By Sue Esty
Windsinger@aol.com
 

7/26/95

SYNOPSIS: Mulder takes on a special assignment when a woman from
one of his earliest cases reenters his life and Scully learns to
follow her insticts.

RATING: I'll rate this NC-13 for adult themes ('You did what!?!'),
mild sex (I write suggestive sex. Believe me, compared to the stuff
I've read on the net, this is MILD!), a few bad words (well, they
were bad when I was a kid. "When was that?" "When dirt was new.")
and violence (Kids don't try this with your friends.). (Chapter 7
pushes the limit of PG-13 but is an integral part of the story.)

AUTHOR's NOTES: Here it is. Started this is February. Took a long
time and probably should take a little longer, but editing, like
testing computer software, will expand to fill the available time
and then some.) Since Chapter 1 is fairly short, I've included at
the end a little essay about the writing in general and about this
series, REVELATIONS, of which THE ABDUCTEE is the fourth and by far
the longest installment. ***BE reassured,**** THE ABDUCTEE can be
read alone. So can THE BOX and MEMORIES. The sequal to THE
ABDUCTEE, MILE HIGH, has been written and is ready to be posted.
 

The first story in REVELATIONS (called REVELATIONS and which is
still being written) takes place after the fifth episode of the
program (The Jersey Devil) and the rest of the REVELATIONS series
in the latter half of the first season, after FIRE and after TOOMS
('I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you, Mulder.')
and before the ERLENMEYER FLASK.

1.   REVELATIONS: In process as of 8/95.
2.   THE BOX (On Ftp.cs.nmt.edu)
3.   THE VACATION (This is just a working title so far. I only have
     a vague outline about this one.)
4.   THE ABDUCTEE
5.   MILE HIGH
6.   MEMORIES (A revision will be posted after MILE HIGH. The
     original from March is on ftp.cs.nmt.edt parts 01, 02, 03 and
     will be replaced by the revision. Note: There is another story
     on this site with extension .TXT which is not mine. Sorry
     about the identical titles. I try to check these things out.)
7.   JUST THE TWO OF US: Under construction as of 8/95 (It's a toss
     up whether this or REVELATIONS will be done first.)
8.   SKUNKED AGAIN: probably. Great title, though.
 

     Not in this series:
     DO NOT GO GENTLE (on ftp.cs.nmt.edu)
     DELIVER US FROM EVIL (posted 4/17)
     WEDDING, version B (The Action-Adventure Version) in
     MacSpooky's GENERATIONS series and with her spirit and
     support. (posted early August 1995)
     WALKERS (working title: There's already a fan fiction called
     'Walker'.) Coming late in the fall. Probably rivals THE
     ABDUCTEE in length.

THANKS:

Thanks to all the other creative writers, too numerous to mention,
who, consciously and unconsciously, contributed to this work, but
especially to IZZYCAT for her early comments and friendship, to
YOUKNEEK for her excellent and painstaking editing, to LIVENGOO for
her input and encouragement ("Come on, you can do better than
that!"), and Tara for her medical input which sometimes I chose to
ignore (Sorry, Tara).
 

Now ... finally... (about time) on with THE ABDUCTEE... hope you
like it.
 

This story is based on the characters created by Chris Carter, Ten
Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Used without permission
and no infringement is intended. Thanks guys (unisex personal
pronoun intended), for creating this marvelous stuff.

Copyright 1995 by S. Esty
 
 

THE ABDUCTEE - Section I: The Witness and the Bodyguard
Chapter 1
Washington DC
 

     "Evening, Mitch."

     The convenience store owner, Mitch Legget, looked around at
the sound of the soft door chime and the casual youthful greeting.
He groaned, stretching up from where he had been restocking the
lower shelves.

     "Yo, Reti. How'd the English test go?"

     A teenager, obviously street wise and comfortable here, walked
towards the center counter, his huge unlaced athletic shows making
artful waffle smudges on the linoleum as he brought a good deal of
wet in along with himself and his backpack. The boy took a stick of
beef jerky from the cup by the cash register. "Yo, Mitch," he
mimicked. "How come every night it's the same thing? How'd the math
test go, Reti? How'd the history test go, Reti? There's more to
life than takin' tests, Mitch." The boy's smile became more of a
leer.

     "I'm not interested in your love affairs. It's a wonder that
the girls are."

     The boy sat up on the counter, as quick and nimble as a cat.
"Har, har, Mitch."

     "I'm interested in how well you're doing in school. With this
job taking so much of your time I worry about your grades - and
your attendance. Your parole board won't be happy if you don't stay
in school."

     The boy opened the stick of beef jerky and began to eat. The
older man stopped his work long enough to stab a finger towards the
cash register. "Don't forget to pay for that."

     "Do I ever?"

     "Sometimes."

     The boy spun around on the counter and leaped off into the U-
shaped space behind the cash register. Then he dug into his jeans
and pulled out some coins which he dropped into the box.

     "There. I pay my way, Mitch."

     "Yeah, the Chain always do, but with whose money?"

     The boy closed the cash register and looked up with mock
dismay. "Mitch, I'm insulted. I'm clean."

     "Maybe," the older man grunted. In fact, he knew the boy was.
Reti had been trying hard. He just needed someone to get on his
case every once in while.

     From outside, thunder rumbled and the sound of rain became
suddenly louder. Since the store was located in the center of the
city and most of their clientele were walk ins, it would be a light
night. "You won't have much traffic tonight, Reti. Just try to stay
awake, okay?"

     Still chewing, the boy headed for the back room. "Which is why
I'm off to catch some winks. Wake me in three hours, Mitch."
 
 

     Mitch Legget looked up at the clock. When he had finished
restocking, he had reorganized most of the displays on the west
wall, but time still seemed to be creeping by. He was tired. An
hour to go before the boy took over for the night shift and then
his sixteen hour day would be over. He wanted his bed. It *had*
been a slow night. The rain had continued to come down in sheets.
He had had only three customers since the boy went down for his
nap, and they had not been regular customers who liked to chat.

     Suddenly, the room filled with light as the store owner heard
the muffled roar of a very powerful engine. Mitch shielded his eyes
and strained to look through the store window. From the height of
the light source, it was one of those jacked up pickups with floods
and, although he heard the engine shut down, the brights and the
floods continued to blaze. The occupied parking space was one of
the four which had an unobstructed view inside the store and stark
black shadows of displays and shelving and door and window frames
were now thrown against the walls amidst the general wash of white.
Mitch heard the car door open and close, but the lights still
blazed. Mitch wondered why the driver didn't turn those damn things
off.

     The storekeeper came around to the front of the counter as the
front door opened, its bell chiming. He squinted for a moment,
beginning to be a little concerned, and then relaxed and smiled.
"Oh, it's you. You said you'd be back. I found a back copy of that
magazine you wanted."

     Mitch had turned towards the counter when he suddenly jerked
and cried out in astonishment and pain. He stared back at his
assailant with wide-eyed confusion before slumping to the floor.
Blood was spurting from a huge hole the knife had made in his
stomach. The swipe to his neck was unnecessary but added a little
more color to the scene.

                               ***

Sunday 10pm, two weeks later
Washington, DC
 

     Dana Scully leaned against the door frame of her bathroom,
arms crossed and smiling wickedly. "It is, Mulder."

     "It is not," Fox Mulder said seriously, as he leaned forward
to stare at his reflection in the mirror.

     "Live with it, Mulder. It's a sunburn. It won't kill you."

     Carefully, he touched the skin of his nose. It was definitely
pink. "It wasn't there when we left."

     "Sometimes these things take a little while to develop," Dana
told him, leaning in to look at her own image next to Mulder's. She
had to admit, even through she had used copious amounts of sun
block, her fair skin had a much more distinctive glow than when
they had left Washington three days before. With her complextion,
she hoped when the 'glow' disappeared there would be some tan left.
She took in the view of the two of them in the mirror, both scruffy
from their last day on the boat and the long flight back that
evening. Mulder was dressed in jeans and his new Key West
sweatshirt. Dana wore Dockers and her favorite flannel pullover.
She marveled, as she always did, at the differences in their
heights. Funny, she never felt as short as she obviously looked.

     "You'll wear make up tomorrow, right?" he asked, looking at
the auburn-haired woman in the mirror.

     "Mulder, I always do. What's gotten into you?"

     He looked down on her from his greater height, his expression
a bit chagrined. "I just didn't want both of us to go into work
with... you know."

     Dana's eyes widened. "Sunburns, Mulder? All this is because
you don't want *both* of us showing up with sunburns?" She rolled
her eyes, turned on her heel and marched into the living room,
talking back to him over her shoulder. "Is that why you kept
smearing that aluminum gunk on all weekend?"

     He slouched after her. "Some people might get the wrong
impression," he said with perfect sincerity.

     <Unbelievable,> Dana thought with amazement. "Mulder, we're
together for weeks at a time. If we wanted to *do* something, we
wouldn't have to fly all the way to Key West to do it. Besides, the
little bit of pink you have will probably be gone by tomorrow."

     "Do you think so?" He put his forefinger on the end of his
nose and tried to look at it cross-eyed.

     Playfully, Dana batted his hand away. "Didn't your mother ever
tell you never to do that."

     He raised his shoulders, smiling with mock innocence. "She
tried, but remember, I'm incorrigible."

     She opened the door and stood holding it for him. "Mulder, I
think it's time for you to go home. It's been a long day and I need
to sleep, even if you don't."

     Hands in pockets, he moved towards the door but stopped in the
doorway as if unsure of what to do next. He was so close that Dana
had to look up to see his face. He had the attitude of someone who
had something to say, or was his lingering in her doorway just her
imagination? Was he as loath to leave as she was to see him go?
This was weird. They had not been out of each other's sight for
almost six weeks. Logically, they both should be longing for a
little privacy by now.

     "Mulder, it's time for you to go home," she repeated. When he
didn't move, she took his arm and propelled him onto the flagstones
on the front porch of her apartment house. "Home, Mulder. I'll see
you at work tomorrow."

     He was still standing close, almost leaning towards her, but
making no move to touch her. "Scully."

     "What, Mulder?"

     "Thanks for inviting me along."

     "Mulder, I thought you had invited me."

     "Did I?"

     Dana sighed in exasperation and gave him a gentle push down
the steps. "Good *night*, Mulder," and then she lingered herself to
watch him trot down to the street. For a lanky man he was
incredibly graceful. She felt her eyes straying to the way he moved
in his jeans, which reminded her of how he had looked in that
little thing he called a bathing suit. She knew he wore it
regularly at the pool when he did laps. Then why had he seemed
bashful about wearing it in front of her? He had nothing of which
to be ashamed. She pulled into her mind the vision of his exquisite
body, pale and long, and as sleek and nimble as a seal, diving
deeply in and among the coral and schools of bright, flashing fish.
She wondered if the memory of her own physique had been enticing
enough to be catalogued somewhere special in that unique brain of
his. With a gentle smile on her face, Dana wandered languidly back
into her apartment shutting the door behind her.
 

     As he slid into the front seat of his car, Fox watched Dana
Scully disappear behind the closing door. He paused before turning
on the ignition, for he wanted to catch a glimpse of her dim
silhouette as she moved from room to room. Finally, he moved the
car forward and drove around the block only to park once more on
her street, facing her building, though from about half a block
away. Now, no one could say he was sitting in front of her
building, but he was close enough to see the lights from her
apartment. Fox got out and sat on the hood. Wrapped in his long
black coat, he leaned against the windshield, thinking and allowing
himself to be held by the warm glow from those distant lights.

