by Sue Esty
Windsinger@AOL.COM
 
 

REVELATIONS 8: Epilogue

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to
Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. They are used here with
love and respect. Rated PG for some adult themes.
 

Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty. May be used without permission as long
as no one makes any money and the work is accompanied by the
author's name.

Author's Notes: This is the last part of Windsinger's Revelations
series (begun way before CC's Revelations's episode and not
related). There may be others written in the future in the same
universe but none are specifically planned. This story can be read
alone without having read the other parts but there are many
references to Revelations 2 and 4 through 7. These parts may be
found on Gossamer under ESTY, Sue.
 

Chapter 1

Somewhere in Tennessee
May 2, 1994

     "Shit!"
 

     The red-haired woman stopped, an expression of disgust on her
exquisite features.

     "Yes, Scully, that's exactly what it is. But you don't win the
$200 because you didn't put it in the form of a question. 'What is
shit?'"

     "Mulder, stop babbling. I just stepped in cow shit."

     "Well, this IS a pasture, Scully. I told you I was going out
in the field."

     "Not this kind of field, you didn't. You didn't tell me you
were going to Tennessee to stalk cows!"

     His voice was mild, almost impassive as he trudged on through
the tall grass. "I told you that you didn't have to come."

     "And let you out of my sight? You'd probably step in a gopher
hole, break your leg and then we'd have to shoot you."

     Mulder flinched. That barb came too close for comfort. The leg
that had been shot as he stood on the docks still ached when he was
tired, the sprained ankle and the separated shoulder from four
months before still throbbed. "Don't rub it in," he muttered
continuing to move forward.
 

     Dana wiped her low boots one final time against the turf and
hurried to catch up. "Mulder, talk to me. I haven't had more than
a five minute conversation with you in ten days that wasn't about
a case. You locked away with Danny until way after midnight for
three nights running and I know from experience that you don't
swing that way. You have a permanent reserve on one of the carrels
in the vital statistics section. You've been pulling in favors from
people who don't even remember owing you favors. You sit in front
of the microfiche reader half-stoned on dramamine until I can see
the 'tilt' sign go off above your head, and this is in addition to
your regular work. You hardly eat and from the look at your clothes
you don't go home half the time. Mulder, I've tried to respect your
privacy but you're beginning to fray around the edges, and I think
I deserve an explanation of what is going on so when you start to
unravel I have half a chance of putting you back together again."

     A collection of buildings came into view as they topped a
gentle rise. Halting abruptly, Mulder raised to his weary eyes the
camera which was slung around his neck. Absently, he looked down
from the view finder and was almost startled. For the first time on
this hike he took a good long look at his partner. She was a
picture. Her hands were on her hips which were clothed very nicely
in snug jeans. A tight t-shirt peeked out from behind the
unbuttoned shirt whose ends were tied in a knot across her slender
waist. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail, her lip curled
just a little as it did when she was annoyed with him. Dana Scully
could be so distracting at times. Not today, though. Not that
distracting. The ache in his chest wouldn't allow him, hadn't
allowed him to think about that sort of thing for almost two weeks.
"Scully, I told you, this was private, personal, and that I may not
be able to tell you. Officially, I'm on leave -"

     "On leave? Oh really? Mulder, we left a car from the Bureau's
car pool back there and you're lugging a small fortune in
surveillance equipment over this bucolic wonderland all of which
was clearly requisitioned through the office. You don't just take
that kind of stuff on vacation, Mulder, unless you've pulled some
strings and after our last couple of cases I didn't think you had
any strings left at the Bureau to pull."

     He clicked off a couple of pictures. "That's certainly true.
At my request Skinner authorized all this. A little present for
everything we went through a few months back."

     "You ASKED to be stuck out here in God's muddy, stinking green
acre? How many moonbeams have you been checking in your jar
lately?"

     "Oh, you liked that did you?" he asked, referring to the line
about moonbeams. A member of the press invented that colorful
phrase to describe 'Spooky' Mulder as part of background material
from one of their more publicized cases.

     "I though it was very astute, but don't try to get me off the
subject."
 

     A bee buzzed threateningly near Dana's bright eyes. Without a
flicker of hesitation she batted it away. Mulder found the edges of
a tender smile forming almost imperceivably on his lips. This was
what he liked almost more than anything about Dana Scully. No
shrieking female she. There was steel in that little frame. An
expert markswoman, she carried a well-honed sting of her own and
the way the bad guys underestimated her gave them a decided edge.
All reminded Mulder that before she lost patience and took out her
gun, or leveled her patented, withering gaze upon him again, he had
better be forthcoming with a little information.
 

     At that moment a cloud passed over the sun. It was the second
of May and though the sun was warm the air still had that winter
snap. In shadow, it was chilly. Mulder squinted and stared at the
obscuring cloud. Everything about the way he moved his head, his
body, the hooded, red eyes ringed in shadows told Dana that here
was a tired man. She almost regretted badgering him. Almost.

     "Dana, please," came his soft voice, a voice which mirrored
his drawn expression. The use of her given name sent up a warning
flag. Whatever this was was THAT important to him. "I'll tell you,
I promise." That sad little half smile touched his lips. "The truth
is I didn't want to ask you to give up your vacation for what is
personal to me, but I'm glad you're here. I need an unbiased
opinion and I'd rather have yours than anyone's."
 

     The compliment was pleasant, calming, all the more so because
it was so rare. The curl softened on her lips. "When were you going
to tell me?"

     He raised the camera with its long telephoto lens back to his
eye. "Soon. Very soon." He snapped two more pictures then replaced
the lens cap and let the heavy camera hang on his neck again by its
strap. With a shifting of his shoulders to resettle the heavily
weighted pack, they started off once more across the pasture, each
picking their own way through the new grass, eyes lowered and
searching, both on the look out for more bovine surprises.
 
 

     The sun rose higher, warmer. Dana, however, was not finding
the adventure a pleasant one. She was disappointed in herself, in
the day. Disappointed in herself in that she seemed to have lost
the knack on how to relax. It wasn't as if she had to do anything.
Maybe that was the point. She was bored. She had her book but
didn't feel like reading it. She had watched Mulder expertly set up
the equipment, the tripod and camera and the obscenely expensive
directional mike and then there had been nothing left to do except
wait. Dana shifted her position on the highest hillock of weeds in
their makeshift hunter's blind but she still could feel the muddy
water of the rain sodden field rising up to creep into the edges of
her low boots.
 

     They had set up about fifty yards from a rather decrepid
farmhouse and its scattering of outbuildings where no one seemed to
be home at the moment. This waiting was like the worst stake out.
At least in a car you could keep your feet dry and you could talk
softly to each other. Here, not knowing what her partner was
waiting for, Dana could only take clues from him and Mulder had
gone still as soon as he finished testing the equipment. More still
than she ever thought Mulder was capable of being. Not that the
silence itself was a problem. They were so comfortable with each
other that their silences usually kept up a conversation of their
own; however, Mulder was keeping even this line of communication
pretty much shut down today. There was a scowl in the creases of
his forehead. Clearly, he was deriving no enjoyment from sitting
for hours in the spring sun either.
 

     An hour passed. Two. Dana was feeling lonely and bored and her
feet were getting wetter by the minute. There were times, there
were definitely times, when she wanted to wrap her hands around Fox
Mulder's neck and squeeze. The only thing keeping her sitting here
in the mud, sweating in the hottest, most humid day of the spring
was his promise not to keep her in ignorance much longer.

     They had left their car a mile or more away tucked into a side
road. Their walk in the country that morning had been refreshing at
first. With the morning sun shining down, they had taken a path
used only by tractors as they pulled their wagonloads of hay. The
ground covering of grasses was mixed old and new and the early
green leaves, like fuzz, tipped the tall trees that here and there
were clumped in little thickets, or edged ancient fields and
pastures like giant's fences, or crowned entire hills. A lovely
walk after being stuck in all winter, not only because of the
weather, but to let broken bones and sprained ankles, ribs and
shoulders heal. Upon first starting out that morning, Dana had
thought how odd it felt to smile, really smile, at nothing more
than the change of the seasons.

     Not that she had not had other reasons to smile over the long
winter. They had been together nearly continuously that week after
Christmas and during the early weeks of January. Together in easy
companionship, in perfect friendship. Oh, they had their
intellectual arguments and the petty spats that happen when two
people accustomed to having private time at their own places
suddenly start spending days in each other's company. Not having to
go into the office helped tremendously, at least at first. There
was much to work out between them. There was the strain of
balancing the old friendship with the new, of working out the kinks
between themselves of what to say when and what to say where, of
what to do and what not to do when they were in public. And then
there were the dry runs, excursions to the office on the pretense
of picking up their mail when they wandered up to Skinner's office,
then dropped in at Human Resources and Accounting. The office staff
needed to know that they were on the mend and then both wanted to
see if anyone noticed any difference in how they related to one
another. It was almost scary to see how easily the old patterns of
speech and restraint reasserted themselves once that building
loomed into sight. What they actually found was that just thinking
about the job and dressing in their normal business attire was
enough to subtly shift their relationship back to what it had been.
 

     Mulder had an item on his own agenda which had induced him to
limp into the building more than once. He'd heard rumors and he
wanted to let everyone know that Spooky would not take kindly to
anyone trying to claimjump his office. Not that he thought that
anyone seriously WANTED his office. After all there were stories it
was haunted.
 

     "Haunted?" Scully asked. "By who?"

     "Gay J. Who else?"

     "That's ridiculous. That part of the building wasn't excavated
in J. Edgar's time. Who would start a ridiculous rumor like that?"

     Mulder had let his eyes twinkle over hers. "Just your local
neighborhood fox who's doing his best to keep the vultures and the
hyenas away. Did you know that the space efficiency czars have
decreed that the X-files have encroached upon enough square footage
to house four GS-twelves?"

     By day in those weeks before they went back to work they were
just friends. Friends hanging out together.
 

     But in the evenings, as the sun set, by an unplanned and
unspoken agreement, a gradual transformation.  Eyes became softer.
Playful, friendly touches lingered, strayed from those safe places.
Clothes, piece by piece, began to disappear because the room was
getting much too hot. A friendship of a different order came into
being. Hair flowing and silky became entwined in hands which were
not its owner's. Back muscles, rippling with strength, moved under
hands that were small and feminine. Soft moans of pleasure, cries
of release pierced the air of either his apartment or hers.
 

     So passed the first month since they had shivered and slept so
uncomfortably down in that dark hole, he with his arm across her
stomach afraid to touch her anywhere else, she with her hands
warming against his chest. A month recovering, a month gaining
strength for they had found out that first night in Mulder's
apartment exactly how much both had to come back from.
 

     The second month was committed to forms and filing and
physical therapy, tasks which left Mulder so restive and short
tempered that Dana was forced to seek out the senior pathologist to
beg for some work, the most gruesome autopsies where not too much,
anything, to get her out of the office and away from her seed
cracking, paper crumbling, eternally pacing partner. As she had
another time, Dana even went to Skinner and asked for an out of
town assignment, for Mulder at the very least, if there was not one
for the two of them. Anything. And Skinner had relented, insisting
only that this time she go along to keep Mulder out of trouble and
healthy.

