcasm.

"Things," Mulder repeated. "She talked about the bodies I
found in that boxcar in New Mexico. She saw the things I've
seen, things she didn't understand." He reached out to touch
her arm. "And she told me ... she saw you, when you were in
the hospital."

Scully started at his words. "Me?" she asked. "How do you
know she saw me? She's never seen me before."

"She said it was my partner, Scully," he said. "You were in a
hospital bed, and I was visiting you. She had it just right.
It was  when you were in the hospital right before your
cancer went into remission, and I went to see you in the
middle of the night, the night I was offered the deal I told
you about."

Scully stared at him, then crossed her arms in front of her
and looked down. "So you believe her story," she said, the
words a statement rather than a question.

"Yes," he said. "We've seen this before, Scully, not that
long ago. You proved it yourself." He stopped himself, then
placed one hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him.
"Just talk to her, Scully. Let her touch your hand, and
she'll prove it to you."

She held his gaze a few moments, then moved away. "I'll talk
to her," she said. "But I don't think it'll do any good."

==========

Interrogation room
7:40 p.m.

Scully pushed open the door and walked in, Mulder close
behind her. "Ms. Owens?" Scully asked softly, and the woman
looked up at her, then smiled slightly.

"Agent Scully," she said. "It's good to see you. I want to
tell you I'm happy for you."

Scully heard Mulder's intake of breath but ignored it,
stepping forward. "Happy for me?" she said. "Why?"

Sarah shrugged slightly. "I'm glad your cancer's in
remission," she said, glancing at Mulder. "I saw it, when I
saw his memories."

Scully shot a glance at Mulder, then lowered herself into the
chair he had been using. "Ms. Owens ..." she started.

"Please, call me Sarah."

"All right, then, Sarah," Scully said. "My partner tells me
you claim to have ... read the memories of the so-called
'Haircut Slasher'?"

Sarah withdrew visibly at the question. "Yes," she said
faintly.

Scully looked at her. "I must tell you, Sarah, that I am not
normally prone to believe the things my partner does. But he
has asked me to give you a chance, so I will." She placed her
hand on the table. "Can you read me?"

Sarah studied Scully's face for a moment, then slowly
extended her hand, placing it over Scully's on the table. Her
eyes slowly closed and her brow furrowed in concentration,
and she said, "This is harder."

Scully shot Mulder another look, then looked back at Sarah as
the woman spoke again. "Your memories are strong, but it's
like they're covered by a veil," she said. "I can see some
images, some of the same things I saw before ... strange
things ... a bright light, a man in a white uniform ... a
woman in a bed ..." She paused, concentrating. "*You* in a
bed, a hospital bed." She stopped again.

Scully started to speak. "Sarah ..."

But then Mulder stepped forward and placed his hand on
Scully's shoulder, and Sarah drew in her breath again as they
all three saw:

<<They are standing close together, her arms around his waist,
his around her shoulders, her face buried against his chest.
He bends to kiss the top of her head, and they slowly pull
apart. He moves his hands to the sides of her face, she lifts
her hand to the back of his head, they move together -- and
their lips meet, slowly, lingering, exploring ...>>

Scully snatched her hand away, her breathing ragged, and
Sarah jumped, her eyes flying open and her mouth forming
into a small "O." Mulder took a step back, his hand sliding
off Scully's shoulder, and no one moved again for a few long
moments.

Then Sarah spoke, her voice shaky. "That's never happened
before," she said, a note of wonder in her voice. "And it
wasn't a memory, either." Her eyes flicked back and forth
between them. "You saw it, didn't you? Both of you?"

Mulder nodded, then glanced at Scully, whose eyes were wide
and still locked on Sarah. Scully nodded slowly, then looked
down at her hands where they lay in her lap.

Sarah went on, her voice still sounding far away: "I've heard
of that before, where unusually strong feelings reinforce
each other, so that others can see what they usually can't.
Since I found I had this ... talent, I've done some research,
and some of the sources say it can happen." As she spoke, she
watched Mulder and Scully, who were carefully avoiding eye
contact. Sarah paused, then said gently, "I'm sorry. I know
you weren't expecting that. I really didn't know it would
happen."

Scully found her voice first. "It's all right," she said, her
voice low and flat. "It's not your fault."

An uncomfortable silence took over, until finally Mulder felt
compelled to speak. "Sarah," he started, his voice shaky. He
paused, then continued, stronger this time. "Sarah, have you
given a description of the man you bumped into?"

She looked at him, then shook her head.

He moved toward the door. "I'm going to find the detectives,
and we'll get you some help coming up with a composite,
okay?"

She nodded again, her gaze shifting to fall on Scully. His
eyes followed hers, lingering on his partner, and then he
turned and left the room.

==========

After he left, Sarah continued to watch Scully for a minute
before speaking. "You didn't know how he felt, did you?" she
asked.

Scully lifted her head slowly, the shock of the vision
rendering her unable to completely cover her emotions. Her
eyes glistened with unshed tears as she shook her head
slightly in response to Sarah's question. "I knew he cared,
but something so strong ..." she said, her voice breaking a
bit. "I didn't know. But I hoped ..."

Sarah reached out her hand again. Scully hesitated, then
slowly lifted hers, placing it in Sarah's. Sarah smiled. "I
can see you now," she said. "You were holding back before,
trying to keep me from seeing. But I can see your memories,
your feelings, and he's in them all."

As a tear slid down her cheek, Scully could only smile.

==========

Homicide Department
Atlanta Police Headquarters
8:14 p.m.

Mulder walked much more slowly than usual, his excellent
memory replaying the scene in the interrogation room over and
over. The scene, and the "vision" they had all seen ...

He shook his head to dispel the thought and approached
Detective Brochnard's desk, where she sat filling out a form.
She looked up as he approached and smiled. "Any luck?" she
asked.

<If you only knew,> he thought. "Actually, it went pretty
well," he said. <Now *there's* an understatement.> "I wanted
to see if we could get a composite sketch from her of the man
she bumped into."

Brochnard raised her eyebrows. "Does that mean you buy her
story?" she asked.

He gave a half-smile and answered in his most solicitous
tone. "Not necessarily. I just think it would be best to
follow up on every lead, don't you?"

She held his look, then shrugged. "Sure," she said, reaching
for the phone. "I'll get someone down there right away."

==========

Hall outside interrogation room
8:27 p.m.

Scully stepped back into the hall, her mind still racing over
the events of the past hour. She knew she couldn't deny what
she'd seen, what her and Mulder's feelings had revealed, even
though her rational mind didn't want to let her believe it.

She waited in the hall, oblivious to the other people walking
by, her eyes focused along a crack in the gray paint on the
wall. Then she heard familiar footsteps and turned to face
him. His eyes were intense on her as he approached, but a wry
half-smile played along his lips. She watched, fascinated,
but then caught herself, pulling her usual professional
demeanor down over her face.

He slowed and stopped close to her, leaning down toward her
ear to talk, as he normally did. "Detective Brochnard's
sending over someone to do a composite," he said, his eyes
dancing back and forth from her face to an indiscriminate
point in the air as he spoke. "She said they're going to hold
Sarah overnight anyway, so why don't we get out of here and
start fresh in the morning?"

Scully looked at him coolly. "Sure," she said, and turned to
head for the front entrance.

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Scully ..." he
started, catching her eyes with his.

"Mulder," she interrupted, lowering her gaze, then squaring
her shoulders as if to gather her strength before lifting her
eyes back to his. "I'm tired and hungry. It's been a long
day. I don't want to argue, so let's just get some sleep and
we can talk tomorrow."

He paused, then curved his mouth in another wry grin as he
released her arm. "'After all,'" he drawled, moving his hand
to the small of her back to lead her out, "'tomorrow is
another day.'"

==========

Hyatt Regency
265 Peachtree Street NE
Downtown Atlanta
9:21 p.m.

Mulder pulled the Taurus under the canopy in front of the
hotel, then looked at Scully and smiled at the surprise on
her face. "A little better than our usual accommodations,
isn't it?" he asked jokingly.

She nearly jumped at his voice, then looked at him and
rewarded him with a brilliant smile. "Why, Mulder," she said
lightly. "Did the Bureau lose its collective mind, or did you
just decide to splurge?"

Mulder chuckled. "Actually, it's a matter of who had rooms
available," he said. "There are several conventions in town,
not to mention a pretty big Braves-Yankees series coming up,
so space was a little hard to come by. Skinner had his
assistant make some calls after he talked to Carter, and he
caught me just as I left my apartment and told me we had
reservations here."

Scully was amazed. She looked out at the luxurious entrance
to the hotel, her face lit brighter than the lights shining
from the entry. "Wow, I don't know if I'll remember how to
act in a place like this," she said teasingly. "And does this
mean you're planning to run down a scalper and sneak off to
the ballpark while we're here?"

"Only if our 'Haircut Slasher' turns himself in before
tomorrow night's game," Mulder replied dryly as he exited the
car.

Scully followed suit, but Mulder beat her to the back of the
car and already had both their bags unloaded and piled on a
cart offered by a hotel employee by the time she stopped
beside him. Mulder placed a hand in the middle of Scully's
back and said, in the solicitous tone he used specifially to
irk her, "Why don't you go get us checked in while I take
the car down to the parking garage?"