     Fox had always known Dana Scully was lovely. He had known that
from the moment she first walked into his office, and he had sworn
then that he would get back at whoever had assigned such a
distracting woman to spy on him. In time, he saw past her stubborn
insistance that everything must have a logical, scientific
explanation. He respected the way she stood up to him and dared him
to defend his theories - well, most of the time anyway. He had
learned to enjoy her wit and her intelligence and to admire her
courage and strength. He praised the day he had somehow earned her
respect and her loyalty, but he had never allowed himself to think
upon the femaleness, the animal core of her, that lay underneath
the partner he had learned to trust with his very life. And now he
could not stop thinking about it.

     Fox had always been attracted to dark, leggy women. Scully was
neither dark, nor, in her petiteness, could she be considered
leggy. For this reason, he had been afraid that, physically, he
would find her less appealing, because she did not fit his dream
girl image. Then, three days ago, he had watched her swimming. Free
and smiling, like a wild thing, graceful and fearless, skimming
above the crest of the coral reef like a mermaid surrounded by
flights of glorious colored fish, which parted and dashed and
sailed at her passage. What he had discovered was that, for once in
his life, he was looking upon a woman as a sexual being and yet he
did not see legs or breasts or even face, but only the total
person, the loveliness of her soul, as one with the loveliness of
her body.

     <Stop it! Stop it!> Abruptly, he drew his long coat closely
around his lean legs as if he felt a chill. This line of thinking
would not do either of them any good. He could not allow himself to
get involved with Dana Scully. For one, there was the very big
problem with Bureau restrictions concerning partners becoming
romantically involved. And, anyway, what did he have to offer her?
Physically he considered himself unexceptional except that he had
been all arms and legs and feet for as long as he could remember.
He had been uncoordinated as a kid, and even now, more often than
not, he was the one who ended up in the emergency room after a
case. He was not the most accurate shot with a weapon and far from
the most skilled in unarmed combat. When he publicly expounded on
his theories, he embarrassed Scully so often he wondered why she
stayed with him. He was obsessive about his work, he knew that, and
he doubted he would ever change. He was also moody and had a tricky
temper that sometimes got away from him and lashed out
indiscriminately at whoever happened to be handy. And the 'who',
more often than not, turned out to be Scully. Add to that the
despairing fact that he had never been successful with women and
you had a pretty sorry candidate for hot catch of the month.

     What he had with Scully now was the best, the very best, most
satisfying relationship he had ever had with anyone. He dared not
risk that. Not for anything.

     Only when the lights went off in her apartment an hour later,
did Fox unwind himself from the hood of his car. Slowly, he drove
home to his empty apartment.
 

End of Chapter 1

-------------------------------------------------------------------
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ABOUT THIS SERIES AND HOW THESE THINGS CAME TO BE (for those who
are interested. Not necessary to understand the story.):

First off, I never intended to write a series. I wrote, THE BOX
and, by the time I got to the end, it logically needed to have a
sequel. The working title of that one is THE VACATION (not to be
confused with the fantic VACATION). No, I haven't written it yet.
I'm trying to hang an X-file type shell around sailing, snorkling
and sun block and I haven't come up with one yet. I don't remember
where the idea for THE ABDUCTEE came from, but I've been working on
it since February.

I decided early on that conflict would best be served if events in
THE ABDUCTEE could temporarily sidetrack the logical progress of
Mulder and Scully's relationship hinted at in THE BOX and continued
in THE VACATION. (Yeah, I know, which I haven't written.) But never
fear, the end of Chapter 1 and the beginning of Chapter 2 fill in
the important stuff you need to know from the VACATION. (Dana and
Fox were nice enough to let me in on what happened so this would
all make more sense to the rest of us.)

After 90% of THE ABDUCTEE was completed and while it was incubating
(waiting for the numerous revisions and this one had *a lot* of
them), I got the idea for MEMORIES and finished that one within two
weeks. I want to thank everyone for their very, very kind words
about that one. Like THE ABDUCTEE, MEMORIES was not necessarily
begun as part of the series but since their relationship was set up
so well for it, why not?

That turned out to be a good decision because one of those nice
people who commented on MEMORIES (I forget who but I want to thank
you, thank you, thank you) wanted to know more about what happened
before MEMORIES so one day on my way to taking my kids to a petting
zoo I created the second half of MILE HIGH in my head. The title
determined the shape of this one. The first half of MILE HIGH came
in response to a question posed by one of THE ABDUCTEE's editors.
MILE HIGH is really, therefore, two stories. It is about 40 pages
and is complete and ready for posting as soon as THE ABDUCTEE has
been posted. It is a bridge in time between THE ABDUCTEE and
MEMORIES from Mulder's point of view.

THE ABDUCTEE was also edited *again* after MILE HIGH was completed,
so it fits in better now than it would have initially and MEMORIES
revised after that.

Now, the sequel to all of these (it *is* about time to get these
two back together) is JUST THE TWO OF US, which is in a complete
state of disorganization (a scene here, a scene there, lots of
scribbled dialogue and notes in stenographer's notebooks, and more
in my head and it's already about 100K, but at least I know where
it is going). This will take some time but I will complete it
before I get back to what I once thought was my long story,
WALKERS, which I started in January before I ever logged onto the
Internet or read my first X files fanfic. (WALKERS is NOT related
to the REVELATIONS series.)

*If* there is another one after JUST THE TWO OF US, it will be
similar to THE BOX in that it will be light (bet you didn't think
THE BOX was light), which will make a nice parallel structure for
the series and will be titled 'SKUNKED AGAIN'. (That's an in-joke
for those of you who have read THE BOX.) Yes, I know, it sounds
like Jackie St. George, Dana and Fox sitting around playing poker.
(X-file creative fiction in-joke! Credit to Sheryl Martin) *That*
won't happen, but at this time I have no idea what will.

Late addition: I've gotten inspired and I now have the cornerstone
piece of this series in my mind and some in the computer. It's
called REVELATIONS and it takes place after episode 5 of the
program (Jersey Devil). The basic story behind REVELATIONS is
mentioned in passing in the ABDUCTEE (don't ask ME where, I only
wrote the thing.) Just send me your guesses about what you think
it's about. (Hint, it does NOT concern Phoebe.)

One more thing, any similarity in scene or dialogue or plot with
other fantic is completely coincidental. I've read stories written
last year which I am just getting around to reading which have
similar scenes to those in THE ABDUCTEE and there are ones which
have been posted while I've been final editing this monster which
have similarities. (Sometimes I despair. It's so painful to see
what I thought were my original ideas in other stories.) The
writers all know we are working in a very small universe here and
great minds will think alike. Readers, please be aware, writers are
influenced by other writers and inspired by them, but none of use
would directly copy from another without acknowledgement. We all
want to be original. Please try to read each story as unique and
don't sigh and think "Oh, THAT again. I just read that last week."

For readers of MEMORIES:

Please read the revision of MEMORIES which will be posted after
MILE HIGH (get your hankies first) and replace any copies of the
original you may have with the revision. I think it is better
though not much which is significant has been changed except for
the final sentance and punctuation.

=====================================================================
Chapter 2
Blue Monday 7am
Washington DC

     Dana Scully woke up the next morning and gloried in how
wonderful it felt to stretch out in one's own bed. More than six
weeks had passed since she had been able to do that, but,
surprisingly, she was not in the mood to sleep in. She bounded out
of bed, actually looking forward to going to work, though she
admitted most of her eagerness stemmed from being able to be with
Mulder again. First work, then maybe pizza, a movie, espresso - and
afterwards?

     Better slow down, Dana, she told herself. He is already as
nervous as a fox at a beagle rally. Besides, hadn't she been down
this road before? Hadn't she already convinced herself of how
impractical, not to mention unprofessional, it would be for them to
have any kind of a relationship beyond what they had? Then why did
she feel like she needed more convincing.

     Dana plunged under the shower, remembering diving off the boat
into the cool water. Their enforced vacation had come to an end far
too soon. Unfortunately, that fickle female, Fate, had obviously
found the time to enjoy herself and work against them again. Even
in Key West, with miles of ocean between them and the outside
world, circumstances over which they had no control managed to get
in the way of their exploring any of their deeper feelings.
Figuratively at least, there never seemed to be time to stick their
toes in the water and see if there were any sharks. True, once
Mulder had been on the verge of saying something meaningful but
then...

     Dana tossed her wet hair out of her eyes in frustration. That
man was impossible! She had given him the right signals to show she
was interested, but he had not responded. Not in any obvious way.
Not until tonight and that had not been obvious either. There was
something odd about tonight. Something odd about him.  Maybe the
trip had been too - artificial. Now that they were back, she might
see the change she was looking for.

     As she dressed, Dana reviewed her impressions about Mulder
from the night before and decided that, yes, a nice normal X-file
would actually fit the bill rather well to settle him down and help
him feel on safe ground again. She would like it, too. Perhaps it
was time to go slow and let him catch up. Yes, just the two of
them, out on the road. Just as long there was nothing too gross
about the case or too violent or too dangerous. Nothing in the rain
or in the snow and nothing - nothing - in the woods. <Doesn't leave
much, does it, Dana?>
 
 

     Arriving at FBI Headquarters, Dana headed for her cubical on
the third floor near the pathology lab to look over the
considerable pile of mail that had collected since she had been
gone. She also kept a desk in the X-Files office in the basement,
but had asked the office staff to leave most of her mail here so
that it would not get lost in Mulder's mess. Besides, they had been
together almost constantly for more than a month. Dana wanted to
give him a little space, a little time to miss her.

     When ten o'clock had come and gone with no word from Mulder,
however, Dana found herself pacing the hallway outside the
pathology lab. Dressed in the lightest colored suit she dare wear
in November, the one that would set off her new 'glow' to its best
advantage <Damn you, Mulder, I'm not going to cover this up with
make up!>,  she had accepted some nice compliments from both sexes,
but still there was no sign of the man. Finally admitting that
*she* missed him, Dana decided to take a little stroll down just to
say 'hi'.
 
 

     There was no sign of Fox Mulder in the cluttered basement
office. From the look of his 'In Box' and his 'Out Box', not the
official ones but the piles that she knew he considered his in and
out boxes, he had been 'in'. She called and looked around and,
because the star field screen saver was displayed on his computer,
expected to see him on his hands and knees excavating some unfiled
toxicological report from one of the piles under the large work
table where he kept such things. But no Mulder. Dana was definitely
perplexed. Around the agency leaving your ID logged on was a
definite 'no-no' and he could get in trouble if anyone other than
she had caught the lapse. This was definitely unlike him.

     Shamelessly, Dana indulged in a little snooping in his e-mail.
She did not consider this an invasion of his privacy, for they had
no secrets from each other as far as work was concerned, and few
others outside of that, with the obvious exception of how they
truly felt about each other. They had even traded passwords, never
knowing when access might be needed at a moment's notice.

     Clicking down she finally found it. He had been called down to
Assistant Director Skinner's office for a nine o'clock meeting, and
he was probably still there. What puzzled her was that she had not
been included. Not that she was always called in when Mulder was,
especially when Skinner was in the mood for reading the riot act,
but, if they were being given a new assignment, she was always
interested in being in on the very beginning. Dana found that a
case started out more smoothly if she was around at the beginning
to keep Mulder from making assumptions before she felt he had any
solid evidence. Mulder, of course, always felt his theories were
well-supported, even if his evidence was as insubstantial as that
oddly colored patch of fog which was reported to have drifted
across the face of the moon in 1952.

     Slowly, Dana took the stairs back up to her office. She
actually did have a few cases to close out, for which her medical
judgement was needed. She should attend to those before taking on
anything new. Instinctively, she took the stairs because she knew
Mulder always did, and she hoped to meet him on the way. He always
complained about not getting enough exercise.

     Sure enough, hearing the sound of large male feet on the
stairs, she looked up and saw him, though he did not see her. He
was staring at the contents of a thick file he carried and being
totally Mulder, that is, totally introspective.