     Oh, healthy, Dana remembered smiling to herself at the time,
was not one of Mulder's problems. Except for the stiffness around
the left shoulder, she had never seen anyone come back so quickly
from all his physical problems. Once out on the road, she had never
seen him in such a truly good mood, even though their first cases
were rather mundane. At the end of the long, dreary days those
hazel eyes would sparkle at her mischievously from over the top of
his reading glasses as they sat going over files. Within minutes
the case would be forgotten and three beds of the four in their
identical motel rooms would go unused that night.
 

     Only the mild cases did not continue. They had a reputation.
They were too valuable. Skinner's crack team was needed, on this
side of the country or the other, sometimes with barely a day in
between to do laundry and hit the cleaners. After all, when lives
are on the line you bring in the best, right? And the lives of the
public were, as often as not, not the only ones in danger.
 

     The pressure was back. The stress. The cases took longer, were
darker, more sinister. Depending on the case, Mulder was often
silent and introspective, allowing her to make the initial
contacts. She found out this was a way of working he had begun with
Evan Byers. He liked this and Dana found that she was surprisingly
comfortable with this new format. Not only did she take his trust
as a great compliment, but she enjoyed being out front, taking the
lead, laying the groundwork, while Mulder laid back, soaking it all
in, sniffing the air and letting the atmosphere in through his
pores or whatever it was he did. It was fascinating as always to
watch him put the missing pieces together, sometimes incorrectly at
first, but, supported by the foundation of her facts, often with
brilliant insight and improbable leaps of logic. It worked. It
worked very well, but as Dana became more assertive with her own
opinions during work time their private time became both more rare
and more dreamlike.

     Today, though, was not one of the new breed of cases and Dana
was just as glad of it.  She needed to be the watcher on this one.

This was in the old mode, Mulder's show. Mulder being mysterious,
but she was certain that this was not because he did not trust her
to take the subject matter seriously. There was no 'paranormal
bouquet' to this case, no alien abduction, no poltergeist or
monster like Tooms. Tooms. Dana shivered. She could still remember
pulling Mulder covered with stinking bile and grease out of that
access hole under the escalator, the escalator which was soon slick
with blood. For a moment as his hand desperately flailed for hers,
the monster that was Tooms grasping with inhumanly strong hands at
his legs, he had been terrified, more terrified than she had ever
seen him. In kind, she had been afraid that she would not be strong
enough, that he would pull her into the hole with him. With him and
Tooms. In unguarded moments she could still smell the stink of the
bile and the blood that followed.
 

     That uplifting experience had come just a few weeks before
this trip to the cow pastures of Tennessee and Dana had waited for
Mulder to recover his spirits, but somehow he never had. Had the
humiliation been just too great that time in the courtroom when he
had tried to explain why Tooms should not be released? Though he
had tried not to let it show, the court's total and complete
incredulity had affected him more than before. Had she done this?
Had her insistence upon being let in been the wedge that had so
thoroughly loosened and weakened his armor? The tragic case of
Roland coming so close upon Tooms had only made matters worse. Two
brothers, a family estranged, must have triggered something tragic
and brooding in Mulder, for the day after he had begun this
project, whatever it was, and his mood had darkened to this.

     Which led them to be sitting in a lowest spot in a wet,
overgrown field on a spring afternoon. Though she knew that they
needed to stay quiet, Dana had a sudden, overpowering urge to stand
and stretch. She NEEDED to stretch. She was just putting her legs
under her, preparing to rise, when Mulder made an abrupt 'get down'
signal with the dropping of one outstretched arm and open palm.
 

Dana couldn't hear anything except for the wind in the tree tops,
the birds and squirrels conducting their aerial maneuvers, but
Mulder was wearing the earphone and his face was suddenly tense,
watchful.
 

     Then Dana heard it. A car. Wrong, a larger vehicle, a truck.
Too noisy to be a car. The noise kept getting louder and louder.
Finally, by rising just a little and craning her neck Dana saw an
incredibly ancient Voltswagon bus pull into the yard of the tumble
down farm house. No springs, no muffler, and more rust than paint.
 

     The driver's door was flung open with a groan of squeaking
hinges and a figure staggered out. As he stepped from the van, the
wiry man stuffed his car keys into a pocket of his dirty, torn
jeans and raised an open can to lips.

     "Well, what are you all waiting for?" the man yelled, leaning
for a moment back inside the cavernous interior of the huge ugly
van before slamming the door.
 

     Other doors opened on the side away from where Mulder and
Scully crouched in their hollow surrounded by tall weeds. Two huge
hairy dogs burst out barking. They slinked in front of the man for
a second for a pat which was not bestowed and then took off to
chase after the few thin chickens.
 

     At Dana's side, Mulder swore and tensed, relaxing only when
the grumbling man snapped chains on the dogs' collars.

     Despite her attempt to maintain objectivity, the images Dana
received over that next two hours using one of the telescopic
viewers Mulder had brought both saddened and angered her. The
conversations she heard over the microphone pickup through her
headphones didn't improve her mood. The most distressing images
involved the family's youngest member. The little girl emerged from
the van barefoot and wearing the remnants of a dress far too small
for her. An inadequate costume for so early in the year. Her long,
dirty blond hair was falling down her back and she favored one leg.
About three years old, she carried a torn and much-loved rag doll
over her arm. A boy of seven, trying his best to carry a large sack
of groceries, followed her.
 

     Having stomped clumsily up onto the house's small porch with
his beer, the man turned and pointed to the little girl. "And what
you think you're doing, Missy? Come on, come on, this ain't no
hotel."

     Wordlessly, the boy handed his sister a plastic bag from one
of his. It appeared to be a dripping bag of raw chicken. The girl
tried to take it but her little hand was too weak and in order to
carry it she was forced to cradle the leaking bag next to her dress
and her poor, little rag doll.
 

     A woman, bony and bent, appeared. A bulging string bag weighed
down one arm and an ancient diaper bag was slung over the other
shoulder. A large baby of more than a year sat on her hip and from
the way her dress hung on her worn and tired frame she was pregnant
again.

     Struggling with two large bags, a tall, incredibly thin girl
of ten or eleven with dark hair trudged listlessly after the woman.
The man had the door to the house open now. He held the screen open
for the little girl and her younger brother to enter while he
upended his beer. "Kate!" he barked to the older girl. "Where's
your head? Shut the damn door."

     The girl looked dully at the van. "I'll get it after I put
these in the kitchen."

     "Oh, no, you don't. I've heard that before. Now!"

     Wearily, she sat the bags on the step of the porch, returned
to the van. The side door was slid shut. Then she heaved up the
bags again and staggered up the step and into the house.
 

     For the next half hour the inhabitants moved aimlessly in and
out of the house. None of them ever seemed to light for long.
Certainly, the house was small enough that being outside was
preferable to being inside. Dana couldn't even imagine being inside
that tiny place with this group all winter. At one point, the tall
girl tried to sneak in some secret reading time, slipping behind
one of the rusty outbuildings with a worn, dog-eared paperback. She
was found by her younger brother who snapped at her in a perfect
imitation of his father to move her ass into the house and finish
the washing.

     The little girl brought her doll outside and played with the
dogs for a long time, nestling next to their warm, dusty bodies as
if she were badly in need of a nap. It seemed she did fall asleep
for a few minutes but when the man came out of the house with a
rifle in his hands, the dogs leaped up, barking wildly, which
startled the little girl out of her doze. Ignoring the child, as
all the other members of the household seemed to, the man sat down
to clean his gun. The boy came out and watched the process with
hungry eyes.
 

     At the end of nearly two hours, a rickety bicycle bounced up
the lane and a dark-haired boy of about twelve, even thinner than
the older girl, swung one skinny leg over the seat as he pulled up
beside the house. He had a fishing pole and bag which hung as if it
held at least two fish but probably no more than four.
 

     "Where have you been?" the man asked sharply.

     "Fishin'," drawled the boy, his voice just on the edge of
insolence. Grudgingly, he opened his sack for the man to peer into.
"Where do you think I've been?"

     "Don't give me that. Three little fish for a whole day?"
 

     "I had to go to school -"

     "Oh, really? That's not what I hear." Wrapping his hand around
the boy's t-shirt, the man pulled himself to his feet. "Let me
smell your breath, boy!" The boy backed away. The man reached out
an arm and, like lightening, jerked the frail arm right at the bare
elbow. Mulder twisted, a small groan torn from him even as the tall
boy yelped in pain. The man drew the boy towards him and took a
long sniff. "What I thought! Cigarettes and beer. You've been
hanging out with Rich Smith's boys again, haven't you?" When the
boy didn't answer but straightened in mute disdain, the man shook
the boy violently with an unexpected strength which the newly grown
boy had no hope of matching. The boy's face showed anger and
humiliation but he made no other sound. Probably knew from
experience that there would be worse to follow if he did. The
forehead below the thin, dark hair of the man glistened with sweat.
"I SAID, you've been drinkin' and smokin' with those town boys
again, haven't you? Useless waste of time."

     The woman came out on the porch. Her eyes were dull, but her
appearance could not have been entirely a coincidence. "Dan," she
called in a weak, hesitant voice, "I can only find one six pack of
beer. We paid for two, I'm sure of it."

     The man swung towards her, the tall boy staggering to fall
painfully to his knees as the man's grip loosened. "Damn, can't you
even shop, woman! All right, all right, everyone back in the van,"
he shouted, gesturing to the vehicle.
 

     The older girl came out to stand by the older boy. "Ah, Pa,
can't we just stay here?"

     "No," he snapped, "you can't. I talked to Marshall at the
Southern States store. Since we're going in anyway there's some
inventory work you can do for him for a couple of hours." Looking
at the tall boy who was rising slowly to his feet, he snarled, "And
there's some stacking this worthless bag of bones can do. At least
then the day won't be a total loss."

     Dana and Mulder had watched the entire time, silent as the
breeze. Just their breath stirring the grass. Mulder's face had
become increasingly drawn as the drama unfolded and had turned
positively grey after the older boy appeared. Dana made no comment
but watched, making her own conclusions on what she was witness to
here. Child abuse? The man was certainly abusive. But that alone
wouldn't have brought Mulder here. As soft as his heart was towards
children, Mulder would not have needed to come to the middle of
Tennessee to document a child abuser. There were a hundred, a
thousand as bad and worse, within an hour's drive of the Bureau.
 

     The lean, scanty-haired man stomped with his thick boots one
final time up the walk to the van. In passing, he reached out a
hand to cuff the oldest boy who wasn't moving as fast in his
estimation as he would like and sourly hustled the whole troupe of
snotty-nosed, ragged children into the ancient, rusty box and drove
off. Dana did not need to see the road they drove on to count the
number of chuck holes the wheels dropped into with a clang of
undercarriage hitting gravel.
 

     Only when the car was far, far away, only after the dust had
settled did Mulder relax. Dana hadn't realized how tight her
partner had been since their quarry's appearance. Rotating his neck
now that they were gone, Mulder cracked his back and stretched out
his long legs before beginning to disassemble the equipment.