But Scully refused to be baited this time. "That's a
wonderful idea," she said sweetly, flashing a blinding smile
belied by the gleam in her eyes. "That way, I can be sure
your room is as far as possible *away* from mine!"

Mulder's jaw dropped in mock horror. "But, Scully," he
whined. "How can I rescue you from the bogeyman if I have to
run across the hotel in my jammies?"

She couldn't let that one slide and punched him lightly --
well, somewhat lightly -- in the arm. "I can take care of
myself, and don't you forget it!" she responded, before
turning on her heel and stalking into the hotel, the bellman
following in her wake.

Mulder turned to watch her go, shoving his hands into his
pockets. A small smile still played along his lips. Boy, he
loved it when she got in that kind of mood. And she sure
could dish it out when she wanted to!

Shaking himself away from his thoughts, he walked back
around the car and climbed in, headed around the building
and into the garage. He started to climb out, then stopped
and reached back in to grab the fast food bag holding the sub
sandwiches they'd picked up on the way to the hotel.

Leaving the car with the attendant, Mulder took the elevator
back up to the lobby. He stepped to his left out of the
elevator, then stopped in surprise and allowed his eyes to
travel up, taking in the impressive sight of the hotel's
atrium.

The lobby was open all the way up, some 70 floors, with the
four glass elevators rising at one side and a cozy restaurant
nestled at the other. Greenery sprouted from planters
throughout the huge room, as well as on each balcony above.
Soft music played in the background.
 
"Classy," Mulder murmured to himself, impressed at the
unaccustomed luxury.

Turning around, he spotted Scully at the reservations
counter. A bellman waited beside their luggage cart as she
flashed a smile at the young man behind the counter, who gave
the impression from his own bright smile and quick, precise
movements that he was practically jumping out of his shoes
to be of service to her.

Mulder shook his head slightly, smiling himself, then walked
over to stand behind her, placing his hand on her back again.
She looked up at him, and he asked, "Are we all checked in?"

She offered that syrupy-sweet smile again and said, "Yes, and
wouldn't you know it, all they had were adjoining rooms?"
Sarcasm fairly dripped from her voice, and she went on,
"Believe me, I tried getting as far away from you as I
could, but ..."

"I am so sorry, ma'am," the desk clerk said, looking a bit
confused. "I thought you had requested adjoining rooms, but
I can try to find something else --"

"No, this is fine," Mulder interrupted, reaching for the key
cards on the counter. "Just a little private joke."

Scully shot him another look. "Speak for yourself," she said,
spinning on one heel again and heading for the elevators.
This time, both Mulder and the bellman were left to follow
her, both secretly admiring the bundle of fire encased in the
carefully tailored conservative pantsuit.

==========

Room 942
Hyatt Regency
9:52 p.m.

Scully and Mulder came to a halt before the door, and he slid
her room key card into the slot and pushed the door open. The
bellman followed, Scully pointing out which cases were hers
as Mulder sized up the room. <Definitely worth the extra
expense,> he thought, then paused to extract her sandwich
from the bag he still held and place it on the dresser.

He started out, but stopped again to unlock the adjoining
door. He shot a quirky smile at Scully, said, "Don't worry;
I'll knock," then slipped out, the bellman following.

Scully kicked off her heels and peeled off her jacket before
sitting on the side of one bed, planting her elbows on her
knees and vigorously rubbing her temples. This had been a
long day, with Skinner's call coming just before noon, a
three o'clock flight, and the *fun* of negotiating through
two of the busiest airports in the world. Not to mention
arguing with Mulder for most of the flight itself -- and
then that scene in the interrogation room.

She closed her eyes against the memory, but that somehow
served to reinforce the image branded on her mind. The
picture was familiar to her, so similar to their comforting
embrace in the hospital hallway in Allentown, just after
Penny Northern's death. She had felt an urge to kiss him
then but had pushed the idea aside, chalking it up to her
weakened physical and emotional state.

In this vision, though, they were equals, both knowing
exactly what they were doing as they embraced and kissed.
She knew she cared about him, and she'd thought about the
possibility of a romantic relationship with him from time
to time -- even more so since the fire that destroyed the
X-files office. It was perfectly natural; he was extremely
attractive, of course, and they had been working very closely
together for a long time. She knew she could trust him, and
she knew she was the only person he trusted completely --
with the possible exception of her mother.

But even after everything that had happened to them and
between them, she had never really analyzed their relationship,
which, she realized, was unusual for her.

Why had she been avoiding it?

She sighed, pushing the train of thought away for the moment
and standing to gather her supplies for a bath, intending to
enjoy the luxury she was so unused to. She thought back to
Mulder's earlier Scarlett O'Hara quote and smiled before
muttering to herself, "I'll think about it tomorrow ..."

==========

Room 944
Hyatt Regency
9:54 p.m.

Mulder entered his own room, tipped the bellman, then yanked
off his tie and jacket as he unlocked his side of the
adjoining door. He paused for a moment, considered knocking,
but then decided to let her be for now.

He took a look around his room, impressed at the posh, nicely
color-coordinated furnishings. "*Definitely* worth the
price," he said out loud, knowing how much Scully would enjoy
their stay.

He, however, didn't alter his standard hotel activities.
Kicking off his shoes, he flopped onto the empty bed, grabbed
for the remote, and started his almost ritualistic channel
surfing as his mind turned back to the day's events.

He knew Scully hadn't believed Sarah Owens' story from the
start. Despite their encounter with Gibson Praise, this just
wasn't the kind of thing she could believe without hard
evidence. And when Sarah had first tried to "read" Scully,
she said she had trouble, and Scully felt vindicated.

But then he'd placed his hand on Scully's shoulder, and
they'd seen that vision. According to what Sarah had said,
that meant his feelings had been reinforced by Scully's
feelings and created the image that appeared.

Which meant she must feel the same way he did.

He blew out his breath, left the TV on a blaring rock video
station, and vaulted out of the bed, reaching for his laptop
and his sandwich. He plugged the computer in at business desk
on one side of the room, started the computer booting up, and
got ready to start typing up notes on the case as he ate.
Anything to keep his mind off Scully ...

==========

Room 942
1:29 a.m

Scully awoke with a start, her hand reaching automatically
for her weapon where it sat on the bedside table. But she
stopped when she heard Mulder's voice in the dark: "It's
okay, Scully, it's me. Sorry to wake you."

Scully relaxed, then pushed up on one elbow. "Mulder, what
are you doing?" she asked sleepily.

He chuckled, and she felt his weight lowering onto the foot
of the bed. "Would you believe I needed to borrow a dollar
for the snack machine?"

"No," she replied immediately. "And why aren't you sleeping?"

"Me?" he asked. "Sleep? Since when do I sleep?"

She groaned softly. "Mulder ..."

"Okay, okay," he said. "I couldn't get to sleep, as usual,
and I was typing up some notes when I realized you had our
copy of the autopsy reports. I thought I could sneak in here
and get it without bothering you, but I managed to bump into
the desk just loud enough to wake you up."

"I'll get it for you," Scully said, sitting up and reaching
for the light. But Mulder was there in an instant, grabbing
her hand.

"Leave the light off," he whispered, and she turned to find
his face inches from hers, a darkness against the dim light
from the window. She felt his breath on her cheek and
shivered involuntarily.

"Mulder ..." she started, but he put a finger to her lips.

"Shh," he said, then moved his hand to cup her cheek, his
thumb brushing her cheekbone. "I'm not up to anything. I
just ..."

She waited, but he didn't go on, and she felt him pull away,
the mattress lifting as he stood up. He stayed there for a
long moment, but before she could speak, he was gone.

She sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what had just
happened, and realized her heart was racing and she was
trembling. She took several deep breaths, making a conscious
effort to calm herself, and then slowly slid back under the
covers and nestled into the pillow. She felt hollow, as if
a chasm had opened deep within her, leaving her incomplete.

Sleep was a long time coming.

==========

Room 944
1:34 a.m.

Mulder found himself nearly gasping for air as he returned
to his room. He didn't quite know what had happened next
door, but it had left him a wreck. He'd barely touched her,
but that brief contact had thrown him back into the vision
from earlier. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to
pull away from her and leave, before he did something rash.

Something they'd both regret in the morning.

He glanced down at his hand and realized he was crushing the
autopsy report he'd gone next door to retrieve. Dropping it
on the dresser, he looked toward the bed, needing to sleep
but knowing there'd be no rest tonight.

Instead, he quickly changed into running gear, strapped on
his holster, grabbed his wallet and room key, and headed out
for a run.

A long run.

==========

Hyatt Regency
Room 942
Wednesday, June 24, 1998
6:48 a.m.

The phone jangled next to Scully's head, and she debated
between reaching for it, or for her service weapon, to blow
the blasted thing to kingdom come.

Only the thought of the paperwork that would have to be filled
out prevented the gun from winning.

She grabbed for the phone. "Hello?" she said groggily.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Mulder said. "You got an early
morning autopsy."

"What?" she said, blinking several times to clear her vision so
she could read the clock on the bedside table.

"There was another murder last night," Mulder said. "While
Sarah Owens was in custody. Looks like she's in the clear."

"Maybe," Scully said. "Unless it's a copycat." She stifled a
yawn as she sat up, throwing the covers off. "Where are you?"

"Still next door," he said. "Listen, you jump in the shower,
and I'll run out and grab us some breakfast. There's a
McDonald's right down the street."