     "Hey, Mulder," she said, smiling as he drew alongside. He
would have seen her special slow and beautiful smile if he had
bothered to look.

     He glanced up absently. "Hi, Scully. How's it going?" he
muttered automatically and just kept moving, not waiting for an
answer.

     Dana stared at his back until he had rounded the bend in the
stairs, amazement on her pretty face. 'Hi, Scully. How's it going?'
They had just spent the last month and a half together, scarcely a
waking minute out of each other's sight, and he tosses her 'Hi,
Scully. How's it going?'

     Sadly, Dana had to admit he had that look on his face that
said he had a case, a serious one, something that disturbed him but
did not yet excite him. But as disappointed as she was for herself,
she was more disappointed for him. If only he had been given a
couple of days, even one day, to bask in the simple contentment he
also had seemed to find on their brief, but much needed get away.

     Wearily, Dana climbed the last flight of stairs to the third
floor. He should be happy about one thing at least this morning,
she thought. There was no hint of sunburn on his face.

                               ***

       For Dana, the rest of the morning and most of her afternoon
actually passed very quickly and was both productive and
interesting. She participated in the peer reviews of cases
presented by three rookie forensic specialists and was able to
prove in all cases that there were significant items that the young
go-getters had missed. She also felt that the reviews had been
handled diplomatically so that none of the rookies had come away
feeling that they were being put down for their deficiencies. Dana
never knew when, needing a fresh eye, she would need to call upon
one of them to play devil's advocate for her. By late afternoon she
felt she had done a good day's work for her pay; however, she still
was itchy about Mulder. A yellow sticky note never appeared pinned
to her chair and there was no e-mail message from him. Nothing.
Finally, unable to stand being ignored any longer, she headed back
down to the basement.

     Dana found him slumped in his battered desk chair, his feet on
his desk, looking as glum as when she had seen him on the stairs.
He also seemed to be staring at the same thick file he had been
reading that morning, only it was balanced, for the moment, on his
knees.

     "Hey, Mulder," she said, repeating his earlier greeting down
to the inflection. "How's it going?"

     He looked up from his reading and smiled a little, giving no
indication that he had seen her that morning at all.

     Dana drew her own chair up close to his, a clear signal that
she was not going anywhere until he talked. "I can see you have a
new case. Anything I can do to help?"

     Without enthusiasm he picked up the thick file and passed it
to her. "It's actually an old one, or a variation on an old one."
He raised his eyes to her. Dana could sense this was going to be a
long story, containing bits that could not be found in the official
report. The file was put aside, time enough to examine it later.
Dana listened carefully, needing to know why he looked so sad.

     "I was assigned to a case at the end of my first year out of
the academy," he began. "I already had a reputation for unorthodox
theories, but no long string of successes to balance them out. The
successes I'd had were dismissed as aberrations, lucky guesses."
Just remembering brought the frustration he had felt into his
voice. "And I didn't have a regular partner because no one really
felt comfortable working with me except when they had to." He gave
her a small appreciative smile. She knew now that whatever was
bothering him had nothing to do with her. He was just having a bad
day.

     "Then came this case... Angela Larson." The inflection of his
voice went up as he pronounced all the syllables of that name
distinctly. "She had a *significant* history. Reports of being
followed, being molested. Her parents even reported her missing on
three occasions, but she always turned up with no memory of what
had transpired. Even then I was eager to investigate cases with
this sense of the abnormal. I asked for the assignment."

     "Was it an X-File?" Dana asked.

     His eyes rested significantly at the cabinet under discussion.
"No. Actually, I didn't even know about the X-Files then, but the
possibilities intrigued me. I spent two weeks trying to
substantiate her story. That's a long time when the victim isn't
even missing, but I found nothing. Finally, I ordered a new batch
of psychological tests ... regression hypnosis, for example, to try
to find out what happened during her blank periods."

     "And?" Dana asked. When he was silent for a long time, she
continued,  "I gather from your expression that the results were
inconclusive."

     Fox did not answer immediately. He was examining the cracks in
the ancient ceiling. The FBI headquarters looked pretty good from
the outside but he knew a new face had simply been wrapped around
a very old shell and the internal arrangement of rooms, especially
in the basement, testified to its real age. Thinking back on a case
eight years previous, as if it were yesterday, made the rapid
passing of years disturbing. "Not just inconclusive, but negative.
They found nothing. I finally had to come to the same conclusion as
her parent's doctors; that much of what she reported was caused by
a singular assortment of phobias. She was just afraid, totally
afraid of everything."

     He took his feet down off the desk and stared at the floor.
"Scully, I'm afraid that I was not very discrete."

     <Uh, oh.> "You don't have to tell me this, Mulder, if you
don't want to."

     He must have seen the slight frown appear on her lips. She was
good at hiding what was on her mind, but not so good that he
couldn't tell that she was reading more into his statement than he
had intended. Oddly, not like her. "Oh, nothing like what you're
thinking. We got close, but it was not - like that." He seemed on
the verge of being insulted that she would think such a thing of
him. "I'm afraid I frightened her as much as her fear of what was
happening during the blank times." His eyes betrayed some inward
directed anger. He brought his right fist down on his leg and did
not look at Dana. "I was so eager! I wanted so much to report a
case as being caused by unexplained phenomena that I -
unintentionally - planted a suggestion in her mind that her
problems might stem from her being the victim of an alien
abduction. It all seemed to fit at the time."

     Dana nodded. It would to him. Now she saw, partially, why he
was upset, but if that was all there was to this case, why should
he be bothered to this extent? "I hate to tell you this, Mulder,
but if that's the kind of indiscretion you claim to have committed,
you're still doing it. Not on a regular basis," she added, seeing
his wounded expression, "but often enough."

     "Very Funny, Scully. But, my abduction theory was only part of
the problem. I thought because she was not underage and she was
willing, that I could talk this out with her directly. Add to that,
her parents didn't want anything to do with me, my investigation or
my theories, and you have the makings of a disaster. I was stupid
thinking that I wasn't ethically bound to include the family." He
looked up and his eyes were sad. "Scully, she was unstable."

     Dana made an 'Oh' shape with her lips. Hesitantly, she
concluded, trying not be sound judgmental, "So she went off the
deep end."

     He was staring off into space again, remorse showing in every
muscle of his slumped posture. "All the way to the bottom. Her
parents committed her, for eight years to a psychiatric hospital
called Longmead. And nothing in her records from that period
supports the possibility of abduction. The clinical judgement was
that her reported harassments were part of some teenage fantasy,
not helped by *my* theories, by the way. Her blank times were
attributed to schizophrenic episodes."

     Dana sat back in her chair. That would certainly explain his
misery, his guilt.  "You were young, inexperienced. You can't blame
yourself."

     He jumped out of the chair, anger flaring. She was surprised
he had actually stayed put so long. His finger stabbed the air.
"Why can't I? I was a trained psychologist. I was supposed to be
good. I thought I *was* good. Read too many of my own damned press
releases." He kicked the trash can and sent it rolling, its
contents scattering. "I should have known better!"

     Dana had had a few psychology courses herself and having to
deal with Mulder, she wished she had had a few more. "We go through
life doing the best we can. Often that's not good enough, but," she
lifted her shoulders, "we try. That's all we can expect."

     "No, it's not," he growled. "What's the Hypocratic oath? 'Do
no harm'? Yeah, well, I blew it."

     Enough of this, Dana thought with exasperation. She knew him
well enough that, if he wanted to wallow in self pity, she could
not stop him. Only work could do that. Back to the subject. "So
what does this have to do with your current assignment? Is the case
being reopened?"

     He seemed to have forgotten the case for a minute. Dana could
see him physically shake himself to bring his mind back to the
present. "No, this is something entirely different. Angela Larson
was released three months ago. Four days ago she was the only
witness to the murder of a convenience store owner, Mitch Legget,
and the suspect she has identified is a member of the Chain."

     Dana's eyes grew wide. "This woman can't get a break, can
she?" Dana was familiar with the Washington, D.C. gang that called
itself 'the Chain'. This was no two-bit drug distribution ring. The
FBI believed it was the keystone in a larger east coast consortium
that dealt not only in heavy drugs, but prostitution, money
laundering, extortion and a little murder for hire on the side. "Is
she going to testify?" Most people wouldn't. Far too dangerous.

     Mulder leaned against the desk, his hands in his pockets.
"That's the interesting part. She's willing, so the D.A. should be
thrilled."

     "But he isn't," Dana noted. "Maybe he's thinking as a witness
she might be less than persuasive?"

     "And he may be right. She's scared to death. She could easily
fold on the stand. And the stress cannot be good for her mental
health."

     "No other substantiating evidence? Security camera?"

     "The electronics lab thinks the owner let his maintenance
contract expire. The tape is overexposed, washed out." Mulder
stared at the opposite wall, but his eyes were unfocused. "So they
need her and have offered to put her in the Witness Protection
Program to keep her safe. The trouble is, she's about as afraid of
the police as she is of the Chain. The D.A.'s office is bending
over backwards to find someone she can trust to protect her and
support her through this."

     Dana prided herself on putting two and two together and coming
out with four. Mulder often came out with five, but then his
mathematics, like his physics, often defied commonly accepted laws.
Now her eyes showed a stormy ocean blue as the truth sunk in. "Oh,
Mulder, no. She hasn't."

     For the first time, a ghost of his slightly crooked smile
graced his lips. "I always said you were bright, Scully."

     "Then she has asked for you to function as her case officer?
Her bodyguard?"

     "Ancient and stressful as our relationship was, she has."

     "I'm surprised she remembered your name."

     "She didn't. She 'described' me." There was that slight self-
deprecating smile again which Dana hated. "There aren't too many
agents in my age bracket who would hazard alien abduction as a
possible explanation for erratic disappearances. It took about
three seconds for the local FBI office to supply my name."

     <There aren't too many in *any* age bracket who would do
that,> Dana thought. "Mulder, your reputation precedes you."

     "Lucky me."

     Dana pondered. This was weird, human coincidence weird, but
not an X-File. His guilt is talking. She knew Mulder could be
overly sensitive sometimes. Dana stood up and walked over to stand
in front of him, hands on hips. The movement was meant to signify,
<Well, it's all out now, so let's get on to other things.> As if it
were a given, she said, "Well, I take it you said, 'no'."

     His silence and his refusal to look in her direction answered
that one plainly enough.

     "Mulder! Even if they disregard the X-Files, which they
usually do, you're still the best analyst in violent crimes. You're
unique, to say it simple and clear. I'm surprised that Skinner
would allow it and I'm more surprised you would accept. Your
talents would be wasted. Such baby sitting assignments are for - "
she did not say it aloud, but Mulder knew that only the most
junior, or the most talentless, officers were assigned to that sort
of thankless, boring duty.

     Suddenly, a thought came to her that made the storm in her
eyes clear a little. "I heard they are not mixing sexes on
assignments like this so much any more. Female client; male
officer. Too much of a chance for allegations of sexual
impropriety." Maybe if she dropped a few hints to the right
people...

     "Scully..." Mulder said, warningly, "are you trying to protect
my reputation?" She smiled at him with faked innocence, but he
shook his head. "Thanks to our excellent record and our outstanding
performance on the DOD's 'stress test' last week, my reputation on
that score is squeaky clean. The D.A. is satisfied. Besides, Angela
won't accept anyone else."

     Dana sighed unhappily. It had been a good try. Not that it
mattered, Mulder obviously wanted this. But while he sat in some
safe house playing solitaire, what would she be doing and with
whom? "Since this affects me, too, may I ask why?"

     The look he gave her showed he was well aware of what this
meant to her.  That helped... only a little... but it helped.