     "Is that it?" Dana whispered.

     "Isn't that enough?"

     "I little more articulate, if you please, Mulder. What were we
here to see?"

     "You tell me." His hands fumbled as little as they moved over
the equipment. She had not seen that tremor when he had set up the
apparatus. His expression was veiled. "Your impressions?"

     "Of who? The man, the woman or the children."

     "The man and how growing up with a person like that can affect
a child. Will the boys turn out like him? The girls like that poor
woman?"

     "The mother's stronger than one might think, Mulder, in her
own way."

     "I'll agree with you on that. What's your opinion of the man?"

     He had said 'man' not 'father.' Dana stored that omission away
for future reference.
 

     "Mulder, you're the psychologist. From what little I've seen,
the situation seems obvious. He's abusive. Clearly drinks. Crude
and selfish. Drugs maybe, but mostly alcohol. He's too preoccupied
with maintaining his status as master of that little clan to have
time to procure drugs. About growing up under these conditions - "
Dana had to step very carefully here "- you know as well as anyone
that that all depends upon the individual. Some children grow up to
emulate their parents, grow up to hold the same values they were
taught. Others find other role models and rebel, strike out to be
something, anything different. Either way individuals can end up on
the wrong side of, if not the law, at least of common morality."

     "Would you introduce him to one of your friends? Would you
offer him a possible way out of this kind of life if it meant
exposing yourself and others to his charming - personality?"
 

     Mulder's voice was sharp, sarcastic. Not impersonal. Here was
the crux of the matter, but exactly what was he referring to? Her
hesitation answered his question well enough. He had finished
packing up the equipment by this time and together they headed back
over the cooling fields towards their car. Dana had not answered
the direct question for she could tell Mulder had not truly meant
it to be answered. He steered the conversation onto a more general
discussion of the theories of personality development, in
particular in regards to children reared in dysfunctional
households, that topic, itself, so full of landmines. In time their
conversation branched off into this and that side issue and finally
lapsed into a quiet so complete Dana could hear the insects
stirring in the grass, the rainwater in the low places settling
into the earth. Mulder brooded on the drive back. Dana waited,
allowing her body to relax into the firm, dry luxury of the car's
seat.
 

     Beside her Mulder was not easy. There was a restlessness, a
tenseness of jaw and hand, neck and eye, overall an anger she
didn't want him to watch him stew in much longer. He was difficult
enough to live with before all this.

     "It's time, Mulder."

     He rolled his left shoulder. It had done well enough under the
warm sun, but was stiffening again. His lips tightened. He took in
a long breath then let it out in an audible sigh which eased the at
least the physical tension.
 

     "The man's name is Daniel J. Harwick. Records indicate that he
was adopted twenty-nine years ago when he was only a few days old.
Original address was a town a few hours from here. His adopted
family's history is as bleak as his is now. Always a discipline
problem at school. Grades poor, but the IQ tests show not from lack
of some kind of sly intelligence. Married a local girl young."
Mulder's hands moved nervously along the top of the steering wheel.
"Birth records on his first born indicate that this might have been
your proverbial shotgun wedding. Four children now, another on the
way. No known source of income except for the wife who works part
time as a secretary for a local lumber company. No tax returns
filed."
 

     Dana leaned her head back. Something here should tell her what
she needed to know. Adopted... Late twenties... "Mulder, that's
not... No, please. You don't suspect him to be Sheila's boy?"

     The hands became fists around the steering wheel. Eyes
continued burning through the windshield at the road ahead.
"Another Spooky success, Dana," he growled bitterly. "I thought I
was doing something nice for Richard and Sheila going after this.
I couldn't believe my 'luck' when I found something." He made an
abrupt gesture with one hand indicating the car. "Skinner even
helped with this car and the equipment and our time off which,
considering how much we lost last fall, we would never have gotten
otherwise."  The car wavered a little, the right tire went into the
soft gravel at the berm. Jerking the wheel to the left, Mulder
brought it back roughly onto the road. "I should have known my damn
luck would make a travesty of this! I should have left it alone!"

     Dana could think of no way to respond to his outburst. In a
sad, sad way, he had a point.
 
 
 

     They entered their connecting motel rooms through his. Just
like all the others the rooms each had two double beds. Dana ceased
to see them anymore. They were a place to take a shower, change
clothes, try to sleep. Mulder had maintained a miserable silence
during most of the quick dinner they had caught at the dingy little
diner. He had driven into the parking lot on automatic and Dana
hadn't tried to change his mind to look something better. The place
was convenient and its staff didn't look twice at their somewhat
muddy and bedraggled clothes. The food was greasy and
unspectacular, not that it mattered. Dana ate lightly as a rule
and, though he moved the spaghetti around on his plate, Dana didn't
think Mulder ate at all. Now he flopped face down on the bed,
burying his face in the bedspread, physically and emotionally
exhausted. As for Dana, she vanished into her own room, stripped
off her damp and dirty clothes and, pulling on a robe, went back to
check on him.
 

     He hadn't moved. Carefully, she sat down beside him on the bed
and tentatively reached out to rub his back. She was rewarded with
his not finding a gentle excuse to move away. Her hand on his body
was all right then - this time. She had learned there were
occasions when he could not bear to be touched. This was not one of
those, but on one level she knew he may not even be aware that she
was there. There were reasons why they had chosen to buck
convention and take their relationship that step further. Times
like now when only this touch had any chance of bringing him back.

     "Time to finish this," she said softly. "Are you going to tell
him? Are you going to tell THEM?"

     A tiny sound of hopelessness and he turned his head towards
her though all he really could have seen was the part of her thigh
covered with her robe. "I don't know."

     Dana continued to rub, wished she did not have to work through
jacket and shirt. "If he knew things didn't have to be the way they
were, the way they are, it could change his life. I think we both
agree that the people he grew up with must have been pretty rough,
probably as abusive as he is now, if not more so."

     "What if he's too old to change? He has a record, a long one,
though petty stuff. If he knew they existed, he could look Sheila
and Richard up, pester them, demand money. It would break Sheila's
heart. Could drain them financially. I know Richard isn't paid that
well and travels a lot and between the kids and her halfway house
obligations Sheila can't have time to do that much of her contract
work."

     Dana rubbed the broad back. He wasn't tense. Just depressed.
Listless. "So what do we do?"

     He rose up on his elbows letting his head hang, a silent
entreaty for her to rub his neck. She did, grateful that she was
able to help on this level at least.

     "I guess we go talk to him tomorrow. I'll probably make the
decision then after I get a better idea of what kind of man he is."

     "I think you've already decided what kind of man he is and I
think you're right. But, yes, we should talk to him. Won't be easy,
though." Dana ruffled his hair and rose gracefully from the bed,
smelling damp mud from his clothes and from their skin. "I smell,
I'm going to take a shower. You should, too," she hinted broadly.
 

     "Yes, dear," came a laconic reply, a touch of humor in his
voice.
 

     Dana hummed on her way to the shower. 'Dear.' The turning of
the tide had been a long time coming. By the time the warm water
hit her, her heart was beating with those long anxious stokes, the
way it did when she allowed herself to think about their being
together.
 

     As she turned off the water and reached for one of those
horribly inadequate motel towels, Dana noticed before anything that
his shower wasn't running which she had expected. There were
definite advantages to two motel rooms even if between the two of
them they only used one bed. Both preferred long showers when they
had the time. Frowning, she slipped on her robe and headed for his
room, knocking softly on the half open door. Hearing no response,
she pushed the door all the way open. He hadn't moved. He was still
lying face down on the bed, only snoring softly this time. Sighing,
she removed his muddy boots, flipped the bed spread over him, and
went back alone to her own room and her own bed.
 

     In the greyest of early morning light Dana woke to feel a
warm, damp body sliding in beside her. His wet hair smelled of
shampoo, his skin of soap. "Better?" he murmured.

     "Better," she affirmed softly, snuggling close. Her legs
entwining with his, his long body wrapped around hers, she faded
within the space of two matched heart beats back into contented
slumber.
 

     By the time she woke again in the full light, he was out on
his morning jog, driving away, for a few more minutes, the weight
of the bitter decision which lay before him.
 

End of chapter 1

===========================================================================
 
 

SKUNKED AGAIN   (2/5)
by Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@AOL.COM)
REVELATIONS 8: Epilogue

For disclaimer see Chapter 1.

Chapter 2

     They dressed to the full FBI standard that morning. Returning
from his run, Mulder had headed for the shower, but not fast enough
to prevent Dana from seeing the rivulets of sweat that were running
down his face and the dark wet spots on his clothes. He had run
full out. Once under the steaming water though, he took his time.
No hurry today. His feet dragged around the rooms as he dressed.
Dana forced herself to sit and read the novel she had been trying
to finish for six months. It did neither of them any good for her
to watch him pace, to try to send out waves of sympathy. He was
well aware of her concern and more attention from her than that
just added to his burden. Unexpectedly, as he passed with his
fingers working on the buttons of his shirt, he leaned down to
where her head was bowed over her book and brushed his lips across
the back of her neck.
 

     She smiled sadly into the pages. How she loved him. How
impossible it was to live with him sometimes. During their
'honeymoon' of the first month, they had been in each other's
company almost continuously, going to doctor's appointments,
helping each other recover strength and agility, and reveling in
the glorious decadence of needing to put on weight. With their
return to the office, however, each had gradually returned more and
more often each to their own place. Dana had worried at first that
she was losing him, but then had to admit to herself that it was
easier this way. If they truly 'lived' together, getting through
the days would have been impossible. Too many possibilities for
either to slip. Certainly Skinner must know but it was critical
that they not compromise his position but making their new
relationship obvious to anyone else. More than that, neither was
ready for the great commitment, certainly not a public one that
would risk the job. Under the stress of work, the frequency and
manner of their coming together, of their crossing that line,
became erratic, and thus this separateness suited them. As she had
said on that Christmas Eve, any intimacy between them could be as
simple a gesture as an extension to the depth of love and trust
they already shared. All the better that it should not be taken for
granted.

     Like their lives, there was no pattern to their meetings.
Sometimes they went out to dinner, came back to her place or his to
watch TV and then, without a word or gesture, would crawl into bed
together like any old married couple. The night after John
Barnett's death, Mulder had gathered her up as if she were some
dream which would disappear if he did not hold on tightly enough.
She remembered because her chest ached from where the bullet had
lodged itself in her bullet proof vest and Mulder's desperate
embrace had kept that memory uppermost in her mind throughout that
long night.

     More often days, weeks would go by and when they met in an
unguarded moment, they would dance around the issue like a couple
on a first date. 'Should we or shouldn't we?' To which the answer
was just as often 'no' as 'yes'. That he was protecting the job as
much as protecting her from his enemies who were lining up more and
more clearly against him, was obvious to both of them, but Dana had
a third, secret explanation for his distance. He was afraid to be
happy, afraid that if he cared too deeply that this, too, would be
taken away.
 