Scully groaned inwardly. Living in luxury, and he still wanted
fast food. Then, briefly, she wondered how he knew the
restaurant was there.

Out loud, she said, "Real healthy, Mulder."

"I'll get you a fat-free muffin and skim milk with your coffee.
'Kay?"

"Okay, Mulder. See you in a bit."

She hung up, then stood and started gathering clothes and
makeup to get ready.

==========

Room 944
7:30 a.m.

Mulder let himself back into his room, balancing a cup holder
and large fast food bag against his chest. He threw the key on
the desk and set down the food, then walked over to the
adjoining room door and knocked. "Come in," he heard, so he
did.

Scully was in front of the mirror, finishing her makeup,
wearing slacks, a blouse and hose, but no jacket or shoes.
Mulder leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over
his chest, with a bemused smile playing along his lips.
"Breakfast?" he asked.

Scully flashed him a half-grin. "Yum," she said, tossing down
the mascara in her hand. "I'm starved. Lead the way."

Mulder backed into his room, flourishing his arm, and Scully
followed his motions to the desk. She peered into the bag,
extracting the muffin and carton of milk, then moved around
the desk and settled into the chair. Mulder was a step behind
her, pulling out his own breakfast platter and orange juice.
They each took a cup of coffee, then ate in silence, Mulder
perched on the end of the bed.

Scully finished first and watched him eat for a few moments,
then shook her head. "No wonder you're always running," she
said. "You eat more artery-clogging food than any sane
individual should."

Mulder laughed through a mouthful of sausage, swallowed, then
said, "Is that a comment on my eating habits or my state of
mind?"

"Both," she replied, then paused and asked, "I'm curious. How
did you know where the restaurant was?"

Mulder looked up, a bit sheepishly. "Went for a run last
night," he mumbled. Then, in a more teasing tone, "That way,
I could afford a greasy breakfast!"

Scully raised one eyebrow, then stood and started back for
her room. "So when are we supposed to be where?"

Mulder glanced at the clock. "Anytime after eight, back at
police headquarters," he said. "I asked Detective Brochnard
to let you do the autopsy, and she agreed. She said to meet
her at her desk, and she'd take us to the medical examiner's
office."

Scully stopped in the doorway. "Give me about 10 minutes, and
I'll be ready to go," she said.

"Sure thing."

==========

Autopsy room
Fulton County Medical Examiner's office
8:42 a.m.

" ... subject shows no signs of extended exposure to the
elements. Apparent cause of death is hypovelemic shock, due
to loss of blood from the cut at the base of the neck. Also
evident are bruises and marks on the face, wrists and ankles,
most likely from the duct tape used to bind the victim. The
other main characteristic mark is an inch-wide, close cropped
section of hair at the back of the head, fitting the MO of
several other recent deaths. Other injuries ..."

Scully continued walking around the body on the autopsy table
before her, methodically reciting her findings into the
overhead microphone. The body was a woman, identified as Kim
Moffett; she was 26 years old, medium height, with long,
blond hair, missing a lock. Her body had been found in an
alley in Atlanta's Midtown section, just a few blocks from
her apartment, her arms and legs taped together and duct tape
crisscrossing her mouth.

Mulder and Scully had met Detective Brochnard a few minutes
after 8, and she had brought them here. Scully was now
working on the autopsy while Mulder and the detective checked
out the crime scene.

So far, the crime followed the serial killer's signatures,
right down to the pattern and even brand of duct tape he --
or she -- used in each murder.

Scully's autopsy showed nothing to indicate anything else.

==========

Crime scene
Midtown Atlanta
9:02 a.m.

Mulder stepped carefully under the yellow police tape and
glanced around the alleyway. The location was just a few
dozen yards from an older but upscale condominium complex
and within sniffing distance of a pizza restaurant.

Turning to Detective Brochnard, who was writing something on a
small notepad, he asked, "Is this normally a high-crime area?"

She looked up. "Not particularly," she answered. "You have
your normal car break-ins, simple robberies, things like
that. We had a murder just down the block last year, but that
was unusual."

Mulder nodded, his eyes already back on the scene, looking
intently for any missed clues. The outline on the ground
marked the position of the body, with fading bloodstains
showing on the gravel sprinkled across the alley. He glanced
up at the nearby garbage dumpster, then did a classic double-
take and stepped closer.

On one corner of the metal container, he saw a tiny scrap of
fabric.

"Detective," he called, reaching in his pocket for a pair of
gloves and snapping them on. As Brochnard approached, he
reached up and pulled out the piece, holding it up to see it
better, then showed it to her.

It was soaked with blood.

==========

Autopsy room
Fulton County Medical Examiner's office
10:48 a.m.

Scully had just finished her exam when Mulder entered the
autopsy bay, staying near the door. Scully suppressed a smile;
his body language screamed his obvious reluctance to come any
closer to the partially dismembered corpse lying on the table
in the center of the room.

<After all the things he's seen, you'd think he'd be a little
better able to stand watching an autopsy,> she thought. Aloud,
she said, "Find anything, Mulder?"

She saw him nod slightly, shifting his eyes from the body to
her as she walked around the end of the table and toward him.
"Yeah, actually," he said. "We found a scrap of cloth stained
with blood on the edge of a dumpster. Detective Brochnard is
having it tested to see if it's the victim's blood. We also
managed to pull a partial print from the side of the
dumpster. Looks like our guy got his shirt caught and had to
yank it loose."

Scully nodded as she stripped off her latex gloves and
reached to pull off the goggles she wore. "And you're hoping
the cloth will have someone else's blood on it, too, aren't
you?"

Mulder stared, then slowly shook his head as a smile spread
across his face. "You've got to stop doing that, Scully. If I
didn't know better, I'd say *you* were the empath."

Scully froze at his words, and he wished he could take them
back. He hadn't meant to bring up what happened the day
before. The tension between them was thick enough as it was.

An uncomfortable silence grew, and Mulder felt compelled to
break it. "So, did you find anything unusual in your exam?"

Scully didn't move for another few seconds, but then he saw
her shoulders relax slightly and she answered. "No, I didn't.
No prints, either. But everything fits the killer's MO, right
down to the missing piece of hair. Time of death is about ten
to twelve hours ago. I've asked for a full toxicology workup,
but other than some probable alcohol consumption, I don't
expect anything to show up."

Mulder nodded again. "So that leaves us back looking for
suspects." As he spoke, she walked back across the room,
discarding her gloves and dirty scrubs and moving toward the
sink to wash her hands. Mulder continued, "As soon as you're
finished, we should go back to headquarters and check the
composite Sarah was working on. Maybe someone will recognize
the face."

Mulder could tell Scully was fighting back an urge to flash
one of her patented looks his way, and that surprised him.
She normally had no qualms about letting him know when she
disagreed with him or thought his theories were nuts.

So why was she holding back now?

Before he could ask, though, she did flash a look his way, but
this one was more inquisitive than accusing. "I never did ask
if you found anything new in those reports when you were going
back over them last night."

<Last night ...> Mulder pushed the thought aside and answered.
"Not really. I did sketch out a profile, a little more detailed
than the locals had, although they did a good job on theirs. I
have my notes in the car, if you want to look them over on our
way to headquarters."

"Yes, I do," Scully said, flipping off the water and reaching
for a towel. "Just let me finish up my notes here. About 20
minutes?"

"I'll wait outside," Mulder said, turning back toward the door.
"I can call Detective Brochnard and check on the blood sample
and the print."

"Sure," Scully said. "See you in a few."

==========

Homicide Department
Atlanta Police Headquarters
11:38 a.m.

Mulder and Scully walked back down the hall, Scully leading
the way to Detective Brochnard's desk. Mulder had informed
Scully as soon as she got to their car outside the medical
examiner's office that a second blood type had been found on
the scrap of cloth he discovered at the crime scene. He added
that no match had been found yet for the print, and that
Sarah Owens was still working on her composite.

As they approached Brochnard's desk, the detective stood and
said, "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, I'm glad you're here. We
just got back the composite sketch."

"And?" Mulder prompted as the partners stopped beside the
desk.

"I recognized it immediately," Brochnard replied. "It's James
Nicholson. He's well-known in the area, owns a construction
company. Well-respected. Kind of makes me doubt he's our man."

"It does sound strange," Scully agreed. "Does he fit your
profile?"

"Well, in part," Brochnard replied, lowering herself back into
her seat and motioning to the chair next to her desk as an
indication one of them should sit down. Mulder tilted his head
toward Scully and she sat; his height made it easier for him
to be the one perching on the edge of the desk.

Brochnard went on. "Our profile was a male, 25 to 35 years
old, working in some type of construction-related business,
such as heating and air conditioning. That was mainly because
of the use of the same brand of duct tape. Single or divorced,
with a fixation on young blond women. He takes a piece of the
victim's hair as a trophy."

Mulder nodded. "I read your profile and agree, except for one
additional thing." His eyes shifted back and forth between
the two women as he spoke. "All of the victims were young
professional women, and all of the killings took place in or
near well-populated, relatively affluent areas. I believe the
killer is well-off himself, that he approaches his victims in
upscale bars and nightclubs. He's had a past relationship,
possibly a marriage, with a woman who fits the victims'
description. She probably left him, maybe for another man. He
kills out of his residual anger toward her." He looked at
Brochnard. "Is Nicholson divorced?"