     "Scully," he said, in his most serious tone, looking straight
into her eyes, "I need to do this. She says she won't have anyone
else, and the D.A. is frantic for a conviction. If we can do this,
we'll open a chink in the gang's armor. They've been looking for
years for this kind of a break. What's unfortunate is that Angela
has to be the key, and she feels that I'm the only one who can get
her through this, the only one who can can understand her."

     Dana looked hurt, but concerned for him, too. "Have you
thought about how this will look on your record?"

     Mulder's mouth twitched. He obviously had. "Skinner doesn't
understand it either. He only agreed to ask me because he owed the
D.A. a few dozen favors. He says he can put it down in my files as
vacation, if I want."

     "Some vacation. How long are you expecting this little
'vacation' to last?"

     Mulder posture relaxed a little as if now that she had
accepted it, though reluctantly, the tough part was over. "The
grand jury meets next week. That's the hearing. If I can work with
her and get her through that experience, then I hope to bow out."

     Dana looked dubious. "You *hope* to bow out?"

     "I'll take her around, let her meet some potential
replacements, find her someone she would like. Maybe I won't be
needed even that long." His face showed an optimism that Dana
certainly did not share. Fox Mulder could be so gullible at times.

end of Chapter 2

=====================================================================
Chapter 3
Blue Monday 6 pm
Northern Virginia

     Fox Mulder had another unpleasant surprise for Dana. His new
assignment began immediately. He was scheduled to pick Angela
Larson up at her office in an hour and a half. Not above grinding
a little more guilt into the wound, Dana did not even try to hide
her disappointment. She had hoped they would spend the evening
together - to take the gloom out of the slump in his shoulders, to
try to recapture a hint of the closeness they had found in Key
West.

     For Fox, telling her had been hard. Unfortunately, the relief
he felt, having gotten that task over with, was short lived. Now he
had to follow through with the assignment, and the prospect did not
please him any more than it pleased her.

     Odd as it felt, after all it was not her case, Dana accepted
his offer to ride along on the initial pick up. Truth be told, she
had a suspicious twitch in the back of her brain and wanted to see
this Angela Larson. They stopped at Mulder's apartment first for
him to pack a bag. Dana agreed to stop by a couple of times during
the week to feed his fish, the few that were left that he had not
already starved to death due to his erratic life style. Then they
headed out route 66 and made for Tyson's Corner, a huge commercial
development area in nearby Virginia. Angela Larson worked there as
a checker for an office supply store.

     As they pulled up in the parking lot near the front door of
the store, Dana studied Mulder's serious face. He was not looking
forward to this meeting.

     "Just do me a favor this time, Mulder," she said, not
unkindly. "Don't screw things up." She gave him an encouraging
smile.

     His returning smile was much weaker, but he managed. "I know.
By the book," he said wearily as he slid out from behind the wheel.

     Waiting in the car in order not to confuse the woman who
expected only Mulder, Dana watched his long lean form striding
towards the door. A figure moved in the shadows inside the lobby,
and a woman came out just as he reached the sidewalk. She had
obviously been watching and waiting, not wanting him to have to
come in looking for her and risk having her co-workers see her
leaving with a strange man.

     At the sight of her, Dana admitted to being both surprised and
relieved. Angela Larson was a little thing, looking even smaller
and more frail by the way she huddled into herself. She was young.
If she had been twenty-one at the time of the first investigation,
she must be twenty-nine now, though she seemed much younger. She
was colorless, featureless and mousey. Timid as a mouse, too. Dana
had half suspected a femme fatale, but could not have been more
wrong. She hoped Mulder packed along a lot of reading material. It
did not look like it was going to be a very stimulating week.

     As Mulder escorted her towards the car, Dana stepped out.

     "Angela Larson," he said, introducing her. "Special Agent Dana
Scully." When the woman seemed to shrink away, he added, "Don't
worry, she's okay. We work together."

     "Nice to meet you, Ms. Larson," Dana said, shaking the limp
hand.

     "Angela," corrected a small voice. "They called me 'Larson'
for eight years in the - hospital. I don't think I ever want to
hear that name again."

     Dana smiled sympathetically.  "Of course, I understand."

     Mulder was looking up and down the parking lot. If he had been
a fox in the wild, his ears would have been twitching. "We
shouldn't be standing out here. Why don't we go."

     Dana held the front door open for Angela. Mulder threw her a
look. He obviously had wanted Dana to ride in front, but Dana was
keenly aware that Angela was the client here and took priority,
even if Mulder did not. Dana was, literally, just along for the
ride.

     "I need to get my things," Angela said as they pulled onto the
main street.

     "I know. They told me," Mulder said. "Falls Church, right?"

     She nodded. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Now can you
tell me where we'll be staying?" the woman asked.

     Mulder glanced back at Dana, who had leaned forward to feel
part of the conversation. "No, I'm sorry, not right now. As Agent
Scully is aware, she isn't allowed to know the location of the safe
house, because she doesn't work in that division."

     <Damn right,> Dana agreed, then realized she was definitely
out of place here. Maybe her coming along had not been such a good
idea. She leaned back in the seat, physically removing herself.
"Don't worry about me, *Agent* Mulder. You can let me out at the
Falls Church Metro Station."

     Noting her sulk, Mulder glanced back. "If Angela doesn't mind
your coming while she gets her things, I can drop you off at
Bloomingdale's. Want to do a little shopping?"

     <Shopping!> Dana huffed. Shopping was not her idea of a hot
date but probably the best she would get on short notice. At least
from there it was a relatively short cab ride back to her apartment
and, enlightened male though he may be, Mulder still held the
notion that shopping was some kind of female panacea for the blues.
Angela had no problem with Dana coming along. "Fine," Dana replied
shortly and spent the rest of the ride boring holes in the back of
Fox Mulder's head with her eyes.
 

     No one spoke further until Angela began giving directions
about two miles down the road. She directed them to a large, old
house in a quiet neighborhood in the well established Northern
Virginia community of Falls Church. Her room was on the top floor
of a three story structure covered with pealing white paint. As
they climbed the narrow stairs, Dana thought that it was fortunate
for them that Angela's room had its own entrance. They were
probably attracting enough attention as it was. Dana made a note to
remember that she and Mulder were both too well dressed for this
sort of undercover work. Downtown Washington was one thing. There
stylish, conservative business costume was required, but it did not
fit in so well in this working class neighborhood.

                               ***

      Angela's room was sparsely and cheaply furnished. There
seemed to be few personal items. Not unusual, Dana thought, for
someone who had been in an institution for eight years and only
recently reentered society. Dana hoped the woman had a social
worker. But the place was neat and clean and, as Dana nosed about,
she was pleased to see that there was even a little food in the
refrigerator, and it was not even spoiled, which meant Angela
already surpassed Mulder's accomplishments in the domestic arena.
It also meant that their chances of not starving over the next week
had significantly improved. If she could keep herself fed and
herself and her place neat, Angela was obviously adjusting well to
life on the 'outside'.

     Angela pulled a small suitcase from an almost empty hall
closet, packed a few odds and ends, and then vanished behind a
curtained area in the back of the room. Mulder dropped down on the
couch and began flipping through a tattered copy of People
magazine. Dana wandered and finally poked her head around the
corner of the curtained area. It contained a bed, nightstand,
dresser, and a small standing clothes closet.

     "Can I be of any help?" Dana asked pleasantly.

     The woman jumped at the sound of Dana's voice, then seeing who
it was, went back to slowly folding a few faded articles of
clothing. "No, thank you. I won't be long."

     Glancing casually about the room, Dana noticed the picture of
a young man hanging in a picture frame from a nail on the wall
beside the bed.

     "Brother?" she asked the woman.

     Embarrassed, Angela colored and gave a very little smile, the
first emotion Dana had seen. "Boyfriend," the woman said almost
proudly.

     Dana nodded impressed. The young man's picture was a little
blurry, he had a bit of acne and probably was about 20 pounds
overweight, but he had a pleasant smile.

     "They are going to keep paying my rent," Angela mentioned, not
looking up from her packing. Her stringy limp hair fell forward
over her face.

     "That's the least they can do," Dana said. "You know that
you're taking a big risk, don't you? These men have explained that
little detail, I hope."

     Still looking down, the woman nodded. "I want to help. It's
also -" she hesitated "- something to do."

     Dana breathed in sharply. Could the woman be so lonely as all
that? <There but for the grace of God go I,> Dana reminded herself,
then excused herself before she embarrassed the young woman any
further.
                               ***

     True to his word, Mulder let Dana off in front of
Bloomingdale's. She came around to the driver's side when he rolled
down his window. He rested his hand on the edge of the window
opening. She casually placed hers so that their finger tips barely
touched and was rewarded with a quick sidelong glance just for her.
It was a gentle look, a little sad, full of meaning. He did not
move his hand away as once he might have, but left their fingers
touching.

     Dana leaned inside a little to address Angela. "It was nice
meeting you. Good luck at the hearing." She turned to Mulder, a
false smile on her face. "Watch your back," she told him, "and
don't mislay your gun."

     "Watch out, yourself," he replied, putting the car in gear.
"And don't let Skinner saddle you with any undesirables."

     "He keeps assigning me to work with you. I'd say he owes me
one," Dana shouted as the engine roared.

     She stood on the sidewalk and watched Mulder's car pull out of
the parking lot, heading south out of the city. Dana felt alone
and, more than that, powerless. She did not know where he would be,
did not have his phone number, and he was required to keep his
outside calls to a minimum. She had not been this out of touch with
him since the day they had become partners. She had become
accustomed to taking care of him and knowing he was there to take
of her, if she needed it. The feeling was disquieting.

                               ***
Tuesday 9 am
FBI Headquarters

     The next morning Agent Scully's presence was requested in
Assistant Director Skinner's office.

     <Here it comes,> she thought. <The new assignment. The new
partner.>

     She was, therefore, much taken aback to enter the office and
be introduced to an absolute hunk of a man. Mulder was pretty in an
intellectual sort of way, gentle-eyed, slim overall, though she had
found early on that his clothes hid some finely muscled shoulders
and a nice butt. But this guy was a Play Girl's fantasy. He had an
inch or two over Mulder, who was himself tall. He had blond
surfer's hair, an open, gorgeous face, a strong neck that said
'weight-lifter' in tall letters and shoulders that clothes could
not hide.

      She found herself staring and tried to shock herself into
attention by warning herself that the guy probably had the IQ of a
donut.

     "Special Agent Dana Scully," Walter Skinner introduced, "this
is Dr. Evan Byers." She took the large but surprisingly gentle hand
which was offered and gave it a firm handshake.

     He had taken her measure, too, and seemed impressed, and not
just by the handshake. "Special Investigator, Food and Drug
Administration," he added. Now Dana was impressed. A doctor with
the FDA. Maybe her luck was turning around. The evening before she
had spent too much money, drunk too much wine all alone in her
apartment and not slept well.

     Dana and Byers sat. Skinner came around to the front of his
desk and leaned against it in his customary lecturing posture. "Dr.
Byers is on loan to us. The FDA has uncovered a possible
conspiracy, involving the manufacture of an illegal drug. Dr. Byers
thinks there may even have been murder committed."

     Dana was fascinated. "Sounds like fun."

     Dr. Byers turned bright blue eyes on Dana. "Law enforcement at
this level is really not in our mission statement," he said with a
wink. Dana smiled. The guy had a sense of humor to go with brains.
'Mission Statement' was one of those new hot buzz words being used
by government upper management.

     "Since you are 'unattached' at the moment," Skinner said
pointedly to Dana with a frown, "I thought you would be the ideal
agent to help Dr. Byers with his investigation." The frown, Dana
realized, was for Mulder accepting the assignment with the WPP.