     One day in the second month - they seemed to mark time from
that Christmas - as they worked in the office, Dana became aware of
his watching her, hungry and sad, but hungry more than anything.
One of his introspective days. She had lain in her bed that night
for hours, waiting, but knew he wouldn't come. Wanting him so
badly, because she had sensed his need and knew her own, she had
thrown on clothes and driven to his apartment to find him lying
curled unhappily on the couch beside the flickering, silent TV
caught in a restless dream. Gently, she roused him with a kiss,
watching him stir, enjoying the surprise in those half opened eyes.
Then before he was even fully awake, she led him by the hand to the
bedroom where she made him smile and moan and gasp and spiral into
the heavens before letting him pleasure her in return.
 

     That had been a strategic move on Dana's part. By her actions
she had told him that spontaneity was acceptable. He didn't need a
reason to want to be with her. After that, she often woke in the
middle of the night to find him in bed with her. Some mornings, all
the evidence she ever had that he had been there at all, was a warm
spot on the mattress and a depression on the pillow beside hers.
 

     Out of town, they lived amazingly chaste lives. Once the cases
became dangerous again, Mulder was no fun. Over time, Dana had
learned to pick up on his moods which, during the third month, were
most often dark and isolated, inviting no intimacy. However, when
they recovered a kidnapping victim, healthy, after working like
slaves for days after everyone else had given up, their joy knew no
bounds and they celebrated like they never could before Christmas.
Similarly, when a case went sour and there was nothing that could
be done, when they were left standing before walls of lies and
deceit for all their efforts, they came to grips with their
disappointment and their mortality and their imperfections, more
often than not, together.
 

     In one area Dana learned to step very carefully. Mulder hated
it when they fought, when it got personal, which it did too often
when stress made tempers high and sleep hard to find. Dana's
temperament was such that she was just as happy to snap and let him
fume, but not he. When she refused to acknowledge his subtle
overtures to make up - and they were always subtle, so subtle as to
be frequently nearly invisible - it clearly tore him. That there
were unresolved issues between them didn't keep him from standing
his ground. His obsession, his pride and stubbornness, all of which
he needed to defend the unpopular themes of his special agenda of
investigations, supported that kind of steadfastness, but the wound
was always there.  Her withholding of even a gesture, a smile of
reconciliation was a weapon which she dare not use too often. It
was too easy. A sadistic or vindictive woman would have a field
day. No wonder Phoebe Green had ripped him up so thoroughly.
Finding this chink in his armor, the witch must have loved going at
him with the knife, twisting and prodding, watching him bleed. No
wonder he protected himself. Back in that hospital after Angela,
with Phoebe's cruelty fresh again before his eyes, no wonder he had
been so reluctant to let anyone get close.

     At the familiar sound from the next room of the clicking of
the snaps on Mulder's carry all, Dana raised her head from the book
she had not read for the last ten minutes and knew he was ready.
They checked out of the motel. Mulder was that certain that the
interview with Harwick would be brief. First, however, he indicated
that he needed to look up a few more records at the local
courthouse. Dana went along to help. It was a long and unproductive
morning, unless finding more examples of Harwick's cruelty and
anti-social behavior could be considered productive. At three in
the afternoon, Mulder decided he couldn't put it off any longer and
turned his Bureau-issued car in the direction of Harwick's
compound. Calling the shack and miscellaneous outbuildings a home
or a farm hardly seemed appropriate.
 

     A few miles from their destination, Dana's window open to
catch the fresh spring air, they both caught the unmistakable
scent.

     Rapidly, Dana rolled up her window as Mulder groaned and
rubbed his nose as if that could keep out the pungent odor.
"Thanks, ever since I spent four days smelling like that, just a
whiff makes me crazy."

     "Oh, does that explain it?" she tried to joke.
 

     Something in her tone... Casting a long look at his partner,
Mulder saw a guilty flush crawling up her neck. "What is it,
Scully?"

     "Hmmm, oh, nothing." She knew her voice wasn't right. She
always was a terrible liar.

     He returned his eyes to the road for just a second, then back
to her again. On another day he would have let it go, but his mind
latched onto this. Anything to keep from thinking about the meeting
ahead. "That's a lot of nothing. Your Irish heritage is showing."

     "Mulder, if you're going to keep staring at me, please pull
off before we end up in a ditch."

     Surprisingly, he did. He may not have except that there it was
- a  small, level gravel area under some trees. Hunters probably
parked there in season. He pulled up the emergency brake and turned
to her in one fluid motion. "All right, no threat of making the
acquaintance of any ditches. What's bothering you?" His voice was
teasing, but she knew that if she told him, he wouldn't be teasing
any longer. "It's about a skunk, isn't it? Back in December when we
were looking for you Evan mentioned that there was something about
a skunk that you wanted to tell me."

     The hot spring sun was burning through the front windshield.
Dana was suddenly far too warm. She opened the door, felt the
welcoming chill of the spring air and stepped out. There was a path
leading into the woods. She started walking. Behind her she heard
him hastily locking the doors, trotting to catch up with her.
 

     "Scully, you can tell me."

     "Oh, I can tell you, but will you talk to me afterwards? This
is not something I'm proud of." She breathed in the air, clearing
her sinuses of the lingering pungent scent. All but gone. "Have you
ever done something that you wish you hadn't, which just gnaws at
you afterwards?"

     He found her hand and brushed his fingertips against hers.
"Constantly. But here we are, alone. Taking a leisurely walk in the
spring woods. Maybe, if you tell me about whatever is bothering
you, you'll find it's not as bad as you think."

     The ground was soft underfoot, the early foliage a soft new
green. The white and coral and pink dogwoods sparkled among the
green. When the path narrowed he had to drop back to walk behind
her and, though she walked as fast as she could, with his longer
legs he had no problem keeping up with her. Suddenly, the woods
pulled back and before them was a little glade, full and warm in
the sun and totally private.
 
 

     "Scully, stop." His voice wasn't teasing any longer. Something
was upsetting her. From behind, his hand closed gently over her
shoulder. "Talk to me."

     She spun to face him, her expression echoing guilt and some
remembered anger. "'Talk to me?'" she asked with a slight bite of
sarcasm. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?" He looked so
miserable standing there, the lines of strain from the past few
weeks on his face, totally clueless over why she was acting like
this, that she answered without thinking, "It's just that I was so
mad at you."

     "Which time? There have been so many it's hard to remember."
He hadn't quite given up trying to make light of this. "All right,"
he responded, giving in to her expression of long suffering, "it
must have been that time in the Everglades during the hurricane.
That's the only time a skunk has crossed our path. Was that before
or after I pitched your tent over the voracious bugs you were so
allergic to?"

     "After. And after you lost half our food and our first aid
kit."

     "That sounds right. I'd say you were sufficiently angry that
time. Were you mad because, after all that, I was stupid enough to
get sprayed by a skunk and then you had to smell me for three days
until we were picked up?"

     Dana's lips tightened. She was going to admit to this, she
was. They had a relationship built on trust, right? She had felt
guilty about this for too long. "I did it," she admitted in a rush.

     Mulder didn't flinch. "Did what?"

     "I got up that night to - relieve myself."

     He shrugged. "That happens."

     "Mulder will you just shut up for one minute and let me finish
this? It's hard enough. As I was coming back, I saw an animal. A
skunk..."

     A hurt expression came over his face. "You watched it heading
for my tent and didn't warn me?"

     "Not...exactly." Mulder looked at her so innocently. He had
absolutely no idea she was capable of this. Dana wondered how many
bubbles she was going to be bursting. "I - ah -"

     A light was beginning to dawn. "You disturbed it and that's
why it ran into my tent?" By his tone he knew that wasn't all. He
just wanted her to deny it.

     "No, I picked up these stones, pebbles really, and was trying
to get it to leave. Only the way I did it - "

     "You threw stones at a skunk? Scully, I thought you liked dumb
animals -" He stopped abruptly at the sight of the guilty flush
coloring her face. "You chased that skunk into my tent?" he growled
taking one menacing step closer. She took a step back.

     "It didn't start out that way," Dana found herself explaining.
"I just wanted it away from our campsite. But I itched and I was so
angry at you for losing our first aid supplies that when it started
in the direction of your tent and I saw that you hadn't tied down
the flap, a thought cross my mind that if I threw this last little
stone just a little to the left -" Her hand made a light tossing
motion. Denials weren't going to work any longer.

     He took another step forward. He was towering over her now,
his expression dark and turning rapidly darker. "No wonder it was
so mad. I stunk for three days, Scully. I stunk when I slept. I
stunk when I tried to eat. I stunk when I tried to sleep. Remember
how those men acted who picked us up. Remember the people at the
airport? They almost wouldn't let me on the plane! I stunk for
three goddamn days! I stunk all the way back on the plane and in my
office, in Skinner's office, and during the class I had to give.
Even in that damn box!"

     Dana had taken several steps backwards during his tirade, but
there her shoulders tightened. "And who was with you just about the
whole time? I got pretty sick and tired of it too!"

     "As I remember, you ate your dinner on the other side of the
camp site?"

     "It was drier."

     "You sat three seats in front of me on the plane."

     "I thought you'd like to stretch out your legs and maybe get
some sleep."

     He advanced, reaching for her. Dana ducked. Dana ran. She
threw back her head and ran, hearing his footsteps on the soft
ground, following.  He could have caught her in three seconds. He
didn't.  Dana almost smiled. He was mad, but only on the surface.
He wanted to chase her. Like two kids playing tag. More for show
than anything. Maybe more than that. She ran twisting and turning
and ducking down a narrow deer trail. At one point she held a
branch high then let it flip back, not too hard, smiling to hear
the surprised grunt as it hit him in the face. She burst into
another small meadow. Mulder took three long strides to catch up to
her. His arms were reaching. Yes! Dana nearly laughed. She leaped
over a fallen log. Oh, how she wanted him to catch her!

     Abruptly, there was the animal at her feet. Small and fat, so
close to dropping its litter that it couldn't move out of the way
of these bumbling humans very quickly. The silky black patches of
its fur shone brightly in the sunshine.

     Mama skunk got them good. Both of them. Dana shrieked, her
arms raising instinctively to shield her eyes. Mulder swore until
the woods echoed high and long with his oaths. Mama skunk, having
defended her honor, waddled serenely back into the woods.

      "Ugh! Yuck!" Dana cried picking at her clothes. "I liked this
suit!"

     "Shit! Shit!" Mulder swore. He was stamping his frustration
out on the ground, then he spun to turn on her, almost stalking
her, his original intentions not entirely forgotten. They had just
- changed - a bit.

     "Ah, Mulder...." Dana backed up. She didn't like the light
that had come into his eyes, a red, wicked light. This was not
going to be fun. She backed up faster, turned. Before her was only
a narrow band of trees and beyond that another open area. Maybe
she'd find a house there, people, witnesses. She raced for it, at
full speed this time, pausing only when, erupting from the band of
woods, she realized that most of the open space was filled with a
large pond.
 

     That hesitation was enough. Mulder grabbed her and swept her
up into his long, strong arms. Dana found herself staring into his
face, a face alight with something primal, something of twelve year
old boys who like toads and yucky stuff and revenge. Dana's eyes
watered. A tear ran down her cheek from the stink. Between them
they smelled to the high heavens.
 