She returned his look. "Yes. And his ex-wife fits the
description."

Mulder stood. "Can we bring him in for questioning?"

Scully interrupted. "Mulder," she said, catching his eye. "If
we bring him in now, with no hard evidence, we may never find
a concrete link between him and the murders."

Mulder held her gaze for a few long moments, then nodded.
"You're right," he said. "We need to approach him some other
way, maybe even figure out how to get a print or blood sample
for typing." He turned back to Brochnard. "Can you get
Nicholson's phone number?"

"Yes," she said, picking up the phone on her desk.

Mulder turned back to Scully, paused, then leaned in close,
searching her eyes as he spoke in a low voice. "I'd like to
speak to Sarah Owens again, Scully. You don't have to if you
don't want to."

Scully kept her eyes on his, then dropped her gaze to her
hands where they lay in her lap. "No, I'd like to talk to
her, too," she responded, looking back up at him for a
moment.

Mulder gave her a soft smile of reassurance before turning
back to Brochnard, who was just hanging up the phone. "I'll
have the number in a few minutes," she said.

"Great," Mulder said. "In the meantime, we'd like to talk to
Sarah Owens again. I assume she'll be released?"

Brochnard sighed. "Yes, in a little while," she told him. "We
have found no connections between her and the murders, and
the print we lifted doesn't match. We are taking a blood
sample to check for a match with the two types on the fabric
you found at the scene, though, just in case." She stood.
"I'll have her brought back to an interrogation room. If
you'll follow me?"

==========

Hall outside interrogation room
12:34 p.m.

Mulder and Scully sat across the hall from each other, in
less-than-comfortable molded plastic chairs, waiting for
Sarah to be brought into the interrogation room.

And avoiding each others' eyes.

Mulder sat with his lower body perched at the chair's front
edge, his hands planted deep in his pockets, and his long
legs streching out before him, one knee keeping up a slight
bounce. His head was tilted back against the wall and his
gaze moved steadily across the tiled ceiling, giving the
impression that he was trying to decipher a code from among
the random pattern of dots. His lips were pursed slightly,
as if he'd considered whistling, decided against it at the
last moment, but forgotten to relax his mouth.

For her part, Scully sat back in her chair, her back straight
but her shoulders slightly lowered, seemingly in relaxation.
Her legs were crossed, her hands resting in her lap, and her
eyes were focused somewhere down the hall, as if she was
watching for Sarah and the detective.

Only someone who knew her well, however, would recognize the
tension in her arms and neck and the tightness around her
mouth which betrayed her placid exterior. Her eyes were
beginning to burn from the effort of keeping them trained
down the hall.

Neither of the partners yet felt quite ready to discuss what
had happened in that interrogation room the afternoon before.

In a few moments, Detective Brochnard appeared from down the
hall, leading Sarah before her. Brochnard paused to pull open
the door, motioned Sarah inside, then turned toward the
agents. "She's all yours," she said, turning and walking back
down the hall.

Mulder stood and crossed to the room, then stopped and looked
back at Scully, who hadn't moved. "You coming, Scully?" he
asked.

She shook her head, still not looking at him, then whispered,
"In a minute." He waited a long moment, trying to decide what
to say, then gave up and stepped into the room, shutting the
door behind him.

Mulder smiled at Sarah as he lowered himself into a chair.
"Looks like you're in the clear now," he said.

"Yes," Sarah replied softly, half-smiling. "But it hasn't
exactly been a great couple of days."

Mulder chuckled. "I'm sure it hasn't. But if it makes you
feel any better, you may have given us just the break we need
to catch this guy."

"I hope so," Sarah said. She paused, then said, "Where's
your partner?"

"In the hall," Mulder said. "She wanted to talk to you, too,
but I think she needed a few minutes first."

Sarah dropped her eyes to her lap. "I'm sorry, Agent Mulder,"
she said. "I really didn't know what was going to happen ..."

"No apologies necessary," Mulder interrupted. "I think ...
well, I believe you may have helped us face something we
should have been able to come to terms with long before
yesterday."

Sarah lifted her gaze back to meet his. "Have the two of you
talked about it?" she asked.

"Not yet," Mulder replied, with a rueful smile. "As you may
have noticed, we, uh, sometimes have a little trouble opening
up, even to each other. But we're going to make ourselves
talk about it, soon."

Sarah smiled. "I hope so," she said. "You shouldn't let this
pass you by. It doesn't come along often."

Mulder returned the smile. "I know," he said. "And we won't."

Just then, the door opened and Scully came in slowly, the
calm on her face belied by the hesitance in her cautious
steps. "Sarah?" she said softly.

"Hi, Agent Scully," Sarah said, as Mulder stood, turning
toward the door. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, and please, call me Dana," Scully answered,
ignoring the look Mulder shot her at her words. "May I talk
to you for a moment?" she asked.

"Sure," Sarah said, watching as Scully turned toward Mulder.

"Mulder --" she said, then paused.

"I'll wait in the hall," he said immediately, giving her a
half-smile, which she returned. He brushed his hand along her
arm as he passed her, then closed the door behind him as he
left.

Scully turned back to Sarah, who was smiling. "He really does
care about you, Dana," Sarah said.

"I know," Scully said, moving to sit in the chair Mulder had
vacated. "I just wish I knew what we should do about this. Or
if we should do anything."

Sarah reached to grasp her hand. "It'll work out," she said
reassuringly. "And that's no 'vision,' either. I don't need
to read either of you to see the bond between you. You will
find a way."

Scully smiled softly, her gaze drifting to a point on the far
wall. "You know, Mulder said those exact words to me once,
when I found out I had cancer. He said I would find a way to
fight it, to save myself." She looked back at Sarah. "He was
right, at least about my fighting it. But he was the one who
risked everything to save me. I underwent several types of
treatments, so we're not entirely sure if the remission is a
result of one or all of them. But just knowing he was willing
to fight as hard as I was helped me through the worst of it."

Sarah's smile widened into an infectious grin. "I'm jealous,"
she said teasingly. "Must be nice to have someone willing to
risk everything for you."

Scully found herself almost laughing at her words. "Yeah, it
is, most of the time," she said. "When I'm not having to
rescue him from himself, that is!"

They laughed together briefly, and then Scully stood to
leave. "Thank you for all your help, Sarah. With the case,
and ..."

"You're welcome," Sarah said, rising from her seat to give
Scully a quick hug. "Would you let me know how things turn
out? With the two of you, I mean. I'll probably hear about
the case in the news, if nothing else."

"I'll do that," Scully said. "If not for you, it might have
taken us years to face up to our feelings." She stopped, then
chuckled again. "Of course, it *still* could take that
long ..."

The two women laughed together as they walked to the door and
stepped back into the hall. Mulder halted in his steps as
they came out, turning his eyes to Scully as he said,
"Everything okay?"

"We're fine, Mulder," Scully said, reaching to squeeze his
hand briefly before turning back to Sarah. "I believe you're
free to go now, Sarah, if they've given you your things
back."

"Yes," she answered. "Detective Brochnard said I could go
when we'd finished." She turned to face Mulder and stuck out
her hand, and he lifted his to shake it. "It was a pleasure
meeting you, Agent Mulder." She dropped her hand and smiled,
glancing at Scully. "I hope to be hearing from you soon,
Dana." She turned and walked down the hall toward the exit.

Mulder turned to Scully, a quizzical look on his face. "What
was *that* all about?" he asked.

"Long story," Scully said, turning toward Detective
Brochnard's office. "I'll tell you about it, but not now.
We've got a killer to catch."

"Yes ma'am," Mulder said, sending up a mock salute before
following her down the hall.

==========

1:17 p.m.

Scully and Mulder again walked toward Detective Brochard's
desk. As they approached, Mulder asked, "Did you get
Nicholson's number?"

"Yes," the detective replied. "It's 770-555-0982."

Mulder picked up the phone on her desk and dialed; it was
picked up on the second ring.

"Nicholson residence."

"Yes, is Mr. Nicholson in?"

"I'm sorry, sir, he's not here right now. May I take a
message?"

"Do you know when he will be in?

"I'm afraid it will be late tonight, sir. He is out on
personal business, and then he is going to the Braves game.
Is there something I can help you with?"

"No, that's fine, I'll try him at his office tomorrow. Thank
you."

Mulder replaced the receiver, then turned to Scully with a
mischevious grin. "Dig out your glove, Scully; looks like
we're going to that game after all."

==========

Homicide Department
Atlanta Police Headquarters
6:08 p.m.

After eating a late lunch, Mulder and Scully returned to
their hotel rooms to change clothes, then went back to
Detective Brochnard's office to plan their surveillance.
They were now deep in discussion with Brochnard and several
other plainclothes officers.

"I think your people should keep an eye on Nicholson while
we try to approach him," Mulder was saying. "He's not
likely to recognize either of us, but there's a chance he
might know some of your men."

"Agreed," Brochnard said, making a note on the legal pad on
her desk. "So, you and Agent Scully will take the club level
seats near his and try to strike up a conversation at some
point. Hill and Karney --" she nodded at two men standing
nearby -- "you guys pick him up in the parking lot and keep
him in your sights until he leaves. Norris and Clark will pick
him up from there." This pair, two women, nodded.