     The blond giant picked up his brief case and put it in his
lap. "I have many of the technical specs here so you can see what
we're dealing with, but we're going to need some bodies exhumed.
I'm a researcher specializing in pharmacology, not a pathologist
and certainly not a forensics expert. I'll need your help on this
one."

     "No problem," she said, genuinely interested. "As Director
Skinner said," she added, making it clear from the tone of her
voice that she was not any more happy about Mulder's defection than
he was, "I'm not busy at the moment, so let's get started."

                               ***

Wednesday 2pm
WPP safe house, somewhere in southern Maryland

     Fox took a walk around the outside of the little brick house
for about the twentieth time that day. He saw the same yellow
house, about three hundred yards to his left, that he had seen the
last nineteen times and the same brush choked dingle to his right.
He could not keep doing this or he would wear a path in the late
fall grass. Besides, it looked suspicious and he was supposed to be
doing anything *but* looking suspicious. Unfortunately, he was
restless. There was nothing to do. Two days and already he could
feel the walls closing in. Angela read magazines, slept, and was
almost completely silent. He tried to read but found he could not
concentrate. What he wanted to do was go out and rent a computer.
He should have borrowed Scully's. He knew he could fill a lot of
hours learning to surf the Internet. Scully had told him that he
should, and one of the reasons he had put it off was because she
had warned him that the initial start up sessions would be time
consuming.

     The problem remained that he could not convince Angela to go
out. She was literally frightened of her own shadow. If he could
not get her to go out, even to browse about in a computer store, he
would never succeed in talking her into going into the city and
being introduced to officers who might conceivably take over this
wretched duty for him. It had taken him about twelve hours to
realize he had made a mistake about accepting this assignment. If
he had not had a guilty conscience to appease, it would have taken
him about twelve minutes. He just did not have the temperament for
this waiting around. The quiet was making him desperate and
irritable. His stomach was irritable, too. Maybe he was getting an
ulcer, but his stomach had been disturbingly upset that morning.

     He still felt sorry for Angela, partially responsible for the
rough time she had had, but as long as she refused to open up to
him, he felt his sacrifice was a empty gesture. Scully had warned
him.

     <Why do you have to be right all the time, Scully?>

     Fox reentered the house with no spring in his step. Angela had
isolated herself in her room again. He needed to break through that
shield of hers sometime soon. They needed to prepare for the
hearing on Monday if nothing else. He turned on the television but
the house did not have a VCR or cable and the weekday afternoon
fare was nauseating at best at least until the after school
cartoons came on. Finally, he popped a rock and roll disk into his
portable compact disk player, slipped on the ear phones, and
started doing sit ups on the living room floor. He had been getting
soft. If nothing else, he would return to his *real* job in better
shape than he left it.

                               ***

Friday 6pm
WPP safe house, somewhere in southern Maryland

     On Friday night Fox offered to cook. He felt some achievement
in being able to boil water for the spaghetti and warm up the
bottled sauce without burning anything. He did not feel pressured
to try anything more elaborate because Angela's cooking was not any
more inspired.

     At dinner time Angela sat at the table across from him,
looking down at her plate. She had been silent since she sat down.
He had tried to talk about the weather, the dismal record of the
Red Skins football franchise and hinted at some items he had found
in Scientific American, but she had not responded.

     "It's good," she whispered when they were almost finished.
Actually, Fox had finished considerably earlier. Scully always
complained that it was either feast or famine with him. Either he
forgot to eat for days on end or he ate enough for a family of four
in the time most people would take to eat a piece of toast. Tonight
he had eaten quickly, but not too much. He had been sick the last
two mornings. This evening he felt better, though his insides were
a little tender. He hoped he could throw off this stomach flu soon.

     "It's good," she repeated in almost a normal speaking voice.

     "Oh, is there someone else here?" he asked, looking everywhere
around the room but at her. "I thought I was talking to myself."

     The woman blushed and shrank closer to her plate. Her lank
hair hung so over her face that he could not see her well.

     "I'm sorry. That was unkind. But -" he leaned over to her and
whispered, "- it's been very quiet around here."

     "I did not want to disturb you," she muttered not looking up.
"I'm such a bother already."

     Fox picked up his plate and took it to the sink. "Why don't
you let me decide that. After all, you only asked. I accepted."

     "Why?" she asked suddenly.

     He looked up, his hands now full of greasy red sauce. He
believed that was just about the only question she had ever asked
him with the exception of 'Potatoes or rice?' "Why what?"

     "Why did you agree to stay with me. You didn't have to."

      He dried his wet hands off on the kitchen towel, not noticing
that he left it covered with a lot of red splotches. He sat down
next to her at the kitchen table. "I thought you had been having
things pretty rough lately," he said in his gentlest manner, the
one he reserved for children and old people. He had the ability to
put people at ease when he chose. That was a knack he had in
spades, Scully always told him, despite his lack of social graces
in other areas. "The hearing will be tough. I thought we could work
together to get you through it, but maybe I was wrong."

     "No," she said quickly. "It's good having you here, comforting
not to be alone. I'm sorry I'm such a bore."

     "No, you're not. We just need to find something we have in
common. Do you play chess? Do crossword puzzles?"

     "I'm pretty dull," she said, sliding the last of her spaghetti
around on her plate.

     "Stop saying that. Cards?"

     "I learned to play gin rummy - at Longmead," she admitted
hesitantly.

     "Okay," he said, smiling his winning smile, "let's clean up
and we'll give it a try."

     Within fifteen minutes he got a smile out of her. Within
thirty, a laugh. He found she actually was a very good player, much
sharper than he had expected and he did not need to stretch much to
let her win a couple of games. With his photographic memory no one
ever liked playing cards with him much. Everyone except his sister,
Samantha, who had always seemed to enjoy their games immensely.
Probably because she usually won. Fox suspected that her memory had
been better than his, only she had enjoyed hiding it. That and she
had also been a pro at distracting him.

     "Ice cream?" Angela asked with a smile on her face after she
had won a game by a narrow margin. He was staring at the cards,
actually suspicious that she had cheated, but not knowing how she
could have done it. "Sure. Neither of us can spoil that."

     She came back in a minute with two bowls. His was overflowing
with chocolate sauce. "I guess neither of us is a very good cook,"
she apologized as the sauce dripped onto the card table.

     He started in, contented with how the evening was ending up,
but the sauce had a funny taste. Maybe it was old. Not wanting to
hurt her feelings, he was determined to eat it anyway. This felt as
good a time as any to bring up the topic he had most wanted to
discuss with her. "Angela," he began whirling his spoon around in
the chocolate, "the main reason I agreed to take this assignment
was so I could apologize."

     "For what?" she asked.

     "For messing up during the investigation eight years ago. You
were vulnerable, confused, and I didn't help with all my stories
about alien abductions. Your records say you got over all that."

     Angela was not smiling any more, and there was new color in
her face. "Yes," she said quietly, "that's what the doctors say."
She suddenly stood up. "I'm sorry, I need to go to bed. I'd like to
talk to you about this, but I'm not ready yet. I need more time."
She looked at him as if begging for another chance. Mulder was
somewhat startled by the abrupt change in her.

     "As far as I know I'll be around. Any time you want to talk,
I'm available."
 

     <I don't have anything else to do,> he grumbled to himself.

                               ***

     That night Fox woke out of a sound sleep, again, with the very
devil of an upset stomach. He barely made it to the bathroom. Ice
cream and spaghetti was very apparent in the white porcelain bowl
of the toilet. If he had not been nauseous already, the sight would
have made him sick.  As he sat on the cool bathroom floor, wrapped
in a towel and waiting for the shakes to pass, he remembered too
well that this was the third time he had lost a meal. The other two
times had been first thing in the morning. - Damn flu.-  Though, if
he had been female, he would have suspected another kind of nasty
surprise. Male or female, he was certain no progeny had have been
initiated by any activity of his for at least five months. "Get a
life, Mulder," Scully frequently told him. He hoped wryly that that
was not what she had had in mind.

end of Chapter 3

=====================================================================
Chapter 4

Saturday 8 am
WPP safe house somewhere in southern Maryland
 

     <Saturday... finally!> Fox breathed, as he flipped back the
covers.

     Even though he felt a little light and shaky, having lost his
dinner during the night, he was not going to let that upset his
plans. Saturday night was his night off, and he was going to get
out of this house and see Scully if it killed him.

     As he came in for breakfast, he found Angela had laid out for
him two pieces of toast topped with huge dollops of apple butter.
Plain toast would have suited his stomach better. He chased the
offering down with strong black coffee.

     At noon he was sick again. This time Angela heard him retching
and came into the bathroom with a towel, wash cloth and sympathy.
Then she sent him to bed.

                               ***

     He slept until three-thirty. From four until six he either
paced or stood at the living room window, looking out towards the
drive, waiting for his temporary replacement. The man was late and
Fox was perturbed and impatient.

     "Time for dinner," Angela called brightly from the kitchen.

     "Angela, I told you," Mulder began as he walked towards the
kitchen, "I have to go out tonight. I'm just waiting for Agent
Clark to arrive to stay with you."

     She turned a pan of meat loaf in her hand. With her apron and
her hair pulled back she looked very domestic. "He won't be
coming," she informed him.

     Fox cocked his head and stepped fully into the kitchen. "What
do you mean he's not coming?"

     "He called this afternoon," the woman said matter-of-factly,
"to confirm the time. I told him we wouldn't be needing him."

     He strode up to her, his anger flaring. "You what! Who gave
you the right?"

     "I told him you were asleep," Angela said simply. "He found
that highly amusing, until I told him you'd been sick."

     Fox just stared at her, a dozen colorful, purple phrases
coming to mind which he was sorely tempted to use, but she was his
client, and he forced himself to swallow every one.

     Instead, he swung away from her and descended upon the
telephone. "Damn him, damn that bastard!" Fox fumed, his eyes
narrowing as he whipped up the receiver. "He should have talked to
me! I'll begin disciplinary actions on that lazy rookie for this!"
He would call Clark at home. He would pull that pretty-faced son-
of-a-bitch out of bed and make him come out here no matter which
Director's daughter he was in bed with. Then suddenly, in rage-
white frustration, he slammed down the phone without completing the
call.

     <Damn!> He had promised Scully, promised he would play it by
the book; no unauthorized outside contact, no personal phone calls,
the required daily check-in's only, and on Fox's list of priorities
those did not rate as calls at all. He had even missed a few. But
Monday, Mulder seethed, on Monday he would storm into Skinner's
office and that guy would not see the outside of a surveillance
closet for a month! Fox knew what that was like; he had been there.

     He was suddenly aware that Angela was standing in front of
him. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was staring at
him stonily. "I don't think I would have liked him much."

     "You didn't need to *like* him for one night!" He growled,
breathing fast and hard, struggling to keep from saying any more.

     Damn, no matter how much she was messing up his life, she was
the witness, and he the servant of the people, and he had no right
to talk to her the way he was.

     Fox shook his head. <I'm really losing it,> he thought grimly.
<I've *got* to get off this assignment.>

     Angela threw the meat loaf pan on the table and sat down. She
would eat if he would not. Fox paced the length of the kitchen and
living room for the next three minutes, not much of a stretch for
his long legs, fighting to bring his anger under control. He had a
temper, he had had to deal with it all his life, ever since
Samantha ... since Samantha had disappeared and the tauntings at
school had gotten to be too much. He could do this. He had to.

     Finally, Mulder sat down across from her at the kitchen table,
but he did not eat, did not feel like eating. From the look of it,
neither did she. "Angela, I apologize." The admission was hard and
he really hadn't sounded very apologetic. His voice was still
shaking with frustration and bitter disappointment. "I overreacted,
I'm sorry. But, Angela," he said fervently, trying to make her
understand, "I have a life outside of your case. It's not much of
a life, but it's mine. There are things I need to do, people I need
to talk to."