 

     Mulder tightened his grip. Dana almost melted into him. This
wasn't so bad. Nice. Almost worth -

     He started off, taking long purposeful strides. His face was
set like stone. The crazed light blazed even more brightly from his
eyes. Where was he going? Dana tore her eyes away from his face...
 

     The pond.

     Oh, God....

     "Mulder... Mulder, stop..." he kept walking not slackening his
pace. "Mulder... you don't really want to do this." She began to
struggle but she might as well have been fighting against a tree or
a mountain. Certainly a natural force larger than she was. Dana was
strong for a woman but he had the same training and a man's muscle.
"Mulder, it's early May. We're near the mountains. The water must
be ice cold." Panic took over. Neither was playing now. She did not
want to go anywhere near the frigid water. She hated, absolutely
hated, cold water. She lashed out, but the muscles of his arms were
like iron. He trapped her arms. Her frantic movements were useless.
If it weren't for the ice water this would be arousing. A tiny
corner of her mind admitted that, in it's way, it was anyway...

     "Mulder... STTOOOOOPPPP!

     He tossed her. Stood on the edge of the pond and tossed her in
without a moment's hesitation. But Dana had brothers and Dana's
sister was no slouch, either. She knew about fighting dirty in ways
the FBI never teaches you. At the last instant she had latched her
fists around the material of his suit jacket. Her falling weight
dragged him down with her. They both went in.

     Dana imploded against a wall of pure ice or so it felt. Her
heart very nearly stopped from the shock, her breath certainly did.
The damn pond must be spring fed. Somehow she found her feet on
thick, mucky bottom, pushed with what she assumed were her legs.
She wasn't certain because she couldn't feel them. She was
screaming even before she broke the surface. No, that wasn't her
bellow. Her voice came a split second later. The voice she heard
first was Mulder's howling ice blue obscenities.

     "You scream?" She shouted. Coherent words very nearly did not
make it past her paralyzed lips. "What right do YOU have to
scream?"

     "I'm just as cold as you!"

     "Well, it was your dumb idea!"

     He was standing waist deep, his dark hair plastered down over
his forehead almost into his eyes.  "Who seems to have their radar
tuned for skunks with an attitude?"

     "I couldn't have prevented what just happened!" She pulled her
sodden suit jacket close across her chest, too cold to do more than
that and all too aware of how her thin silk blouse looked soaking
wet. Her feet were already numb and not interested in moving, even
though she knew she must. "If I get pneumonia, Mulder, it's all
going to be YOUR fault."
 

     "That's fine because I just had it and it's your turn anyway."
 

     With a huff he turned and began using his long legs to grope
towards higher ground.

     Aching, so cold it felt like she were wading chest deep in
freezing fire, Dana followed him to the bank. Only vaguely did she
notice when he thrust out a hand towards her. Dana didn't
understand at first what it was there for until she realized it was
a peace offering. A peace offering without a hint of an apology,
but a peace offering nevertheless. He was extending his arm so she
could use it and him to help pull herself up the steep bank. Dana
turned her back at the offer, tossing her head, feeling tendrils of
wet hair flipping out and falling back to plaster themselves
dripping around her face, over her jaw and across the back of her
neck.
 

     She reached for the long grass on the side of the bank. <I'll
find my own way up, Fox Mulder!> Wrapping her hands around the long
cat tails stems and other grasses, however, she only came up with
handfuls of vegetation. Because of the recent heavy rains, grass
and roots and root ball had pulled easily out in her hands leaving
a spot of shiny mud on the bank. Lovely, shiny, accessible mud.

     Of such small moments is inspiration born.

     "Mulder..." There was a musical lilt to her voice he would
have caught on to if he hadn't been having his own problems with
scaling the slippery bank. He just did not have Scully's devious
mind. "What?" he snapped spinning around with irritation.

     Two hands reached up to plant a cold, dripping slap of mud on
each cheek and then wiped themselves off on his expensive dress
shirt.

     That did it!

     Within seconds, Dana found out exactly how cold, slimy mud
feels when its thrust down your back. She threw handfuls back,
grateful that she had played baseball with her brothers and not
just softball as she managed to catch him twice on the side of the
head.

     Mulder let his guard down only once. He could be so gullible.

     "Mulder..."
 

     She was standing in front of him staring into his face with
little girl apology almost written on her face.
 

     "Are you ready to stop this?" he grumbled. Clearly, he wasn't
going to be the first to give in.
 

     Swift as a snake, she grasped his wet belt in her left hand,
jerking it to make some space at his waist, and thrust a huge
handful of the cold, dripping dirt, earthworms and all, down his
pants.

     They splashed, they swore. The mud and grass tufts flew.
Neither really wanted to win, but neither held back short of that.
The fact that the activity provided a modicum of warmth was only a
tiny part of the plan, what plan there was. Dana was clinging to
Mulder's back, legs wrapped around his waist, glorying at the feel
of his firm, strong body between her legs, smearing mud down his
back when she heard the gunshot. Both froze instantly. Not hard to
do in water that temperature. Only after she heard the voice and
turned towards it did Dana realize she had unconsciously heard
those same words of command spoken a time or two earlier during the
height of the battle.
 

     The words were spoken in a Tennessee accent, not one they
knew, but the tone was certainly one with which they were both
thoroughly acquainted.

End of Chapter 2
 

===========================================================================

SKUNKED AGAIN   (3/5)
by Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@AOL.COM)
REVELATIONS 8: Epilogue

For Disclaimer see chapter 1. Reminder: This story and the
Revelations series takes place in the first season, CC time.

Chapter 3

     Dana stared up at the figure standing high above them twenty
feet away on dry land.

     She stared and then stared a little longer.
 

     Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Recruit poster perfect.

     As she slid down from Mulder's back, Dana barely felt the
frigid water close again over her feet, her calves, her thighs, her
hips. She finally stood with the water line running just under her
breasts above which, since her jacket was now floating by itself
some distance away, her nipples stood out from her thin blouse,
high and hard.
 

     Dana had a singular attraction for men in uniform. Probably
came from all those reviews she had attended at the Naval Academy
and from seeing the admiration in her mother's eyes when her father
came down to breakfast on those special days, cleaned and pressed,
spick and span in his dress whites. She never told her father that
for her a career in the military was unthinkable, no matter how
attractive she found the uniforms. She never wanted to be put in
the position where she might have to kill some woman's son or
husband or lover just because he happened to have been born in the
wrong country or in a different culture.
 

     But law enforcement, that was a different matter. It was only
too bad that the state highway patrol hired medical examiners only
on an as needed basis.
 

     The figure looming above them had everything a 'wundercop'
should have. Height, breadth, a grim mirthless expression,
formality and a demeanor severe enough to back up the laws he was
pledged to enforce. While he was meant to be intimidating, however,
Dana found her heart beating faster for an entirely different
reason.

     Straight on she saw only tall, shiny black boots that seemed
to go on forever. Above them, khaki jodhpurs that looked, oh, so
well on a man, emphasizing the slim hips and small waist. Leather
at the waist of this one, as well. A gun belt, though the gun was
being held loosely in the large, well-made male hand at the moment.
A broad chest beneath the immaculate shirt, wide shoulders above
that. A neat name tag, 'Thane'. Any sculptor would love to try to
capture that jaw, that firm unsmiling mouth, those cheekbones, and
that perfect nose. The eyes were - oh, so mysteriously - hidden
behind mirror shades. From what Dana could see below the low slung
hat, the nearly black hair was glossy as a raven's wing.
 

     "Better close your mouth, Scully," came an amused male voice
at her side. "You're drooling."
 

     Scully's god spoke. "Are you two consenting adults - and I
assume you are consenting adults - aware that this is private
property?"

     Only now when he thought to play it back did Mulder remember
the flash of the white sign as he pulled off the road, and he
didn't appreciate being reminded of his slip by RoboCop who had
obviously captured Dana's attention. "Not exactly."

     <Whoops,> Dana thought. Mulder had that confrontational edge
to his voice. She felt a little shiver that wasn't from the
freezing water. Mulder had clearly noticed her completely
involuntary attraction and the damn, infuriating, wonderful man was
jealous. Could get himself thrown in the local jail if he didn't
take that tone out of his voice. Having to go to the trouble of
bailing him out, though, would be worth it to find out he was

actually jealous.
 

     Making certain she sounded truly apologetic to cover the surly
tone in Mulder's answer, Dana offered, "We were a little too busy
to notice."
 

     The State Highway Patrolman didn't move a muscle and with
those dark sunglasses it was impossible to see his eyes, but
somehow Dana just knew he was looking at the ruined bank and the
mud on their clothes and skin and clinging in large clumps in their
hair. "Yes, I guess you were. Frankly, I have enough trouble with
the teenagers around here without people your age, who should know
better, giving them all sorts of ideas. Luckily, I got here before
the show became X-rated."
 

     Dana planted an elbow firmly in Mulder's ribs before he was
able to come out with, what she knew, was some stunning example of
his dry and cutting wit.
 

     The officer went on as if he hadn't noticed the scene
surrounding the man's aborted comment. "By any chance would either
of you would happen to have some ID handy?"
 

     Dana reached for her jacket pocket then remembered. "Mulder,"
she hissed, "I left my ID in the car."

     Mulder swore under his breath after his own search. "Mine's
gone, too. Must have fallen out here in the pond someplace." He
looked up towards the officer, squinting into the sun. "I know
you're probably not going to believe this, but we're with the FBI."

     The officer didn't flinch. "Uh, huh."

     "Both  of us," Dana insisted, able to detect disbelief when
she heard it. "We're partners, actually."

     "Uh, huh."

     "I let your office know we were going to be in the area,"
Mulder explained, his voice taking on that edge again. "You should
have gotten a notice."

     "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't."

     Suddenly, Dana shot Mulder a worried glance and asked in a
harsh whisper, "Mulder, what about your gun?"

     Neither noticed the officer stiffen.
 

     Mulder's hands flew to his waist. "Damn!" His eyes scanned the
surface of the murky water, as if by wishing it so he could will
the missing item to come floating to the surface. "I hate it when
that happens."

     The broad shoulders in their crisp, dry shirt loosened ever so
slightly. The officer's tone was wary, but not overly so. He could
sense when there was trouble, any good law enforcement officer
could, and this didn't smell like that. Smelled another way
entirely. No, if these two were dangerous, they were dangerous only
to each other at least for the moment.
 

     "This sort of thing happen often with the FBI?" he asked.
"Losing your guns, I mean."

     "More often than you could possibly imagine," Mulder remarked
glumly.

     Dana had hoped to be out of this thick pool of ice tea by now.
Instead, teeth chattering, she found herself searching the ooze at
the bottom with her stocking feet. She had long before thrown what
was left of her shoes up onto the bank so she wouldn't lose them.
"We cover a lot of unusual cases," she explained lamely. "Accidents
happen. It can be very physical sometimes." Dana bit her lip. That
hadn't come out the way she intended. Her mind seemed to be as numb
as the feet.  "I mean it's often very stressful."

     "Are you trying to tell me, you were just blowing off steam
with this little exhibition?"

     "You might say that," Dana muttered. Any other explanation
would have been just too complicated.