Brochnard looked around at the group. "We've already got a
team headed to his house, so if he goes there after the game,
that's taken care of. If not, Norris and Clark will continue
their surveillance and call for backup if needed." She caught
the eyes of each person in the group briefly, then returned
to Mulder. "Do you have any other suggestions, Agent Mulder?"

He shook his head. "Sounds good to me," he responded.

"Then let's head out," Brochnard said, and the group began
to disperse.

==========

Turner Field
Atlanta, Georgia
7:43 p.m.

Scully glanced at Mulder as they crossed the wide, curved
street and headed through the iron gates leading into the
baseball park. He looked astonishingly boyish, a barely-
contained expression of glee on his face underneath the
Yankees cap he wore.

Her eyes dipped to take in his T-shirt, jeans and sneakers, a
near match for her outfit, minus the cap; she had her hair
pulled up into a ponytail. Not exactly standard FBI dress,
but then Mulder had decided their business suits would stand
out too much at a night game.

"If it was a weekday afternoon, it'd be different," he'd
said. "Business suits are the norm then, with so many people
playing hooky from work. But we would be way too conspicuous
tonight."

So they'd gone the casual route, Mulder managing to unearth
the Yankees cap in the hotel gift shop as his crowning glory.
But none of that explained his air of anticipation as they
approached the ticket window to pick up the passes team
officials had agreed to provide for them.

He was practically bouncing on his feet as he walked, and he
leaned forward slightly as if he couldn't move fast enough to
satisfy himself. His eyes sparkled, and his grin only widened
as they entered the main gates to the park itself.

Finally, Scully could stand it no longer. "Mulder, you look
like a kid in a candy store," she said. "What's the big
deal?"

Mulder looked at her, amazement apparent on his face. "Are
you kidding?" he said. "This is one of the best ballparks in
the majors, and I've been dying to come see it. Take a look
around you, Scully. It's better than an amusement park."

Scully did look around, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
They were standing in the middle of what could only be
described as a carnival midway, with food and game booths
lining both sides of an open plaza. Hundreds of people
milled around, in various stages of baseball fan garb.

Scully turned toward the field and her eyes climbed skyward,
her mouth opening in awe at the hundred-foot photo of a
baseball that towered over the plaza. A huge screen just
below it was running some kind of baseball highlights film,
and various groups of entertainers were drawing attention at
ground level in front of it.

She turned back to Mulder, who had completed his own survey
of the scene by then and was watching her, an amused look on
his face. "Good grief, Mulder," she said. "With all this, who
needs a baseball game?"

Mulder chuckled. "That's kind of the idea," he said. "And you
haven't even seen the interactive games and the museum;
they're under the stands."

Scully shook her head slowly as she looked around again, her
eyes still huge. Then, she turned back to him and lifted one
eyebrow. "And who paid for all this?" she asked.

Mulder placed a hand at her back and guided her toward the
stairs to their left. "Actually, the Olympics paid for it,"
he answered. "This was originally the main Olympic stadium,
remember. Redesigning it for baseball was part of the cost."

Scully looked back at him, doubt evident on her face. "You're
telling me all this didn't cost the public anything."

"Not a penny," Mulder said as they started up the stairs. "Of
course, they have to pay to get inside. They've still got a
team to support."

"True," Scully replied. "So where are we headed, anyway?"

"The club level concourse," Mulder said. "The team
representative I talked to said Nicholson's season tickets
are in section 321, which entitles him to club privileges.
Our passes will get us in there, too, so we can watch him,
and try to speak to him."

At the top of the stairs, Mulder and Scully saw a roped-off
patio guarded by an usher. They paused to show their passes,
then headed toward a set of double doors leading into a fully
enclosed concourse lined with tables and chairs. Mulder
pulled open one door and waved Scully through, placing his
hand lightly in its familiar spot at the small of her back
again as they walked in.

Scully smiled back up at Mulder. "Wow, air conditioning," she
said, eliciting a chuckle from her partner as they started
down the wide hall, scanning the crowd as they went. They
found the door to their seating area without catching sight
of Nicholson.

"So should we keep looking?" Scully asked.
 
"Actually, I believe our seats are a few rows behind his,"
Mulder said. "If he's there, or if he comes in, we should see
him pretty easily. Let's just go to our seats."

Scully pulled open the door, and they started down the aisle,
finding their spots easily. They settled into the seats,
which offered them a prime view of the grassy field below.
The game was already under way, with the Braves just coming
to bat in the bottom of the first.

Mulder leaned back in his seat, lifting one leg and placing
his foot on the empty seat in front of him. Grinning, he
looked at Scully. "So, Scully, how long's it been since
you've been to a ball game?"

She shot him a look, then turned her attention back to the
field, where the leadoff hitter had just drawn a walk. "Not
that long, Mulder. I actually went to an Orioles game last
year, while Bill was visiting." Her expression softened. "We
used to go with Dad and Charlie whenever we got the chance,
if we were close enough to a ballpark. Major leagues, minor
leagues, it didn't matter to us."

Mulder's eyes were glued to her face as she spoke. The
faraway look in her eyes and soft smile on her lips held his
rapt attention.

Scully laughed softly. "Once, in San Diego -- I must have
been 10 -- we got there really early, because the Braves
were in town and we wanted to get Hank Aaron's autograph. I
*know* I was 10, because it was just a couple of months after
he set the home run record, and that would have been 1974.
Anyway, as soon as the gates opened, Bill and I ran down to
the side of the visitors' dugout and camped there, leaning as
far over the railing as we could. After a while, we saw him
down at the far end of the dugout, and we started calling
him, practically begging him to come sign for us. He watched
us for a few minutes, smiling, and then he walked down to our
end and leaned up just far enough to take the ball and pen
Bill was holding. He signed the ball, handed it and the pen
back, and said, 'Enjoy the game, kids.' Then he walked back
down into the tunnel."

Scully suddenly looked over at Mulder, as if she had snapped
out of some sort of trance, and caught his gaze. His eyes
were soft and he was smiling that little-boy smile she had
seen so seldom, and her heart melted. She returned the smile,
and didn't pull away when he reached out and took her hand.

Together, they turned back toward the field, and she lowered
her head to the side and rested it on his shoulder.

==========

8:48 p.m.

Mulder was engrossed in the game when he felt Scully's hand
fall onto his arm. "There he is," she whispered, and Mulder
looked up to see Nicholson standing a few rows ahead of them.

In a few moments, the man turned and started back up the
aisle. Once he had passed, Mulder and Scully rose and
followed.

Inside the concourse, they looked around, and then Mulder
reached toward Scully and cupped his hand around her elbow.
Leaning in toward her ear, he whispered, "Concession stand."

She looked in that direction and spotted Nicholson, standing
at the end of the short line. Smoothly, they moved to stand
behind him, Mulder noticing a small bandage on his hand and
silently pointing it out to Scully.

"Budweiser and a jumbo dog, please," Nicholson said to the
concessionaire, who swiftly filled the order. Next in line,
Mulder said, "Two small Cokes, please."

As soon as the first drink hit the counter, he picked it up
and turned toward the cash register, took one step and
tripped, splashing the cold soda on Nicholson.

"Oh, I am *so* sorry," Mulder said, grabbing for a handful
of napkins as Scully took her own drink and stepped up
beside him, a half-smile on her face. Mulder flashed his
most winning grin and handed Nicholson the napkins.

Looking down, Mulder said, "That bandage is soaked. Here, let
us give you a fresh one." He turned toward Scully. "Dana,
didn't you bring some bandages with you?"

"Yes, actually," Scully replied, picking up on Mulder's plan.
She unzipped the pack at her waist and extracted a bandage,
then stepped forward and said, "Here, let me change that for
you. I'm a ... medical student."

Nicholson looked at her, doubt apparent, but then he nodded
and she swiftly removed the old bandage and replaced it.
"There, good as new," she said brightly, smiling.

Nicholson didn't return the smile. "Sure, thanks," he said,
striding off toward his seat.

Scully turned back to Mulder as he pulled out his wallet to
pay for the drinks. "Mission accomplished," she muttered,
surrepitously displaying the bloodstained bandage in her
hand. She pulled a small plastic bag from her waist pack,
slid the bandage in, then took her drink and stepped away,
Mulder's hand at her back.

He leaned in closer and whispered, "Medical student?"

She glanced up at him and, in the same teasingly incredulous
tone, retorted, "*Dana*?"

He grinned, and she went on. "So I guess we'll be missing the
rest of the game?" she asked.

Mulder continued to grin down at her. "Yeah, we can't try to
approach Nicholson again here."

"True, but if the prints or blood on that bandage match ..."

"Then it won't matter," Mulder finished. "Otherwise, we can
question him by phone or have Detective Brochnard do it."

"Or we could tell him we were here for some other reason,
although I doubt he would buy it."

"Let's just hope we get a match."

==========

Hyatt Regency
11:54 p.m.

Mulder and Scully trudged down the hallway toward their
rooms, exhausted from another long day. They'd delivered the
bloodied bandage to police headquarters for testing, then met
later with Detective Brochnard and the surveillance team
members. Nicholson had left after the seventh inning of the
game and gone straight home, so a stakeout had been set up
across the street. The agents had left Mulder's cell phone
number so they could be contacted and headed back to their
hotel.