     Angela put her fork down, the bite untasted. There were tears
trickling silently down her cheeks. His anger had frightened her.
"You know I only trust you."

     "It's my day off," he repeated. "I'm not a prisoner here."

     Angela threw down her napkin with more spirit than he had yet
seen. "I'm sorry if you find this a prison! I've tried not to
bother you. I've tried to keep out of your way. Give you space.
Sure, pick up and go. It's only *my* life! Something which isn't
important to anyone." She fled the table and went into her bedroom.
Reluctantly, he followed and found her lying face down on her bed
with her arms covering her head.

     Fox sighed. Where were all those psychology courses when he
needed them. He had to try to be understanding. If he was ever to
get off this assignment, he needed her cooperation.

     "Angela," he said more gently, "I haven't forgotten, but it's
just that I don't think this is working. We've talked about that
being a possibility. I'd like you to think about bringing in
another man, or a woman, if you prefer, to stay with you."

     She was silent for a long moment, her face buried in the
bedclothes. When she finally turned her face towards his, she would
not meet his eyes. Hesitantly, she began, "Agent Mulder, I have
something I need to tell you. I think it's important." She reached
for the box of tissues and he handed it to her. "I've been trying
to get up the nerve for days, but I just wasn't ready. I'm still
not ready, but I promise, I'll tell you tomorrow. Afterwards, if
you want to leave me, I won't stand in your way."

     Fox raised his eyes to the ceiling and ran his hand through
his hair. Her deal did not sound very promising, but it was a
start. At least she was accepting the possibility of his leaving.
"Angela, it's not like I would be abandoning you. I'd still be
available to talk with you sometimes. It's just that I don't need
to be here day and night. I have other responsibilities."

     She rolled off the bed, blew her nose, and started removing
her apron. She still did not look at him.

     "You've wanted me to meet some other people. We can do that
tonight. As long as you'll hear me out tomorrow."

     Fox's entire body shook with exasperation. He had been trying
to get her to do that all week. Why tonight of all nights? But it
would mean that he could get into town and maybe see Scully. Even
if he was only able to see her for a few minutes, the inconvenience
of having Angela along would be worth it. "Alright," he agreed.
"Get ready. I'll put away the food."

                               ***

Saturday 6 pm
FBI Headquarters

     "That's a nice smile. Penny for your thoughts?"

     Dana Scully roused herself to find she had been staring
blankly at the canteen's soda machine. Turning, she found herself
looking directly into Evan Byers large, aqua-blue eyes.

     <They don't make real eyes that color,> she thought, <nor
shoulders that big, or hair that sun-white blond in November. Or do
they?>

     She smiled, almost blushing. "My thoughts? Just recalling a
little meeting I had with Skinner today."

     "Ohhh, that must have been *some* meeting," the big, blond man
said with exaggeration.

     She tossed her red-bronze hair. "You're as bad as Mulder. Do
you men only have one thing on your mind?"

     "Yes... especially when you provide us with such good straight
lines."

     Dana was sitting at a table in the far corner of the FBI's
fourth floor lunchroom. She had been sitting there, holding her
styrofoam cup of cold tea, for quite some time. In fact, she had
just finished looking at her watch for the twentieth time when Evan
appeared - Evan, who now had his hand on the back of the chair
opposite her.

     "I was just finishing some reports and I thought I'd come down
and see what they have in the machines that's worth eating. I saw
you sitting alone. If you have a date, I'll just - " He indicated
he would leave, if she wanted, but made it look like he would be
grieved if she did.

     Dana laughed and gestured for him to sit down. "Waiting for
someone, yes, but not a date."

     "I could ask who, or I could ask about your meeting with
Skinner."

     Dana elected to take the safer course. "I think I'd rather
tell you about Skinner," she told him. "He found me in the X-Files
office today." She shot Evan a sidelong glance and saw that he was
not surprised. He had noticed that she disappeared a couple of
times a day and he suspected that the basement office was where she
went. But he had never pried. Dana only knew that she missed Mulder
terribly and that she had a deep, instinctive need to seek that
place, just to feel a little closer to him.

     "What did he want?" Evan asked, pulling her out of her
melancholy.

     Dana shook her head, incredulous. "He wanted to know if it
would make me too uncomfortable if he asked my mother out on a
date! Just for companionship, he says."

     "Skinner? Your mother?" Evan tried to look shocked. "Is that
incestuous? He is your boss, after all."

     "I think there would be a problem only if they got married."

     Evan's eyes were wide. "Is that likely?"

     <If they did,> Dana fantacized absently, <and Mulder and I got
married, and we had kids, that would make Skinner our children's
.... > Dana shuddered.

     "She's only about five years older," she explained to Evan.
"It's possible, but, I know my mother. You see, my father died only
a few months ago." She looked suddenly wistful. Odd, how the worst
of that pain had drifted away over time. "I told Skinner to go
ahead and ask, but I doubt that it will ever be more than that...
companionship."

     There had actually been more to their conversation than
that.

                               ***

     Skinner had paused, before leaving, probably because he
noticed the forlorn expression on her face.

     "How are you doing, Agent Scully? Byers working out okay?"

     Dana nodded. "Evan's fine. He's fun. He's committed. He's
intelligent."

     "He's not Agent Mulder."

     She did not meet his eyes. Skinner knew. "No, sir, but then no
one is quite like Agent Mulder."

     "That," Skinner said with sincerity, "is true. A fact for
which we in management can be grateful."

     She looked up and very seriously asked, "Sir, this - change in
his duties - this won't hurt his career, will it?"

     Skinner crossed his arms. "I realize this is something he has
to see through, one way or the other. No, I don't think it will
have any lasting effect, so long as the situation resolves itself
soon and provided he doesn't make a habit of this sort of thing. He
is too valuable as an investigator."

     He rose and did intend to leave this time, but paused to put
an fatherly hand on her arm. "You're valuable, too, Agent Scully.
Don't let this get to you. Okay?"

                               ***

     Back in the present, Evan was asking. "All right. So now can
I ask who you are waiting for?"

     Scully looked towards the door. Still nothing. It was getting
very late.

     "Agent Mulder," Evan said with certainty and not unkindly. He
had never met the man, but knew he was a very important person in
Dana Scully's life.

     "Is it that obvious?" she asked.

     "You work hard, very hard," Evan told her with obvious
affection, "but sometimes you get this distracted look on your
face, as if you expect the phone to ring or someone to come walking
in the door. But he never calls and he doesn't come."

     Dana's eyes grew warm. <Yes, that's what it felt like.>
"You're a poet, Evan."

     He laughed, throwing the compliment off casually as he
unwrapped a sausage and biscuit sandwich he had bought from one of
the vending machines before he had seen Dana Scully sitting like a
vision in the corner of the dismal room. "I toyed with English Lit
before I decided upon medicine. Most likely I read that somewhere.
There's probably not an original thought in my head."

     She gently touched his hand and Evan thought he had died and
gone to heaven. He had to admit it. He had a big crush on Dr.
Scully.

     "Don't put yourself down," she told him sincerely. "It was a
nice thing to say."

     "And true?"

     "Hmmm. You've been working here less than a week. Why would
you think so?"

     He peered under the biscuit top and wrinkled his nose at what
he saw before glancing back up at her. "Because until his current

assignment, the two of you have been practically inseparable, or so
I'm told."

     "My, you've gotten hooked into the rumor mill quickly," she
said, curious and not unkindly.

     He shrugged. "I ask." When she looked surprised, he continued.
"I grew up with four sisters. All older. Gossip was a way of life.
I also work for the FDA, a big government bureaucracy. If you want
to learn anything, you have to be plugged in." He hesitated. "Also,
women tell me things."

     Dana gave him a knowing smile looking across the wide breadth
of his shoulders. "I wouldn't be surprised."

     "It can be curse," he said waving the uneaten stale biscuit at
her. "You should know. You must get the same attention from men."

     It was her turn to shrug. "Some. Now if I were six inches
taller..." She laughed. She couldn't believe she was having this
conversation with Evan. He was like one of her brothers already,
probably came from growing up with all those sisters, but she was
well aware his interests did not fall in the brotherly sphere. He
had been asking her out with his eyes all week. He was just too
perceptive to ask without at least a little encouragement, and,
though, professionally, they got along perfectly, she had been
careful not to send *those* kind of signals.

     "Anyway," she said returning to what she thought was a safer
subject, "Who tells you things and what do they say?" When he did
not look like he wanted to tell her, she added. "I really want to
know. They won't talk to me because they have to face me every day
and that would spoil their fun. I'd just like to know what I'm
accused of."

     "Oh! You want the Harlequin Romance version!" Evan smiled
evilly. "They say the two of you are having some wild time on all
those road trips and the accounting people go over your field
vouchers with a fine-toothed comb trying to find out how you
actually manage to only pay for one room and have it look like two
so that you can pocket the extra."

     She took a sip of her cold tea and made a face. "No worse than
I expected."

     "Oh, there's more -"

     She looked suddenly sad and her lowered eyes glistened.
"Please, that's enough." There was a part of her that wished at
least some of the rumors were true.

     She felt Evan's large hand on hers. "Hey, I'm sorry. Just
kidding. You are beautiful and I take it Mulder's eccentric.
People will talk. They *want* to believe the wild stories, but they
don't. Not down deep. I've talked to them."

     Dana gave him a weak smile. She would not tell him why she was
so sad.

     "Are you going to eat that thing," she asked, indicating the
almost freeze-dried sandwich. "You are supposed to microwave it,
not eat it raw."

     He made a face. "I was going to eat it, now I'm not so sure."
Evan looked around at the old peeling linoleum, the formica topped
tables, the scuffed chairs and, on the walls, ancient, faded
notices which were so many years out of date that even the tape had
begun to yellow.

     "You know, Dana, this is not a very romantic spot for a
rendezvous."

     Dana never noticed the decor when she was with Mulder. "Mulder
and I can get into some gruesome conversations when we talk shop.
We meet here so we don't freak out the public and spoil their
dinner. Later, we go out and grab a pizza or Chinese."

     "That sounds wise," Evan nodded. Now it was his turn to look
towards the door. "Look, Dana, I don't want to be in the way. When
is he due?"

     "I told you, it's not a date, just his night off," she told
him. "We don't have anything set up, because on this assignment
he's required to keep communications with the outside at a minimum.
It's just that in the past, when we've worked on separate cases, we
would try to show up here on Saturday nights."

     Evan perused the bank of half empty vending machines. "Dana,
I'm not trying to be pushy, but, if he doesn't show, maybe we could
go look for something more edible than stale donuts and rubber
sandwiches."

     She smiled. "Finding food better than this should not be
difficult for a couple of over-educated investigators like us.
Okay, if Mulder doesn't come."

     A tightness in Evan she had not noticed suddenly relaxed.
"Hey, I'm thirsty. Want a soda? My treat"

     As he went for the drinks, Dana looked with concern at Evan's
retreating back. As comfortable as she was with Evan, as handsome
as he was, and as attracted as he was to her, she longed so for
Mulder to come. His absence was like a physical pain. She conjured
up an image of him and saw both the lovable boyish grin and his
infinitely sad eyes. Where was he? Had she misread him these last
few weeks. She thought nothing would have kept him away.

     Evan returned. "Coke without," he said, handing her the
sugarless version, "and Coke with." He sat down and popped the top
with a hiss of carbonation. "So, you were thinking about Skinner
when I came in, but is the thought of your mother having a date so
funny, or is her having a date with Skinner so funny? You looked
like the Cheshire Cat."