     Mulder suddenly made a loud exclamation of triumph and ducked
under the surface. Sputtering, he came up with a mud-encased
leather wallet in his hand. With look of disgust on his face, he
swished the folder around in the murky water and opened it to see
his own serious face staring blurrily back at him. The cop noticed
the man's grimace. Probably hated his official picture as much as
they all did. Begrudgingly, Mulder held the opened folder towards
the officer.

     After wiping the moisture off casually with his gun hand,
Officer Thane raised the dripping object up to his eye. He stared
at the picture and then at the man standing and shivering waist
deep in the pond in his ruined suit, his filthy hair streaming
brown water into his eyes. "I guess it could be you."

     Sparks flickered in Mulder's eyes. "If that ID isn't mine then
where do you think it came from? Do you think I just found it out
here at the bottom of a slimy pond out in the middle of nowhere?"

     "Mulder..." Dana hissed warningly.

     The officer looked at the ID again. "'Special Agent Fox
Mulder'" he read without any emotion.

     Mulder opened his mouth, thought better of it and shut it
again.

     "You wanted to say something?" Thane asked. His voice was
controlled, emotionless, while in truth he hadn't had so much fun
in weeks.

     "Never mind." Mulder muttered. As if he were trying to free
his shoes from the ooze, Mulder stared down at his feet, or at
least towards where his feet would be if he could see them.

     Dana tossed a plait of wet hair off her face. "Don't mind,
Mulder," she grumbled, the spite still rolling around inside her,
or she wouldn't have made any comment at all. "He's just surprised
you didn't make some crack about his name. Everyone else does"

     Hazel eye burned into Dana's back. The officer just shrugged.
"I'm the last person to make jokes about a man's name," he said as
if he spoke from personal experience.
 

     Dana thought about that. 'Duke' and 'Earl' were not such
unusual names out in this area for either first name or surnames.
'Thane' was the Scottish or Anglo Saxon equivalent. Nothing to be
ashamed about but then she didn't know the man's first name and
decided it would not be politic to ask.
 

     "I imagine in the city, 'Fox' might turn a head or two. Out
here some of the families use it once and a while. There's Fox
Clamore up on the ridge. Now there's a sly old devil."

     Dana was still staring at the water, feeling with her feet in
the disgusting, sucking, freezing mixture of dirt and dead plants
and fish dropping and - Yuck! What was that! - trying to find the
gun this time. Her feet were so numb she wondered if she could feel
it even if she stepped on it. "There you go, Mulder. Your destiny.
To become a sly old devil."

     Mulder was also treading about carefully searching the unseen
muck. "I'd say considering my luck lately, I'm well on my way."

     Casually, Officer Thane shook a little more water off the ID.
"Agent Mulder, you'd best get your - partner - out of that water.
I think she's turning blue."

     On that subject, Mulder could readily agree. Dana's normally
pearly skin had turned a peculiar shade of graveyard grey. The gun
could sink to the center of the earth for all Mulder cared at that
moment. He was wet, cold and disgusted. Besides, he knew how to
fill out those weapons incident report forms by heart now. "Dana,
give it up. I'll talk nice to Accounting -" turning towards her he
found himself face to face with the dripping weapon suspended
before his eyes by Dana's thumb and forefinger. Her upper body,
face and hair were newly drenched. Clearly, she had needed to duck
under to retrieve it. Without a word Mulder snatched the gun out of
her hand and extended it towards Thane, grip first. The officer
took it, again without emotion, as though he was accustomed to
seeing a fine weapon like this one treated so shamelessly every
day.
 

     "Now will you two come out of there. You're giving me the
chills."

     This time Dana accepted help both from Mulder from below and
the highway patrolman from above. Thane had a good firm grip, also
a warm and dry one. Dana's feet were so nearly senseless that, as
she reached dry ground, she nearly fell. She somehow managed to
stay upright long enough to assist in hauling Mulder out of the
pond, not an easy feat as there was little bank left which was not
as slippery as ice and no one was pushing from behind as he had
pushed her. Come to think of it, as he had pushed his hand had
lingered... Or had it? It didn't matter. Once out, both agents
collapsed onto the wonderfully dry ground, ground warm from a day
in the sun. The ground was a little damp from the recent rains but
in comparison to the waters of the pond, a sauna.
 

     Mulder dropped onto his stomach. When that patch of earth
began to cool, he rolled over to find Thane still with them,
lounging against the tree where they had first seen him. "I think
we can find our way home from here." Mulder hinted broadly.

     Thane gave no indication that he planned to move anytime soon.
"Just thought I should make sure you move your activities
elsewhere. Wouldn't want them to escalate, one way or the other.
I've had disagreements before with my wife which -"

     Mulder let his head fall back against the mixture of old, dry
fall grass and new. "Agent Scully's not my wife and not girlfriend.
We told you, we're both with the FBI. She's my partner."

     Thane looked up from where he had been shredding bark off a
stem. "That's right, you did. Still, my wife and I had it out once
in a pond very much like this one. Of course, we were A LOT younger
and we had more sense. It was high summer."

     Dana just hugged the warm earth and listened with some
satisfaction. Mulder had denied she was his wife, he had denied she
was his girlfriend, but, at least, he hadn't denied they were
lovers. But were they lovers? Or were they just occasionally,
comfortably intimate? How does one define what they were to one
another?
 

     Mulder raised himself smoothly to a sitting position, took off
his shoes and began dumping out mud and water. "We've really
improved the image of the FBI today, haven't we."

     Thane shrugged, averting his eyes politely so as not to watch
Dana as she wrung out her hair and scrambled along the bank in her
all-but-transparent wet blouse looking for her jacket. "Not to
worry. I don't have to file many details with this report.
Personally, I find it rather comforting to see that folks from
Washington are actually human beings. From watching the news, one
begins to wonder. I am beginning to see why our taxes are so high
though."
 

     Dana had located her jacket and was using a long stick to fish
it out of the pond. She threw Thane a little glance to see if he
was watching, but he wasn't. Amazing. Southern gentleman still
existed. "How did you find us anyway?"

     "Oh, that part was easy. Saw the out-of-state license on your
car and figured it to be some visiting hunters, trespassing and out
of season. Thought I'd save someone's backside the effects of old
Jones' gun. He uses buckshot. After I got out of the cruiser all I
had to do was follow the shrieks. Hunting? Oh, yes, but not what I
expected."
 

     Both became aware that Mulder was standing and patting all his
pockets and swearing.

     Why did Dana have a bad feeling about this? "Now what?" she
asked, grimacing as she slipped her feet into her wet shoes.

     Mulder really did look pitiful. With his hair in his eyes and
the cuffs of his suit hanging limply over his hands and shoes, he
looked about fifteen years younger. "No keys."

     "Oh, Mulder..." Dana's arms were crossed and she was rubbing
her hands over her upper arms. She had retrieved her soggy jacket
but couldn't bear to put it on. Wet, cold cloth would be worse than
the sun and the air against her skin. Thane had seen everything
there was to see anyway.
 

     Thane pushed himself away from the tree he had been leaning
against. "Come on. I've been known to break into a car a time or
two to help a stranded civilian. I suppose I could do as much for
the FBI."

     Dana considered reminding the Officer Thane that the FBI
academy provided extensive classes in the practical life skills
every FBI field agent needed to know, of which breaking into cars,
and even hot-wiring them, were topics covered in the first week.
Instead, she headed towards the path she and Mulder had taken to
reach the pond. Only after she had started off did Dana see out of
the corner of her eye that the trouper was extending towards her a
short black leather jacket at exactly the same time that Mulder
slipped off his wet one to make a similar offer. Deciding no
decision was better than a bad one - a warm, dry garment stacked up
against Mulder's hurt pride was a toughie - Dana ignored both men
and continued up the trail as fast as she could.
 
 

     It took Dana only a few minutes to catch the flash of chrome
in sunlight. She hurried, hearing the rustle of the old leaves and
undergrowth as the men followed. She was anticipating the warm
interior of a car which had been sitting in the sun, so completely,
that when she reached the opening of the path, all she could do was
stand and stare in utter confusion. There was the road, a police
car - obviously Thane's - and the gravel spot where they had parked
their car. And that was all.

     "Towed?" Mulder exclaimed in dismay from behind her. From the
sound of his voice someone else had been looking forward to the
comfort of that sun-baked interior.

     "No one would come all the way out here to tow you, not for
this," came Thane's answer as he studied the empty spot with
disgust. "No, this has got to be a present for me from Jackson and
his pals. He'd see stealing a car parked next to mine a real fine
little joke!"

     Dana was standing in the shade clearly shivering. "Someone
stole our car? My clothes...?"

     Mulder stepped around her and took five long strides to stand
where he easily remembered parking the car. He had locked the
doors, too. He was certain of it. "Car nothing... clothes
nothing... The surveillance equipment, Scully!" The camera with its
lenses and that special microphone were easily worth more than the
car after depreciation. Skinner would have a fit. Accounting would
have a field day.

                            ********

     Officer Thane returned from the convenience store with a half
bag of groceries which he handed across the back seat to Dana to
hold. Inside were four quart bottles. "Lemon juice," he explained.
"For the smell."

     Dana was all too aware that she was dripping water laden with
several varieties of stink into the seats of Thane's patrol car.
She wrapped one of the two blankets the officer had pulled from his
trunk more closely around her shoulders. "You don't have to be so
accommodating."
 

     "And what else would you do? Hang around the station in your
condition waiting for your car to be found? That wouldn't be very
pleasant. Most of my compatriots would find the discovery of two
Feds in your circumstances too juicy of an opportunity to pass up
without a full razzing. Personally, I think you've suffered
enough." As he drove, he glanced through his rear view mirror at
the two agents who, wrapped in blankets and huddled on his back
seat, resembled drowned rats more than anything. "Besides, it's a
slow day. Most of the hardened criminals can find better things to
do on a beautiful day like this."
 

     Mulder was slouched down as far as he could go. "If the
hardened criminals have all gone to the beach, then who stole our
car? 'Jackson' you said?"

     "Pete Jackson and his friends. They're the only ones who have
that kind of nerve. Oh, he's wallowing in his own daring-do right
now, having a good laugh. But we know their usual haunts. May take
us till morning, though, to come up with any of your stuff."

     Thane pulled into a gravel drive to park beside a cedar-
shingled rambler nestled in the trees. The late afternoon sun shone
like bright gold though the thin spring foliage. "Where are we?"
Dana asked, peering out the window.
 

     "Home," Thane said unwinding his impressive form from the
front seat.
 

     "Your home? I thought you were going to take us back to our
motel?"

     "We law enforcement types have to stick together. I heard you
say you checked out this morning, right? Then I'd be abandoning you
without food or clothes or a means of transportation. That's not
very neighborly especially since we're all in the same profession.

Agent Scully, you can wear some of my wife's clothes. They'll just
be a little long. Agent Mulder and I are of a size, he can use some
of mine."

     Once suggested, Dana quickly warmed to the idea. The house was
charming, at least from the outside, and the idea of a hot bath and
dry clothes sooner rather than later was enticing. Dana could sense
Mulder's tension, however. She knew he preferred the anonymity of
the sterile motel where he could do what he wanted, when he wanted.