Now, the partners were ready to rest, while they had the
chance. As they approached their doors, they pulled out their
key cards almost simultaneously, grinning a bit as they
realized what they had done.

"So, Scully," Mulder said semi-casually. "You up for a quick
run before bed?"

Scully gave him a patented eye roll. "And since when do I
run, Mulder, especially at midnight after a day like today?"
she retorted. "*I* plan to take a *long* shower, then fall
into bed for several dozen hours."

Mulder's half-grin lifted into an unmistakable leer. "Ooh,
I think I like *your* idea better," he said. "Want some
company?"

"Dream on, Mulder," Scully said. She slipped her card into
the slot on the door and pushed it open, then looked back at
him.

All signs of teasing had dropped from his face, and she found
herself caught in his gaze, unable to move as he came closer.
He bent to her ear, his breath ruffling the loosened tendrils
at her neck, and whispered, "If you only knew ..."

Then he brushed his lips across her cheek, and before she
could react, he had disappeared into his room.

Scully pushed into her room and shoved the door shut behind
her. Her pulse pounded through the rushing noise inside her
head, and she slowly realized she was panting. With an
effort, she managed to calm her system. She couldn't believe
the effect his actions had had on her.

"No," she contradicted herself softly. "I *can* believe it."

She thought back to the last time she'd felt like this, less
than 24 hours earlier. And the time before, a half-dozen
hours before that. Her thoughts raced backward, and she
counted time after time that Mulder had brought forth similar
feelings in her.

<Holding his hand in the back of an MP's car ...>

<His intense gaze from across her brother's sofa ...>

<Singing to him in the Florida forest ...>

<Soft kisses on her hands and face as she lay on her
deathbed ...>

<A tender embrace in a hospital hallway ...>

She shut off her train of thought with a sharp shake of her
head. She couldn't think of those things right now. They were
partners, and friends, first, and they had a case to solve.

She sighed. Well, if she couldn't completely forget about it,
at least she could put it off until they were back home, on
familiar turf. She certainly didn't want to confront these
feelings in a motel -- <excuse me, *hotel*> -- room halfway
across the country.

Resolutely, she started gathering her things for her shower.

==========

Hyatt Regency
Room 944
12:06 a.m.

Mulder closed the door behind him, his hands shaking from the
effort of holding himself back. He never should have done
that. As soon as he had moved close enough to breathe in her
scent, he was lost, and it took every ounce of willpower in
his body to hurl himself into his room instead of into hers.

Into her.

He dropped his head to his chest and moaned quietly. <Oh,
God,> he thought. <How am I ever going to make it through
this case?>

Mechanically, he started pulling off his clothes, changing
into shorts and a t-shirt and slipping on his running shoes.
Repeating his actions from the previous night, he picked up
his room key, gun, and cell phone and headed out for the
streets again.

==========

Peachtree Street
Downtown Atlanta
12:45 a.m.

<Pound, pound, pound, pound ...>

Mulder had been running for more than a half hour, and he
still hadn't managed to silence the thoughts that insisted on
dancing through his mind. Scully in his arms. Scully's hands
around his neck. Scully's lips under his ...

He groaned again and increased his pace.

<Pound, pound, pound, pound ...>

==========

Hyatt Regency
Room 942
2:43 a.m.

For the second night in a row, Scully popped awake suddenly.
She stayed motionless in the bed, listening intently, before
she finally made out the sound of movement from the room next
door.

<Mulder,> she thought, and relaxed a bit. Then, <But what
woke me up?>

She pushed up on one arm and reached to switch on the light.
Tossing back the covers, she padded over to the adjoining
door and listened carefully. All she could hear was the slow,
halting sound of footsteps, as if he was having trouble
pacing, accompanied by a deep wheezing sound -- as if he was
having trouble breathing.

Concerned, she knocked on the door. The pacing paused, moved
closer, then stopped, and she could hear him still breathing
roughly from just on the other side of the door.

"Mulder?" she called softly. "Are you okay?"

Another pause, and then the door slowly opened to reveal a
thoroughly sweat-soaked Mulder, his breath still coming in
gasps. His pupils were dilated and his gaze seemed to float
a bit, as if he wasn't quite focusing.

"Sc ..." he wheezed, then coughed, gasped, and tried again.
"Run ... think ... overdid it ..."

Scully immediately snapped into her doctor persona. Throwing
an arm around Mulder's waist, she began walking him around
the room again. "Okay, Mulder, it'll be okay," she said
soothingly. "You were doing the right thing. Just keep moving
for now. We'll get you cooled down, and then you can rest."

He was reacting much as marathon runners did after races. His
body had been stretched too far, and if he stopped moving
now, he'd be wracked with cramps and would likely go into
shock.

She kept up her murmurs for several more minutes as they
moved back and forth across the floor. Gradually, the gasps
lessened and his breathing eased, and they finally slowed and
came to a stop at the foot of the bed.

Carefully, Scully lowered Mulder onto the edge of the
mattress, then bent at the waist so their faces were level.
"Mulder, look at me," she said, and he raised his head
slightly to meet her gaze. Holding up one finger, she said,
"Track my finger," and moved her hand from left to right
before his face, his eyes following smoothly.

She nodded briskly. "You're gonna be fine, Mulder," she said,
relief evident in her voice. "You may end up with a few
muscle cramps, and you definitely need to drink about a
gallon of water, but you're okay."

"Yeah," Mulder said, his voice cracking. "Water sounds good."

Scully straightened. "I've got a water bottle in my room.
I'll go fill it and the ice bucket and be right back."

She started to turn to the door, but Mulder grabbed her
wrist. She looked back, and he looked at her solemnly for a
moment before whispering, "Thanks, Scully."

She smiled softly. "You're welcome, Mulder," she said,
sliding her hand down to squeeze his briefly before heading
into her own room.

==========

Hyatt Regency
Room 944
3:34 a.m.

Mulder finished his second bottle of water and leaned back
against the pillow-banked headboard again, watched Scully as
she watched him from her seat at the side of the bed. "Okay,
that's what, two quarts?" he said, his voice back to the
normal, semi-teasing tone he used with her most of the time.

"Yeah, and you need to drink at least one more," she
answered, standing up and holding out her hand for the
bottle.

He relinquished it with a grimace. "Yah know, I haven't had
much of a taste for water in about, oh, three years," he
said, drawing the reward of a half-smile from her.

"Well, that was a bit of an unusual circumstance," she said,
heading for the bathroom sink to refill the bottle. "How many
people have to worry about LSD in the water supply?"

"Only me, Scully," he answered. "Well, and my neighbors, I
guess ..." His voice drifted off as he remembered the murder
in his building that had happened just days before Scully had
discovered the poison in the water system.

One more innocent whose blood stained his hands.

Scully returned to the bed and immediately noticed the dark
cloud covering his face. She thought back over their
conversation and realized the source of his dejection.

"Mulder," she said, laying a hand over his. "It wasn't your
fault. You didn't know what was happening. It was only by
pure luck that I found out."

He snorted. "Yeah, well, things like that sure have a way of
following me around," he said sarcastically. "I should move
into a cabin in the middle of nowhere and cut off all contact
with the outside world. Maybe then I won't be putting anyone
else in danger just by being near me."

That did it. Already tired and taut with barely-contained
emotions, Scully snapped. "Mulder, stop it, and I mean
*now*!" she said. "I can't begin to tell you how sick I am of
your constant efforts to take the blame for everything that
has ever happened to anyone you've ever known! Would you
please get it through your thick skull that it is *not your
fault*?"

He gaped at her. "But it *is* my fault," he said, his
bewilderment obvious. "I've lost everyone I've ever been
close to, and even people who barely know me have been hurt,
even killed, because of me. I'm at the center of the whole
mess. Of *course* it's my fault."

Now it was Scully's turn to gape. He truly believed what he
was saying. <How do I fight back against that?> she thought.

She leaned forward and grasped his other hand, pulling him
up to sit facing her. "Fox William Mulder," she said firmly,
managing not to smile at the grimace that crossed his face.
"You are not at fault. It is not your fault. You can blame
aliens, Cancer Man -- I don't care. But I am not going to
allow you to blame yourself any longer."

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on either side of his
face and pulled him down until their noses were just inches
apart. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "It's not your
fault."

Then she watched, amazed, as his eyes widened, then his face
crumpled, and the tears began. He slumped forward and she
caught him, wrapping her arms around his waist as his slid
around her back, and she rocked him back and forth,
whispering soothingly as he cried.

==========

Hyatt Regency
Room 944
8:12 a.m.

Once again, Scully awoke with a start, but this time she was
completely disoriented. Her pillow was hard, and something
heavy was lying across her stomach. Plus, she was lying on
her right side, on which she rarely, if ever, slept.

And something smelled *really* bad.

Then the memories returned, and she realized her pillow was
Mulder's right forearm and the weight across her body was his
left arm. She was on her right side because Mulder was
spooned behind her, his body a few inches away from her back.

The smell came from him, as a result of the dried-on sweat
from his overdone run the night before.

Slowly, she turned her head, but he didn't move. His
breathing was deep and regular, and his face was smooth and
peaceful. She wondered how often he was able to sleep like
this, without nightmares. <Last night must have completely
worn him out, physically and emotionally,> she thought.

It had certainly worn *her* out.