     Dana colored, a little embarrassed because she realized she
had only heard half the question, but she got the gist. "I don't
know if I should tell you. You'll think I'm fishing."

     "Oh, you'll *have* to tell me now."

     That line was so good, she decided she would tell him. She
liked Evan. She liked him a lot. If Mulder weren't there....

     "I was thinking about how my mother has more dates than me.
Pretty pathetic, yes?"  Sitting in the FBI canteen on a Saturday
night, waiting for Fox Mulder who may or may not come, *was*
pathetic.

     Evan leaned back in his chair and held out his empty, thick-
palmed hands. "Hey, do I look like I'm having a swinging time?
Besides, you are waiting for someone and I have no one to wait for
and no one waiting for me."

     The pain in his voice was a new pain, Dana could tell that
instantly, and suddenly she felt out of her depth with this man.
"Evan, I'm sorry -"

     He took a long drink of his soda. "My fault. I lost her. Too
busy getting my degree to pay attention to her. But my best friend
was there." He leaned towards her, his open, handsome face sincere.
"Dana, I'll say this once. I'll never do to another man what was
done to me, but I won't let a good thing get past me again either."

     Dana blinked. So there it was. If she wanted Mulder, Evan
would not get in their way. On the other hand, he was there if she
changed her mind. Dana felt a blush rising to her face.

     "Now, I wanted to ask you about this morning's autopsy," Evan
began, changing the subject as abruptly as anyone could. "What was
the significance of the cholinesterase results?"

                               ***

     Twenty minutes later, Fox walked into the canteen with Angela
plastered to his side. He was not in a good mood. They were late,
very late. She had taken forever to get ready but the
transformation had been surprising. She had not done much;
showered, did something to her hair, wore a dress that fit her well
and was even a little stylish and put on make up, but it was her
demeanor when she stepped from the bedroom that gave him pause.

     She moved now as if she were on stage, in the spotlight, not
at all like the timid mouse he had lived with all week. It was as
if she had been deflated before and somehow, someone, had pumped
her up. If she could do this at the trial, perhaps they had a
chance of salvaging something from this ordeal. Still she had been
silent. They had passed almost the entirety of the ninety minute
drive without speaking a word and this sat fine with Mulder. But,
once they had gotten out of the car at the J. Edgar Hoover
Building, much of her new found poise vanished. She clung to his
arm, as if each shadow hid an assassin.

      Fox knew he was not helping to calm her panic. He was looking
forward to seeing Scully and, unconsciously, his heart and his pace
had quickened as he neared the canteen, especially when he could
make out the tones of her voice, even before he could distinguish
the words. Inside the door of the canteen, however, he stopped.

     She was seated at 'their' table, as far from the cigarette
machine as possible, and there was a man seated at the table with
her. A big man, an incredibly handsome man, who made Fox feel like
the gawky, fourteen-year-old nerd he once had been and felt too
often he still was. And they were laughing together. Laughing and
arguing at the same time.

     Fox heard terms being thrown out which he knew were medical,
but he had only a vague idea of their meaning. It was clear that
they were working on a case together. Their conversation was witty,
energetic, intellectual and playful all at the same time. With an
ache, he remembered that he and Scully once had discussions like
these, but that was before he had made such a mess of things.

     Watching them hurt. He had not realized how much it would
hurt, and the worst hurt of all was knowing that he had brought
this all about. If he had not accepted this assignment, almost
asked for this assignment from some misguided need for repentance,
he would be seated with her now and not this handsome stranger.

     Fox halted in the doorway, trying to reel in his sparking
irritation. He realized there was a real danger that the sharp
point of his jealously might become directed at Scully, and that
would be unfair. She had a right to go on with her life and Skinner
obviously had done a good thing for her by linking her up with
someone who was obviously her emotional and intellectual equal.
 
 

     At that moment, Dana looked up and saw him, saw the tall, dark
form of him before his expression. A little guiltily, she realized
she still wore a broad smile for Evan, and, flustered, she let that
smile fade so that she could give Mulder a welcoming smile of his
very own. But that smile lost much of its brilliance, as she
noticed his frown. Wasn't he glad to see her? Then she saw the
woman practically pasted onto his side and felt a pain stab deep
into her stomach. Who was that, and why would he bring a date
*here*? Was she so far from his thoughts that he had not even
remembered she might be expecting him? He definitely did not look
happy to see her.

     Only when they approached the table did Dana recognize the
woman as Angela Larson. She had done something to herself, but her
timid attitude had not changed. The recognition did not ease her
feelings of betrayal. What was she doing here? This was supposed to
be his night off.

     Luckily for the awkwardness of the situation, the table seated
four, so no one had to leave. If Angela was there, Dana reasoned,
there was no point in trying to get rid of Evan.

     Dana introduced Evan, and Mulder introduced Angela, but, Dana
noticed, he discretely did not call Angela 'friend' or 'client'
just 'Angela'. Mulder was scarcely paying attention, when Dana
described the case she and Evan were working on. She had pointedly
not referred to Evan at any time as her partner. Meanwhile, Mulder
seemed restless. He kept fidgeting and looking around the room.
Dana could not figure out why he was so distracted.

     Fox, however, had a perfectly good explanation for his
distraction. He was hoping that a few of the hulking bodyguard
types would be lingering about. Someone he could introduce Angela
to and with whom she could feel safe. Someone besides Fox Mulder,
but it was a slow night. For being supposedly a smart guy, he was
continually amazed by his own stupidity. He had known the chances
would be slim on a Saturday evening, but had allowed himself to
hope.

     He had just been so desperate to get rid of her, and it had
been his only chance to see Scully. But why was Scully looking at
him in such an odd way.

     Angela hardly said ten words but luckily those ten words were
said to Evan. It turned out they had both grown up in Philadelphia,
so, they discussed that for about two minutes, during which time
Dana was finally able to observe Mulder closely. She knew what he
looked like when the nightmares were bad. This haggard bonelessness
was not it. She knew what he looked like when the details of a case
were whirling around in his brain, trying to fit into patterns and
giving him no peace. His eyes were not lit up like that. In fact,
his eyes looked dull, lifeless.

     "Mulder," she said with concern, "you don't look so good."

     "Hello, would have been nice," he replied, his voice lacking
its usual light. He was drumming the fingers of his left hand on
the formica. He did that with his right hand when he was anxious,
but Angela was sitting too close to his right side for that.

     <What was wrong?> Dana wondered. Then she happened to notice
his drumming hand. The skin near the tips of his fingers seemed
discolored.

     "Mulder, is there something wrong?" she asked, leaning forward
to have a closer look.

     Fox, not noticing her intention, restlessly shifted his
position to look over at a laughing jostling group that had just
entered the canteen, but, he saw with disappointment, these were
technicians from the electronics lab. The change of position moved
his hand out of her sight. "What was that, Scully?" he asked,
turning back.

     "You don't seem yourself, Mulder," she answered in a low
voice. "Is there anything wrong?"

     "I've had the flu, that's all," he admitted with some
irritation.

     Dana thought that having the flu would certainly explain why
he looked so poorly.

     "Funny time of year for the flu," she commented, "but I've
noticed very busy people often get sick when they suddenly slow
down. It's temporary. I dare say you'll live." She had an idea
then, a way to help dissipate this unnatural situation. "If you
want, I'd be willing to check you out."

     Mulder frowned, which was his initial reaction whenever Scully
questioned him about his health. Normally, he hated examinations,
even Scully's, but tonight this sounded like a good idea. The
excuse would allow him to be alone with Scully, so he could tell
her how much he missed his old life. He felt awkward talking in
front of Angela and this over-age surfer.  Maybe Evan, who looked
like a good sport, could take Angela off his hands for a few
minutes.

     There was not even time for him to react, however, to show
Scully he appreciated her concern, before he saw Angela's eyes on
them. He thought he saw a frown of displeasure cross her features
and then recognized that it was instead a grimace of pain.

     "What's wrong?" he asked, leaning towards her. He admitted he
did not have to lean very far. Such an intrusion upon his personal
space made him uncomfortable.

     "I'm sorry. I have a headache. I think it's a migraine coming
on. I'm sorry, but, please, I need to leave."

     Mulder sighed, hung his head and stared at the floor. The trip
had been doomed from the beginning; the late start, Angela tagging
along, Evan with Scully, Scully obviously doing well and happily
without him, and no likely agents or officers around for Angela to
meet. He gave his farewells, his face a montage of conflicting
emotions that Dana could not read.

     Dana watched them go, distressed.

     Fox did not see how unhappy Scully was. He saw only Evan's
obvious pleasure at the unexpected departure of his rival.

     Dana did not see how miserable Mulder looked. She only saw
Angela, who did not seem to be in pain any longer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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THE ABDUCTEE - SUSPICION AND SEDUCTION
Chapter 5

Sunday 10am
WPP safe house, somewhere in Southern Maryland
 

     Fox Mulder woke to an odd sensation. He had slept. He stared
at the clock and had to make note of the hour three times before he
would believe it.

     Ten o'clock.

     He stared out the window. Yes, the sun was shining and the
birds were not making such a terrible racket, so the day probably
was as advanced as the clock said, but he never slept this late. In
fact, Fox could not remember waking at all in the night or
dreaming. That was unlike him because, usually, he slept so poorly.
Maybe if he wanted to sleep better on a regular basis he should
take up 'baby sitting' full time. On second thought, if boredom was
necessary for a good night's sleep, perhaps he would accept the
insomnia as payment for an interesting life. Realistically, he felt
he should properly blame his extended nap on the remains of the
damn flu.

     He flipped back the covers and, stepping barefoot on the cool
floor, realized that he felt - good. Physically well, anyway.
Mentally, however, he cringed thinking of the disastrous meeting in
the canteen the night before. The hearing was tomorrow and he would
be seeing Ian McDowell, Angela's WPP coordinator. As it looked like
he was not going to get off this assignment anytime soon, he would
ask for approval to make at least one personal phone call out a day
so he could stay in contact with Scully. Even if the call had to be
made from a pay phone thirty miles away, it would be worth it. At
least he now had a plan and that eased his mind a little.

     For the moment, however, Fox was going to appreciate feeling
well for a change. No nausea this morning. His head was clear of
the cobwebs that had been clouding his thinking and causing the
tension between his eyes. His body felt oddly light, but he took
that as coming from not eating much over the past few days.
Overall, he could not detect a trace of flu symptoms. Maybe with
the long sleep he had finally shaken it.

     Fox took a long shower, not bothering to conserve the hot
water since, by the lingering wetness in the tub and on the bath
mat, it was obvious that Angela had already taken hers. Perhaps
there were advantages to sleeping late. He wished he could do it a
little more often.

     Emerging from the warm steam of the small bathroom wrapped in
his terry cloth robe, Fox sniffed the comparatively cool air of the
house. Bacon, honest to goodness, artery-clogging bacon. And
coffee, perked, not instant. Amazed, he padded barefoot into the
kitchen. Angela was moving the strips of pure, junk food gold
around in the skillet. The popping sound was music to his ears.

     "Morning," she said shyly. She looked good. As she had the
night before, Angela had taken a few extra minutes with her
appearance. Her hair was clean and brushed and pulled back, but not
too severely. Her dress fit and accentuated her thinness. "You
slept a long time."

     Mulder peered over her shoulder trying to see if she was
making enough of that luscious stuff for two. By the sound of the
crackling, she was making enough for four. She was.

     "I hope some of that's for me."

     "All of it, if you want. I was thinking you might be hungry."

     "You must be psychic, I think I've finally shaken this 'bug'
and I'm starved."

     She began laying the crisp strips out on a paper towel. "Good.
Why don't you get dressed while I make some eggs. How do you like
them?"