There had been that tone in Thane's voice, however, when he talked
about the pleasure the 'Jackson's boys' had gotten stealing a car
parked right beside his, a tone similar to the one he had used when
he had said he was not one to make fun of anyone's name. There was
pain there, an old pain, that reminded her of Mulder's. "Really, we
don't want to intrude. What would your wife say? You don't know
us."

     Without a backward glance to see if the two were following,
Thane searched for his house key on a thick ring as he headed up
the brick path towards the house's side door. "Oh, I'm no country
rube. While I was in the minimart I called your office. You check
out. You know, I never suspected that folks at the Washington
office of the FBI would have such a good sense of humor. Besides,
Janet and the boys aren't here right now. It's just me. You won't
be putting anybody out."

     Before Mulder could open his mouth, probably to ask what the
Washington office of the FBI had said about Fox Mulder and his
partner and what Thane had told them about why he was asking, Dana
thrust the half bag of groceries into his startled arms. "The man's
just trying to be nice, Mulder," she said, then dropping her voice
nearly to a whisper added, "and he's obviously lonely. Smile, use
his shower and prodigious quantities of this lemon juice and just
say 'thank you', okay?" At that Dana spun on her heel and followed
Thane leaving Mulder standing  forlornly next to the car, a little
dazed, the edge of the blanket falling off one shoulder. "Thank
you," he muttered to no one in particular.
 

                             ******
 

     It wasn't fair.
 

     Dana cast Mulder a look of pure envy. Her plate was empty, she
dare not eat another bite, and there Mulder was scooping a third
helping onto his. Between them there was still just the slightest
lingering scent of skunk, which a second lemon juice bath would
take care of, but that didn't seem to be affecting his appetite. In
answer to her scrutiny his eyebrows raised. "This is good, Scully,"
he defended. Dana allowed her eyes to light. She enjoyed teasing
him. In truth, she was pleased. She hadn't seen him eat so much at
one sitting for weeks. Once he had gotten over the shock, Mulder
had begrudgingly settled in and actually seemed to be enjoying the
rare treat of being entertained in a private home.
 
 

     "Janet's a good cook," Thane remarked with warmth and obvious
pride. "She left a month's supply in the chest freezer for me. She
must have thought I never cooked for myself all those years before
we got married." There was a shadow on Thane's face. The way he
said 'all those years' made it sound like an eternity.
 

     "Where is your wife?" Dana asked. "I want to thank her for the
clothes and the food." Dana had slipped on a sleek, ankle-length
jersey dress. Ankle-length on Dana anyway. It flowed about her
silkily as she walked. She wished she could wear such fabric to
work, but it really wasn't practical. If the way Mulder had looked
at her as she emerged from the bedroom was any indication, he liked
it even more than she did.

     "Janet's expecting," Thane was saying, "our third. Due in a
week. Josh and Jeremy are two and four. She's hoping for a girl
this time. She had a lot of trouble with Josh so I made her take
leave from work and move the boys and herself in with her aunt to
be near a better hospital. I couldn't take off that much time,
though. I just hope she holds out for the two hours it will take me
to get there."

     "If this is her third," Dana commented casually, "I wouldn't
count on it."
 
 

     Thane's eyebrow raised.
 

     "I'm a medical doctor, as well as an FBI agent," Dana
explained. "Labor after the first one can go pretty fast."

     The man's dark eyes lowered sadly. "Well, I guess I'll just
have to tell her to hold her breath."

     Dana gave the officer a warm smile. It touched her heart to
see how attached the young man was to his family and he was, in all
ways, the picture of a young family man. Out of his uniform, the
impression of size and towering authority was gone. He still had
his good looks, though. In fact, in jeans and a plaid shirt he
could almost pass for a kid right out of college. Dark and lovely.
Dana allowed herself a little daydream. She suddenly realized how
blessed she was to be eating dinner with two such gorgeous
specimens. Both with such handsome, youthful features, both tall
and lean, both with those long arms, long legs, broad shoulders and
the same tight little --

     Mulder cleared his throat, rested his hands on the table. The
haunted look was back. All this talk of Officer Thane and his happy
family. Much as he tried, Mulder had not forgotten what had brought
him to this part of the country in the first place. Dana wondered
which of Mulder's reactions in response to the skunk, past and
present, had been truly anger and which an attempt to delay the
face off with Dan Harwick.

     "We didn't come here to mud wrestle in your farm pond," Mulder
began.

     "Wondered when you were going to get around to the good
stuff," Thane mused. "You certainly have the office in a state,
that's for sure. What business does the FBI have around here?"
 

     "Nothing criminal. Not yet anyway."

     "No?" Thane asked suspiciously. "What then?"

     "Dan Harwick."

     A definite shadow came over Thane's strong features. "Why am
I not surprised. But 'not criminal?' I doubt that."

     "Then you know him?"

     "Oh, I know him all right. Since we were boys."

     Mulder stretched his muscles one by one, tightened his lip.
Dana could see he was making a decision. Thane waited also and for
the same reason. Mulder needed information about Harwick's
character and observing from a distance of a fifty yards over a two
hour period, with or without a psychology degree, couldn't compare
to the experience of a life long association. But could this state
trooper be trusted with this knowledge if Mulder made the decision
not to approach Harwick? What if Mulder decided to just burn his
notes, to close the loop he had found in the moldy ledgers buried
in the basement of that Congregational Church which Sheila's
parents had attended? "If I tell you, this conversation has to be
just between us, off the record. Some good people could be hurt if
this gets out."

     Thane's dark eyes hooded. "I'm not a priest, but I've been
known to keep a confidence or two, just so long as by keeping a
secret I'm not concealing any illegal activities."

     "We're not CIA. No, as I said, nothing illegal, and I want to
keep it that way. I need to know about Harwick. About his
character. For example, if certain useful information became known
to him, would he find a little extortion just too tantalizing an
opportunity to pass up?"

     Thane whistled low and pushed back his plate. "I can see what
you mean about confidential. The truth? Dan's not a hard case, but
he's petty and mean and weak. Still, I'd say nothing short of
murder would be beyond him if the prize was sweet enough."

     Mulder's eyes dropped. "That was the way I saw it." He did not
go on.

     Thane waited a dozen heartbeats."That's it?" he asked into the
silence. "You can't leave me hanging like that. If Dan's in
trouble, or if he's likely to get into some sort of trouble in the
future, I need to know."

     Mulder pursed his lips, letting out a elongated breath.
"You're probably right. Someone should know. Just in case." He
fixed his eyes on the other man. "It's about an adoption."

     Thane leaned back in his chair. "Dan and his scrawny bean-pole
of a wife want to adopt? I can't believe that. Dan treats the kids
he has like dirt."

     Mulder and Dana exchanged sad expressions. That was what they
had seen as well.

     "Can't see you two looking into their suitability, though.
Social workers do that sort of thing." Thane's head reared up.
"Shit! They want to put one of their own kids up for adoption,
black market style? Must be Linny. Poor little thing. She walks
with a limp." Thane's head wagged in misery.

     Dana snapped a new glance at Mulder. Thane certainly was
taking this hard. Good thing his assumption of what they were doing
here was dead wrong.
 

     Thane was still shaking his head mournfully when a pager's
shrill beeps pierced the silence. All three jumped a little.
Grumbling, Thane flipped out the little instrument from his shirt
pocket, stood and went to the wall phone in the kitchen. He was
back in less than twenty seconds, wearing his black leather jacket
over his plaid shirt and jeans.
 

     "Come on. They found your car."
 

     There were no more questions and no more answers, not on the
way to the car, nor on the trip of about twenty minutes. The
discussion over the lasagna-stained plates had left Thane badly
shaken, Dana could see that, and she found the extent of his
distress curious.
 

     Mulder was wrapped in his own misery. That this man could
think Daniel Harwick even capable of selling one of his own
children was the deepest pain he could imagine. His own family life
had been far from ideal, hellish even at times, but in his worst
nightmares he could not imagine that his parents could, for any
reason, ever be tempted to sell either of their children. Even
during the worst of times when Fox had wanted to be a million miles
away from their anguish and questioning eyes, their suspicion and
their aloofness, they had always insisted that their last child
stay near. Suffocatingly near at times. Fear and their cold
shoulders, had done little to help a boy maimed, weighted down,
with horrible grief and guilt to struggle towards adulthood.
 

     Mulder knew Scully was watching him but trying not to appear
to be. He knew she could sense what was on his mind. She didn't
know the details though. He had never told her. Couldn't imagine
ever telling her, but somehow she knew enough. He laid his head
against the back of the seat and refused to meet her eyes.
 

End of Chapter 3
 

===========================================================================

SKUNKED AGAIN   (4/5)
by Sue Esty (AKA Windsinger@AOL.COM)
REVELATIONS 8: Epilogue

For Disclaimer see chapter 1. Copyright 1996 by Sue Esty.

Chapter 4

     The path the car had taken was obvious long before they saw
it. A double track of churned mud took off from the road at a curve
and headed downhill to become lost in the waters of a large placid
reservoir. Dejected, Dana and Mulder stood beside Thane's cruiser
at the edge of the road and looked down upon the gentle waters
where the familiar bulk of a car could just be seen below the
surface.
 

     "I'm doomed," Mulder moaned.
 

     Dana patted his arm. "Maybe the FBI gets a discount from their
insurance company for quantity."

     "Certainly not a good driver discount."

     Thane was shaking his head in sympathy.

     Below them the red, white, blue and gold lights of police
cruisers and tow trucks strobed over the hillside and across the
dark green waters. Men were moving around quickly, fighting to do
as much as they could while they still had some light. The sun had
set and the sky was lit in gradations of sunset pink and white to
the deepest of royal blues.
 

     Mulder noticed a short, stocky man dressed as Thane had been
when they first saw him, separate himself from the crowd gathered
around the shore and come striding up the hill towards them.
"Harwick!" the newcomer called, "the captain wants to see you!"

     Mulder snapped his head around clearly expecting to see Dan
Harwick standing behind him, but he was alone with Thane and
Scully.

     His face creased in a scowl, Thane hurried forward to reach
the newcomer before the other could come too near to the two
agents. "Officer Dale Drummond," Thane said with an uneasy, over-
the-shoulder introduction, "these are FBI Special Agents Mulder and
Scully. Sorry if they don't entirely look the part, but it's their
car you've got down there." Thane leaned ever so slightly forward
and his voice dropped. Mulder realized he was not meant to hear the
next, but due to a shift of the wind, he did. "They're here
investigating Dan."

     Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Officer Drummond make
a round almost embarrassed 'oh' with his lips.

     Thane took off on his long legs down the hill. "I'll go see
what the captain wants."

     Officer Drummond lingered, took a few more steps up the hill
to stand rather uncomfortably beside Mulder and Scully. He didn't
look at them, however, but stared off at the waters and rocked a
little on his heels before beginning as the two partners knew he
would.
 

     "Thane's a good guy," he began.

     "He's been very hospitable," Dana agreed wondering where this
was leading.