She hated to move, for fear of waking him, but she had to go
to the bathroom *soon*. Carefully, she slid to the edge of
the mattress, allowing his arm to fall softly onto the
padding as she sat up.

She debated briefly, then decided to use her own bathroom and
headed for the adjoining door. She had just grabbed the
handle when she heard his voice: "Scully?"

She looked back to see his head raised slightly from the
pillow, fear in his eyes. "It's okay, Mulder," she said
softly. "I'm just going to the bathroom."

He nodded, pushing himself up a little further. "Are you
coming back?" he asked.

She wasn't awake enough to argue with him, so she said, "Yes,
I'll be right back," then pulled the door open and escaped to
her own room, shutting the door behind her.

She quickly used the bathroom, then brushed her teeth and
hair. She debated getting dressed, but decided her pajamas
were modest enough for comfort. Stepping back over to the
door and taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly.

"C'mon in, Scully," Mulder called, and she pushed the door
open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair was
pressed to his head on one side, where he'd been lying on it,
and the other side stuck straight out. He still wore the
shorts and t-shirt he'd run in the night before, now
thoroughly wrinkled.

Scully smiled. "Good morning," she said lightly. "I must say,
Mulder, that's an unusual look for you."

He gave her a sarcastic smile. "Gee, thanks, Scully," he
said. "The smell's pretty nice, too. Want a whiff?"

"No, thanks," she said, wrinkling her nose as she stepped
over to lean against the dresser. "I got enough of a smell
when I woke up."

Mulder laughed softly. "Yeah, well, I don't think I would
have been able to stand up long enough for a shower at four
this morning," he said, running a hand through his hair.

Scully tilted her head. "You want to tell me what that was
all about?" she asked gently.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, and she was shocked at the
sheer terror that flashed across his face before he looked
away. "I don't think that would be a good idea right now," he
murmured.

She watched him another few minutes, considering another
outburst like the one she'd had last night, but she finally
decided to let it rest. For now. Nodding once, sharply, she
said, "Well, then, I think we should get showered and dressed
and go get some breakfast," she said. "You worked off plenty
of calories last night, so I won't even complain about the
amount of grease you eat."

Mulder shot her a lopsided grin. "On one condition -- I'm
buying." She started to protest, but he cut her off. "No, I
owe you one, Scully, after last night. I won't take no for an
answer."

She nodded again. "All right, Mulder," she said, pushing off
the dresser and stepping back toward the door. "I'll be back
in an hour, so be ready to go."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, garnering a last look over her
shoulder before she disappeared next door.

==========

International House of Pancakes
1725 Peachtree Street NE
Midtown Atlanta
9:45 a.m.

Mulder and Scully settled into opposite sides of the booth
inside the restaurant. Mulder immediately grabbed for one of
the menus and hungrily ran his eyes down the selections,
while Scully waited for a waitress.

After a few moments, a young woman crossed to the table and
laid out napkins and silverware, then pulled an order pad
from her apron. Scully smiled at her and said, "Two coffees,
please, and a large orange juice for me." She looked at
Mulder. "Mulder? You ready to order?"

"Yeah," he said, shooting a smile at her, then at the
waitress. "Give me a Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N' Fruity, with
double hash browns, scattered, smothered, and covered, and an
extra order of buttermilk pancakes."

The waitress nodded and walked off, and Scully shot him a
look. "I think you just ordered that so you could say the
name," she said, drawing a chuckle. "And what, exactly, is
'scattered, smothered, and covered'?" she added.

He grinned again, then begain enumerating the hash brown
styles by holding up his fingers. "'Scattered' is just what
is says -- spread out, instead of in a patty. 'Smothered' is
with onions, and 'covered' is with cheese." He folded his
hands on the table and leaned forward. "And the extra
pancakes, Scully, are for *you* -- no way you're getting out
of here without eating *something*."

The waitress brought their coffees just then, but once she
was done and Scully had added creamer to hers, she smirked.
"You calling me a cheap date, Mulder?"

His grin widened. "And what would you do if I was?" he
challenged.

Before she could answer, Mulder's cell phone trilled.
Sighing, he pulled it from his pocket, punched a button and
barked, "Mulder." He listened a few moments, then said,
"Thanks" and hung up.

He turned back to meet Scully's quizzical gaze and said,
"That was Detective Robitz, just updating us on the
surveillance. Nicholson went to his office this morning, as
usual. Nothing suspicious so far."

Scully let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Good," she said, then half-smiled, looking down at the
table. "I wasn't looking forward to getting breakfast to go."

Mulder chuckled. "Yeah, I'm a little sick of meals on the run
myself," he said. "Maybe we'll actually make it through this
one unscathed."

<If only your arteries would,> Scully thought, but managed
not to say. She'd promised not to mention his greasy meal,
and she was determined to follow through.

The food was there within minutes, and the two of them began
eating in silence. Scully finished first again, simply
because she didn't have as much to eat, and she sat sipping
her second cup of coffee as Mulder continued eating.

Finally, with about a quarter of the meal remaining, Mulder
stopped and sat back. "Guess I wasn't quite as hungry as I
thought," he said. "Shouldn't have gotten the extra hash
browns."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "You know, Mulder ..."

"Hey, you promised," he interrupted. "No comments about the
fat content."

She shook her head. "That wasn't what I was going to say,"
she said. "I've already bitten back *one* comment like that."
He chuckled at that, and she continued. "I *was* going to say,
however, that you probably don't need to eat more than that
anyway, after what happened last night. Your body is still
recovering, and I don't want you getting sick on me today."

Mulder grinned again. "Don't worry, Scully, if I think I'm
going to be sick, I'll aim in another direction."

This time, he earned an eye roll. "Mulder ..."

"I know, I know," he answered, holding up his hands
protectively. "That's not what you meant." He smiled softly.
"It's just fun to pick on you, Scully."

She stiffened, and he immediately regretted the statement.
"Sorry, Scully," he said. "That didn't come out like I meant
it."

She relaxed slightly, then managed a smile. "It's okay,
Mulder," she said. "I know what you meant."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment before Mulder
grabbed up the check and slid out of the booth. "Shall we?"
he said dramatically, offering her his hand, and she smiled
genuinely as she took it and moved to stand beside him as he
paid the check.

He turned from the register and, placing his hand at the
small of her back, guided her out into the bright Southern
sunshine.

==========

Atlanta Police Headquarters
11:12 a.m.

Mulder and Scully walked side-by-side back down the by-now
familiar hallway toward Detective Brochnard's desk, their
arms brushing against each other occasionally as they moved.
Neither gave an outward sign that they even noticed the light
touches.

But they did.

As they neared the homicide department, the detective stepped
into the hall and caught sight of them. She began speaking as
they slowed to stop beside her.

"Good morning, Agents," she said. "I've been trying to reach
you. We got a match on that print. We're bringing Nicholson
in now."

"It was his?" Mulder asked as he pulled his cell phone from
his pocket and checked it, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Yep," she said, nodding. "We got warrants about a half-hour
ago. We've got one team on the way to his office and the
other headed for his house."

Mulder shoved the dead phone back in his pocket. "Guess the
battery in this thing finally gave out," he said, smiling
wryly at the two women. He turned slightly toward Brochnard.
"Is there anything else we can do for you?"

Brochnard shook her head. "I really don't think so," she said.
"I doubt we'll need you for the trial, but we'll let you know
if we do. I'd like to thank both of you for your assistance,
though."

Scully took a half-step forward to join the conversation,
smiling. "We really didn't do that much," she said. "Your
department has done a fine job with the case."

"Yes, but you two really helped move things along," Brochnard
insisted. Then she paused, her eyes flicking back and forth
between the two agents. "But I'm still wondering one thing --
how did Sarah Owens fit into all this? She wasn't really --
what was it -- empathic, was she?"

This time, it was Mulder's turn to smile. "Does it really
matter?" he said. "You've got your killer."

Brochnard stared at him, then relaxed and smiled. "No, I guess
it doesn't," she acknowledged. "I was just ... curious."

Scully shifted slightly, drawing the eyes of the two others.
"Well, detective, I think you can believe what you wish about
Sarah Owens," she said, one eyebrow creeping upward. "She
could have witnessed one of Nicholson's attacks and been
reluctant to come forward directly." She smirked slightly,
glancing sidelong at Mulder for a moment. "Or maybe she did
see it in her mind. You never know." <Take that, Mulder,> she
thought, relishing the chance to tease him like he usually did
her.

Scully didn't see Mulder react, so she turned and held out her
hand to Detective Brochnard. "If that's all, then, we'll head
home," she said, as the two women shook hands.

"Sure," Brochnard said, turning toward Mulder and holding out
her hand. "Thanks again for your help."

Mulder almost jumped at her words, his eyes still glued to
Scully, but he brought himself out of it and shook the
detective's hand. "You're ..." his voice cracked, and he
cleared his throat. "You're welcome," he managed.

Scully noted his reaction and smirked again. <Just what I was
looking for,> she thought. To Brochnard, she said, "Be sure to
let us know if you need anything else from us. It was nice
meeting you."

"You too," she replied. "Have a good trip back."

"Goodbye," Scully said, turning toward the front entrance and
almost running into Mulder, who still stood frozen in place.
She looked up at him, surprised. "Mulder, are you all right?"
she asked automatically.

He continued to stare at her. "Mulder," she said, concern
creasing her face. "Mulder, are you okay?"