     Eggs, too? He had died and gone to heaven. Scully would have
a fit. Normally he liked thinking about Scully, but not today. He
wanted to feel good for a change and he could not think about
Scully and not see her with that surfer boy. "Sunny side up and
turned just at the end? If you can stand to look at runny yolks."

     She drained most of the grease and took two eggs from the
carton. "Not a problem. That's how I made them for my father."

     "You don't have to do this," he said feeling odd to have her
cooking him breakfast. They had been taking turns with their
minimal dinners, but, otherwise, they usually just helped
themselves. More often than not, though, Mulder realized, Angela
had begun preparing enough of whatever she was having for two. This
morning was different, though. What she was doing now required more
than minimal preparation and was being done with him in mind.

     "I don't mind," she said, head bowed slightly, more like her
old posture. "Anyway, it's sort of an apology."

     He had been partially out the door heading for his room, but
hearing her words felt required to sit down at the kitchen table to
listen to her. He wished, however, that he had gotten dressed
before they started this. He did not feel prepared to receive
confidences. With his bare feet and bare legs getting colder by the
minute, he felt a little vulnerable.

     "I want to apologize for yesterday," she said, softly. "I
messed up your day. I sent Agent Clark away, we fought, I dragged
myself along on your night out and then I got that silly migraine
so you had to take me home so early."

     All true, and he had been furious with her. "About Agent Clark
- you did what you thought best," he said wording this carefully.
He wanted to keep in her good graces, but resentment lingered and
he did not want to let her off too easily. "I *was* out of it in
the afternoon and you could not help the headache."

     "I'll try to make it up to you. You've been wanting to
practice for the hearing and I've been putting you off. After
breakfast?" She smiled at him again, and her smile was a little
less shy.

     Fox stood up, seeing a quick way out of this discussion. He
also felt a great sense of relief. The practise session was
something that needed to be done and he had been wondering how he
was going to talk her into it. Maybe the hell of yesterday would be
worth the anguish, if she was finally going to be cooperative.

     "After breakfast is fine. Let me get dressed, so we can have
it."

     "I'm glad you're not too angry," she said, watching his bare
legs as he made his way back to his room.

                               ***

Sunday noon
FBI Headquarters

     Dana looked over at Evan Byers across the top of their fourth
victim. The big man had a slump to his shoulders and just when she
was beginning to think he was inexhaustible. "Hey, Evan, you going
sour on me?" she asked in answer to his glazed expression.

     That made his eyes brighten. "Whoops, sorry." He handed her
the specimen bottle for which she had asked. "And you say you do
this all the time? I'm glad I don't have *your* job."

     "I usually don't do four all at one time and on a Sunday,"

     Dana Scully smiled at him not only with her mouth, which was
behind the mask he could not see, but with her eyes which he could.
She was so beautiful, Evan thought. During the long morning, as he
watched her careful hands, so quick and confident, he had wondered
at what other more intimate tasks they were as skillful. Evan had
also been thinking a lot about Fox Mulder. He had to admit that
after meeting the guy he was less than impressed. The man just had
not seemed very interested in Dana. But then, from Dana's reaction,
it was obvious that this meeting had been unusual. Evan had taken
her out for Italian after Mulder and his companion's departure, but
Dana had not been herself and it was early when she asked him to
take her home.

     Dana was examining something with great curiousity. "Evan,
have you ever seen this before?" She was studying the current
victim's hand. Not the hands exactly, but the skin around the nails
and the tips of the fingers. There was a dark greenish tinge. She
tried to remember where she had seen something similar before. Evan
glanced over her shoulder.

     "I haven't had a case like this in long time," Evan said, very
interested in her finding. "This man's been poisoned and, by the
looks of it, someone got hold of an old can of rat poison. That's
a real cocktail of nasty stuff."

     "I haven't heard of anyone using that in years. Not since the
60's when it was a popular *modis operandi* for mystery writers."
Scully pulled the arm of the light bar down to brighten her field.
"Arsenic mostly, isn't it? And Warfarin, that old anticoagulant?"

     "Among other things. After it hit the papers that a few
children had gotten into some and died, most people stopped keeping
it around, just too dangerous. The few companies still
manufacturing it began putting in an additive to leave this trace,
just in case someone should decide to try to do away with their old
maiden aunt. Done right, this stuff can can cause a particularly
slow, debilitating death."

     Dana looked up from her examination. She was impressed by the
depth of his knowledge. "You continue to surprise me."

     He shrugged looked at her over the white mask. "I did my
dissertation on poisons. Fascinating stuff," he offered. "Looks
like we finally got a break in this case."

     "Yes, but what do we put down as cause of death?"

     "We'll have to take some tissue and fluid samples and look
more closely at the gross morphology. Probably the arsenic.
Warfarin was a weak anticoagulant, even in its day. The current
varient Coumadin is still used, though a man couldn't die from that
unless he had a bleeding disorder beforehand. I've also seen
records where death was due to complications from the other
additives in the mix, most of which have no place in a human body."

      "We'll have to go back and check the other victims again,"
Dana sighed. She prepared to start the recorder.

     "Bets are," Evan added, "the coroner was a young guy. No one
sees this stuff any more. Shall we finish up before or after
lunch?"

     Dana considered. "Let's get it over with. Lunch is just going
to have to wait. Not your fault, but I'd like to see a little of my
weekend."

     "After this, want to take in a movie?" Evan asked carefully.
"Maybe someone's showing the Return of the Body Snatchers."
 

                               ***
 

Sunday 1pm
WPP safe house somewhere in Southern Maryland

     So far, Fox thought, as he dozed on the couch listening to the
radio, the day was certainly an improvement over all of the others
he had had that week.

     Breakfast had settled well into Fox's stomach. Being hungry
helped and he had eaten his fair share, but not as much as he would
have before the days of illness had shrunk his stomach. Still, the
fat, protein and carbohydrate had put his blood sugar on a
surprisingly level plateau and given him a warm glow. Angela had
also made him more of the herb tea that she had fixed the night
before as a peace offering when they returned from Washington. She
said it was good for migraines and, by the time they had gotten
home, he had felt one coming on.  He wondered if the tea had helped
him sleep. If so, he should ask her for the recipe.

     As promised, Angela worked with him for a long time on
practicing for the hearing. They concentrated for three solid
hours, much longer than he had thought she would last. He laid out
the scene for her, explained the players; the prosecution and
defense lawyers, the expert witness, the judge and court officials,
and all of their motivations. Then they role-played. He took the
roles, alternately, as both the prosecution and defense lawyers and
they worked on her responses and prepared her for the difficult
cross-examination. The questions he had had to ask about her past
and current mental health were the most difficult and he found
himself getting lost in his own need to know.

     "Ms. Larson," he had asked, striding before her as the defense
lawyer, while she sat in a kitchen chair in the middle of the
living room, "you have recently left Longmead Hospital after
spending the last eight years there. What kind of facility is
Longmead Hospital?"

     "A sanitorium specializing in psychiatric care," she said
evenly. He had corrected her original reply which described it as
a mental institution.

     "And why were you there?"

     Clear-eyed she stared at him, clearly answering to Fox Mulder
and not to any lawyer. "When I was young I had fantasies. I know
them for what they are now."

     He looked deeply into her eyes, his own guilt asking, "When
you think about your time there, how do you feel?"

     "I try not to think about it, but I realize it was necessary,"
she replied, her answer as laden with meaning as his question had
been. "I harbor no grudge against anyone for what happened to me.
These things just - happen. It was no one's fault." Then she
smiled, but just for him. "Besides, I'm better now."

     Later she had asked to let him pretend to be her and she had
role-played as the prosecuting attorney. He had given ridiculous
answers, but she had taken it all in stride. As with her card
playing, he had found that she had a quick and lively mind. They
both spent the better part of the last half hour, laughing. They
had gotten silly and that had evaporated the last of the tension
between them.

     Thinking about it as he lay on his back, his legs stretched
out all the way to the end of the short couch and beyond, he found
that the experience left a bittersweet taste in his mind. He had
not allowed himself to act so childish in many years, except with
Scully and then only rarely. That hurt a little, remembering her
and Evan laughing. But he also remembered getting silly with
Samantha those last years before her disappearance. It was unusual
for him to remember the happy times as well as the pain over her
loss.

     So Fox came away from that session, having to deal with some
rare emotions, relief being the most prominent, and now he was
indulging in a fantasy of his own. He was busily engaged in
analyzing a match of skill, muscle and strategy between two similar
forces as they vied for a small and useless target. In other words
he was listening to a professional football game, and it was going
to be a great game, too, the Red Skins versus the Cowboys, the big
rivalry.

      Angela breezed into the room a half hour later after having
started something for dinner. She had a pack of cards in her hand.
She smiled at him but waited for a commercial to come on before
speaking. "Gin rummy? You can leave the game on I don't mind. We'll
play for who does the dishes."

     Fox smiled back wickedly. The afternoon was shaping out very
pleasantly. The Red Skins were even ahead. "You're on. And you
haven't got a prayer," he warned her, rolling off the couch and
onto his feet.

                               ***
Sunday 2 pm
FBI Headquarters

     Dana elected not to take Evan up on his offer of a movie. She
left the pathology lab, feeling utterly drained. Four autopsies
before lunch were definitely too much, even for her. At least they
came away with the satisfaction that they were on to something. She
wanted a shower, but had reports to write. She preferred to
complete her paperwork immediately following such examinations. It
was a discipline she had followed since her academy days, whenever
possible; however, when she worked with Mulder, her findings were
often reported after considerable delay. She stared at her desk for
a moment. Its neatness depressed her. She turned on her heel and
took the stairs down three flights to the basement.

     The X-Files office was dark. A pile of interoffice mail sat on
Mulder's chair. At that moment Dana missed Mulder desperately. Why
wasn't he here to take her away from all this .... normalcy? In
short, life was dull without him. She felt guilty, too. Angela's
presence at the canteen had thrown her off and she had not been
thinking straight since.

     She moved the mail off Mulder's chair and switched on his
computer. She wanted to feel close to him. The chair seat was
definitely too far off the ground to be hers. When she put her
fingers down to enter her user ID, even the keyboard felt dusty.
She had not read her e-mail since Friday and decided to see if
there was anything new. Procrastination was not usually one of
Dana's failings, but it was today. She scanned a list of
uninspiring office memo clutter and passed them by.

     Then she spotted an odd entry. The message had come off the
Internet and the originating address included the name 'Greene' and
the country designation of 'UK'. <What the...?>

     Phoebe Greene was one of Mulder's old flames from when he had
gone to school at Oxford and the relationship had ended badly for
Mulder. 'Flame' was a good term for Phoebe. Dana did not know the
whole story, but having met the tall, stunning woman, she was
pretty sure Phoebe had treated Mulder little better than the dust
under her feet.

     Phoebe worked for Scotland Yard and had involved them in a
case a few months before. Dana had to admit that, though she had
not been working with Mulder long then, seeing Phoebe and Mulder
together had brought out the green-eyed monster in her. The fact
that Phoebe obviously wanted Mulder back in her bed, though just
for the duration of her trip, had made Dana very angry.

     Mulder was a big boy in many ways, but it had been painful to
watch him be so used. His was a passionate nature and Dana
suspected he had his share of one night stands, but she firmly
doubted there were many that lasted longer than that, perhaps in
large part due to this disastrous early affair. She had to admit he
certainly acted differently towards Phoebe than towards any other
woman Dana had ever seen him with - acutely wary of her and
completely unable to resist the attraction at the same time. She
had probably been the geeky Oxford graduate's first real
infatuation. Luckily, the events of the case itself prevented
anything significant from happening, and Dana had been there to
pick up the pieces.

     At the time, Phoebe had scarcely acknowledged Dana's presence
at all, except as a potential rival for someo