Finally, he nodded. "I'm fine," he said in a clipped voice,
his jaw set. He turned on his heel and heading for the door,
leaving Scully to follow, perplexed at his sudden mood swing.

<He's worse than a woman with PMS,> she thought, hurrying to
catch up with his long strides.

==========

Hyatt Regency
Lobby
11:53 a.m.

Mulder had spoken only when necessary during the trip back
to the hotel to check out. Scully had called to book a return
flight to Washington for early that afternoon, then hurried to
pack her bags so they could clear the rooms by noon. Now, she
was waiting near the elevators while Mulder turned in their
key cards and took care of the bill.

She tried not to think about Mulder's attitude, but she
couldn't help it. It had taken her a few minutes to realize
what was bothering him -- it was her sarcastic comment about
Sarah. She'd meant it as a joke, but apparently, Mulder hadn't
taken it that way.

Finally, Mulder was finished at the desk, and he turned and
walked back in her direction. He picked up the two largest
bags, one of his and one of hers, and stepped to the wall to
stab the "down" button at the elevator. They waited silently,
then rode down to the parking garage, where Mulder handed the
valet his ticket.

They waited, again, in a by-now oppressive silence, for the
car. When it arrived, Mulder loaded their bags in the trunk,
then climbed in, and she followed suit.

He still hadn't spoken to her unless absolutely necessary. Not
since before they had left the police station.

Mulder headed the car back toward the airport, then tuned in a
local classic rock station and turned it up, a bit louder than
he knew Scully liked it. She sighed resignedly and settled
back in her seat.

She didn't know what to say to him. The day had been going so
well, especially after the night they'd had. They'd enjoyed a
nice breakfast, the case was solved, and they were headed for
home. Surely he wasn't this upset about one flippant comment?

Scully sighed again. <But that had to be it,> she thought.
<He thought I meant *I* didn't believe Sarah was empathic. But
that's not what I meant at all.>

She pondered what she could say to him. She didn't really feel
up to discussing the vision they'd seen with Sarah, not after
the events from the night before. But if she brought up her
comment, the conversation would most definitely get back to
the very subject she wanted to avoid.

She decided staying silent was the best alternative. For now.

==========

J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building
Washington, D.C.
6:02 p.m.

The trip back to Washington had gone much more smoothly than
Scully expected, despite her partner's continued reluctance to
speak to her unless he had to. They had made it back so
quickly that she had suggested they stop by the office to
start on paperwork before heading home. Mulder agreed.

Now, they sat side-by-side at their new desks in the all-but
deserted VC bullpen. Mulder had shed his jacket, loosened his
tie, and rolled his sleeves up and was sifting through his
briefcase to unearth receipts. Scully, her glasses perched on
her nose, had their field report on her laptop's screen and
was working on revisions, all the time hoping for a break in
the tension. None seemed forthcoming.

The silence between them was deafening.

Finally, Scully couldn't take it any more, so she decided to
try a simple apology and go from there. She sighed and
removed her glasses, turning toward him. "Mulder," she said
softly, searching his face for a reaction. "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean what you thought I meant when I was talking to
Detective Brochnard."

Mulder didn't turn his attention from his briefcase. "I don't
know what you're talking about, Scully," he said mildly, his
face staying in the carefully arranged blank expression she
knew he used to hide his deepest emotions.

She once again fought the urge to snap at him. "Mulder, I
know you're upset --"

"I'm not upset, Scully," Mulder said, still using an
infuriatingly calm voice. "Why should I be upset? You're
entitled to your own opinions."

She blew out an exasperated breath. "That's not the point,
Mulder," she said. "The point is, I think you misunderstood
what I was saying to Detective Brochnard. I wasn't saying I
didn't believe Sarah."

Finally, he looked up at her, pinning her with his hazel eyes.
"So you *did* believe her?" he said, a hint of a challenge
creeping into his voice.

"Yes ... no ... I don't know," Scully said, closing her eyes
and shaking her head. "Mulder, I'm not really up for this
discussion right now."

She reopened her eyes to see that the blank expression was
back, and the mild tone followed. "That's fine," he said,
turning back to his task. "We'll talk about it *later.*" He
placed a strange emphasis on the final word.

Scully fixed him with an intense stare. "On second thought,"
she said firmly, standing up, "I *am* up for this discussion.
We will talk about it, right now."

Mulder looked up in mild surprise, raising his eyebrows at her
authoritative words, but didn't lose the bland tone. "Taking
to ordering me around now, Agent Scully? I thought I was the
senior agent."

Scully counted to ten, quickly, before answering. "You'll be
an *injured* agent if you don't agree to this," she answered
in her most falsely-sweet voice, crossing her arms across her
chest.

Mulder paused, then relaxed visibly and let out a chuckle. The
tension level between them dropped several points. "All right,
all right," he said. "I'll talk." He shoved his chair back and
stood. "But not here."

Scully pulled her chin in, looking up at him dubiously. "What
did you have in mind?" she said in a cautious tone.

Mulder yanked off his tie and dropped it on his desk, then
stepped in her direction. "How about a nice, long walk to
unwind, Agent Scully?" he asked, holding out his elbow toward
her and bowing slightly, a slight smile on his face.

She hesitated, then nodded and moved toward him, slipping her
arm into his. "Guess I should be glad I wore low heels today,"
she quipped.

Mulder laughed. "Guess you should," he replied.

And they headed for the door.

==========

6:34 p.m.

Mulder and Scully walked along the Mall, oblivious to the
hordes of tourists milling around, snapping photos of each
other in front of various memorials and monuments. The two
were the picture of a happy young couple, their faces placid,
their stances relaxed, strolling side-by-side in what
appeared to be a comfortable silence.

But it wasn't.

Mulder's stomach was roiling, his neck was aching, and his
eyes hurt from the effort of keeping them on the path ahead.
Scully was fighting to keep her knees from wobbling, her
shoulders were stiff, and her thoughts whirled like a
tornado.

Good thing they were so good at hiding their true emotions.

They walked a few more minutes, and Scully was beginning to
wonder if they would *ever* have this conversation, when
Mulder stretched out his hand and took hers, enveloping her
small fingers in his. He still didn't speak, didn't even
look at her, but she relaxed.

<This is going to be okay,> she thought, and his move gave
her the courage to speak.

"Mulder, you of all people know I'm not one for emotional
speeches," she started, shooting a glance at him out of
the corner of her eye. She was gratified to see him
smiling, and his eyes danced as he finally turned his
head toward her.

She continued: "I'm just going to be blunt, since it's what
I do best." Mulder's smile widened. "You're my best friend,
Mulder; I hope you know that. You're my only true friend,
really. And you know I care about you." His smile softened,
and she looked ahead again. "What I don't know is whether I'm
ready for anything else."

She glanced back over at him, and his smile had fallen away,
replaced by a gradually deepening frown. He was hurt, she
knew, and she had to fix it quick.

"Mulder," she said, stopping in her tracks and turning
towards him as he stopped too. "I'm telling you this
because it's the truth, as best I know it. This is all too
new. I'm not saying the idea of ... us ... is brand new, but
the idea of actually following through with it ..."

"... is scary as hell," he finished, managing a half-smile,
though his eyes told her how serious he really was.

She returned the smile, then turned back onto the sidewalk
and started walking again, still holding his hand. She didn't
speak again for a few minutes, and he simply enjoyed watching
her out of the corner of his eye.

Scully took a deep breath. "Mulder, this is kind of ... hard
for me to say, to anyone, not just you." She kept her head
down, her hair curtaining her face as she spoke. "But I
haven't had the best track record in relationships. The last
thing I want to do is jeopardize our partnership or our
friendship. I really ... I don't know what to do about this.
I'm not convinced we should do *anything* about it."

Mulder leaned down, inclining his head toward her in an
effort to see her face. "Neither am I, Scully," he said, and
his words were enough to make her look up at him, her
surprise evident in her expression.

They pulled to a stop, and Mulder reached for her other hand
as one corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "What, did
you think I was going to push on this?" he asked.

She dropped her head again, but he wouldn't let her go. He
released a hand and brought his finger up under her chin,
raising her face back to his.

His eyes were serious now. "Scully, I would never, ever, push
you on this," he said softly. "On the job, yes. I'll push and
shove and generally drive you nuts, whenever I can." They
smiled briefly, and he continued, "But this is personal, and
it's as hard for me as it is for you. I've been through every
argument against it, and you know how good I am at being the
pessimist when I really want to."

He moved his hand from her chin to brush along her shoulder,
then down her arm, where he clasped her hand in his again.
His eyes still held hers as he went on. "I want you to know
I'll defer to you on this," he said. "You've got more to lose
than me, professionally. But my gut feeling is, if we've
lasted this long, a little longer isn't going to hurt." He
half-smiled again. "Well, not much, anyway."

She smiled at that, and he finished, "So basically, I won't
say a word about this until you tell me you're ready. I'm a
big boy, Scully. I can handle it."

She squeezed his hands. "Thank you, Mulder," she whispered.
"That means a lot to me."

He looked at her for another few minutes, then dropped one
hand and tugged with the other. "Now that we're agreed on
that, why don't we get back to that paperwork so we can
head home?"

"Sounds great," Scully agreed, and they headed back for
the FBI building.

They held hands the whole way.