     "No, he's more than a good guy. He's phenomenal. He's had a
hell of a life. First his father died and he and his Mom had to go
live with his uncle. She died soon after leaving him with nowhere
else to go. The creep went through almost all his inheritance.
Thane got just enough out of it to buy that house, I'm told.
Whenever he was caught running away, which I'm told was more than
once, his uncle beat him good."

     Silence. There was more here. "To keep him from finding
someone else who would take him in? Just so the uncle could
continue to have access to his money?" Dana asked, prompting.

     Dale rocked some more. "What else? Thane met Janet when they
were fifteen. He did escape into the army for four years but came
back for the police academy and for Janet."

     "Police work or Janet?" Mulder asked in a ghost of his normal
wit. He also sensed that there was a point to this.

     Dale didn't smile. "Both actually," he replied in all
seriousness. "He certainly spent enough time hanging around the
county police office waiting to bail that worthless cousin of his
out of jail. I guess the place sort of grew on him."

     Mulder's head came up, eyes blazing in the last of the sunset.
"You called Thane 'Harwick'. A cousin? Dan Harwick is Thane's
cousin?" A curt nod answered. So this was the reason for the
wandering snippets of personal biography.
 

     "Yeah, and he's had a tough enough life. Now you're looking
into that good-for-nothing Dan Harwick? Thane doesn't deserve any
more grief from that direction. I did call him Harwick a minute
ago, but that's was just a sick joke between us. I didn't know you
were with him. He hasn't gone by that name in years."

     "So he formally changed his name?" Dana asked.

     "Yeah, and can you blame him?  He didn't want to carry that
into the army, didn't want to be married under that name, didn't
want his kids saddled with it. Especially not in this county. He
took the snide remarks about his family, about that awful place
where he grew up, long enough. He's one of the strongest men I
know, but a man can only take so much. Still, ever since I've known
him he's done what he had to do to keep a roof over his head." Dale
gave a sharp mirthless laugh. "Some roof, some home. If you've been
looking into Dan then you've seen the homestead? That's where Thane
grew up."

     Mulder and Dana exchanged grim expressions. That run down hell
hole? That serious but pleasant and responsible young man with his
neat house, good job and family came from that?
 

     "Officer Drummond," Mulder asked and he was speaking in his
softest voice, the one full of his own pain and empathy, "what are
you asking us to do?"

     The young officer suddenly breathed a bit more easily. "Tell
Thane everything you know. Let him handle things, keep it as quiet
as he can. He's good at that. Keeping Dan in line."

      Hazel eyes stared down at the crowd below in the strobing
lights, searching.

     "He's down helping with the tow truck probably," the thick set
officer offered. "He worked for Billy's Garage all through high
school to make money for the academy."
 

     Without comment Mulder started off down the hill, his eyes
sweeping the scene looking for the tall, dark-haired officer. He
found Thane on top of the bed of the tow truck helping with the
winch. Without a word Mulder put pressure on the take up wire and
picked up the slack to help keep it straight so it would winch up
smooth and tight.

     "Why didn't you tell me your cousin was Dan Harwick?" Mulder
called out just loud enough for only Thane to hear.
 

     "I was going to," Thane said, cranking the handle of the winch
with his long arm, "but we got the call."

     "What I said before was the truth," Mulder said, trying to
relieve the man's anxiety. "There's nothing criminal in Harwick's
activities that I know of. And to my knowledge he's not trying to
put any of his children up for adoption, legally or otherwise."

     Thane's dark eyes flickered in the gold lights of the truck,
clearly suspicious, unwilling to believe, and then there was no
more time for talk. The metal wire just then become as tight
between the tow truck and the bumper of the soggy blue sedan as it
was going to get. Thane jumped down from the truck's bed waving at
the driver's thumb's up signal and casual, "Thanks."

     Thane moved back up the hill a few paces. Mulder followed and
Dana came down to join them. Together they watched as the drum of
the winch groaned and stalled and turned again.  Dana sensed
Mulder's mood and stood close. Finally, the dark water of the
reservoir began to ripple and the roof of the car slowly appeared.
Laboriously, the vehicle was drawn out of its trap, like a huge
dead animal pulled from the tar pits of old, black water tinged
with gold and red and white streaming from every seam.
 

     The lost keys were no longer a problem. The car wasn't locked.
Not any more. The window was left open when the last driver ditched
and the interior was clear except for the water and mud and bits of
weed. Mulder popped the trunk. The compartment wasn't water tight
but that didn't matter. It was empty.

     Thane whistled low. "We can say one thing for Jackson: the man
knows quality when he sees it. At least he took out the good stuff
before he let one of his boys take it out for a joy ride."

     "What now?" Dana asked, fists in frustration on her hips.

     "Not to worry. We still know where Jackson's people hang out
and Pete Jackson is one man who does have black market contacts."
Thane's head was down as he headed back up the hill towards his
car. After a few steps, he turned abruptly back to the two agents,
his face grim. "I know I offered to let you stay at my place but I
don't think I'd be very good company tonight. Hope you don't mind."
 

     "No problem." Dana told him. "We never wanted to intrude."

     Thane nodded. "Dale," he called to his friend, "could you take
our visitors to the Motel 6? And you'd better stop by the minimart
so they can get anything they need."

     "Sure, Jon," the other officer agreed. He looked as glum
staring up at his friend as Thane did.

     Mulder began following the stalwart Drummond when he suddenly
turned back to Thane. "I was serious when I said Dan Harwick hadn't
done anything the FBI is interested in. Only me."
 

     Thane's eyes narrowed. "And if it's not criminal, why would
you care?"
 

     The pros and cons went through Mulder's mind. He felt that
Thane was at his core an honest man, but he was also Dan Harwick's
cousin. Probably had been covering up for him since they were
children. That was what Drummond had hinted at. What would he do
with this knowledge? Try to contact Sheila and Richard himself to
tell them what he could? To warn them and still try to keep Dan in
the dark? But this was Small Town, USA. Once known, just how long
could that kind of a information remain hidden?
 

     Thane's eyes darkened. He wasn't going to wait for Mr. Urban
FBI to go through all the options. "Yeah, well, that's what I
thought. Keep your secrets." And Thane continued on up the slope
towards his cruiser. Mulder stared after him, feeling a nagging in
the base of his neck. He felt Dana brush against his sleeve ever so
lightly. She was there, she was always there, and for Mulder that
felt right and safe, something solid to hold onto in this crazy
world.

     "Officer Drummond?" she was saying to Dale. "Can you wait a
minute? I need to check the car one more time."
 
 

     Dana went back to the car and leaned across the driver's seat
to pull down the sun visor on the passenger's side. And there it
was. Still snugly bound to the wide elastic band car makers put
there to hold sunglasses and turnpike tickets - her ID where she
had slipped it trying to pretend that they were really on vacation.

     Seeing her raise it high, Mulder forced a smile. "At least I
can take you to a bar now."

     "Promises, promises..." She was standing by the car, searching
the seams of the wide skirt of her dress for a possible pocket,
when something out of place caught her eye. "Wait. Mulder, look at
this."

     Dana had found a bag of crackling plastic pushed down into the
ash tray where she had expected to find only sunflower shells, and
brought it over for Mulder and Drummond to see.
 

     "Pork rinds? Scully, I never would have believed it of you."

     "Shut up, Mulder. This is a vice beyond even you."

     Beside them, the sturdy Officer Drummond grumbled.
 

     "Something familiar about this?" Mulder asked holding up the
bag. Something in Drummond's look....

     The officer hesitated just long enough to make Mulder even
more suspicious. "Unfortunately, yes. I know the man who's addicted
to those things. He must have been the one to take your car on its
little joy ride. And that's his favorite brand, too."

     The partners waited.
 

     Dale swung his muscle about and headed for his car. "I'd
better radio John and have him meet us there."

     Mulder followed, shoulders slumped. Somehow he knew where they
were headed. And just when he thought that the day couldn't get any
worse.

                            ********

     Dan Harwick had come out into the cool early evening to stand
on the small square of lighted concrete outside his kitchen door.
He had a half eaten chicken leg in one hand. The light gleamed off
his high forehead with its receding hairline.

     "So, Drum, what brings you out here without your alter ego?"

     At first Dana was surprised that Thane knew what an alter ego
was until she remembered Mulder's comment about the man's school
records. Intelligent enough but misdirected.

     Dale Drummond stood solidly a step below on the broken walk
with Mulder and Scully to his left. He had elected to start the
confrontation without Thane just in case this all could be settled
before his friend's arrival.

     "Little matter of a stolen car that was found taking a swim in
the reservoir." Dale dangled the plastic bag now safely packaged in
an evidence bag. "Know anything about that? As if I needed to
ask."
 

     "Me? Now why would you think a thing like that? It's only you
and Icky John who think I'm a one-man crime ring." In truth, the
man's dirty, thin hair looked slightly wet around his ears and Dana
detected the distinct whiff of mildew. Through the screen door, she
noticed that Harwick's mousey wife was absently puttering around in
her sad excuse for a kitchen, obviously attempting to catch a few
words, but trying not to appear to be doing so. As if noticing the
direction of Dana's gaze, Harwick reached in a greasy hand and
closed the door.

     Seeking for a change of subject, Harwick's eyes slid
disdainfully across the tall man and the petite, striking woman who
had arrived with Drummond. They were clean and neat, dressed as if
they were going to a church social. "And who are these two? The
department hard up, Drum? Selling sightseeing tickets to the yuppie
tourists now, are we?"

     Drummond's lips pressed together for a moment."Don't let the
clothes fool you, Dan. Those are borrowed because their car was the
one out there doing the backstroke. These are Special Agents Mulder
and Scully  - of the FBI."

     The threat in Drummond's voice didn't phase Harwick though a
more seasoned criminal should have seen immediately that their
postures were entirely too formal for this place and their eyes too
coldly direct. As Harwick's scornful leer touched on her, Dana felt
her skin crawl, never wishing more for one of her severest suits
just as she was certain Mulder would feel more comfortable in his
customary FBI costume, tie and all. Their uniform. Thane's casual
slacks and golf shirt and Janet's flowing dress were doing nothing
to demand respect here. Then Dana caught herself. If she felt
disgusted, soiled just by being in Harwick's presence what was
Mulder feeling? What if this man was Sheila's son and Richard's
step-son? But a glance to her left showed Mulder was wearing his
stone mask.
 
 

     Mulder did reach into the back pocket of the borrowed slacks
and pulled out his ID and Dana was grateful to have hers to add to
his. Both wallets were a little worse of wear from water and mud
but good enough especially when matched with their eyes which had
made men who were much further down on the evolutionary scale than
Harwick cringe. Harwick still was not overly impressed, however.
After all, his goody-goody cousin may be a police officer now but
Dan had terrorized Thane easily enough when they were boys to have
a solid disdain for the breed.
 

     Drummond was saying, "Your 'friend' Jackson set you up this
time, Dan. He knew these two were working with John and lifted
their car just for spite. Now he's stuck you with the dirty deed.
You could use some better friends."

     Harwick tossed the cleaned chicken bone into the dust at the
officer's feet. "You could use to go to hell."

     At that moment, a second police cruiser pulled up. Thane came
striding down towards the rundown farm house, his face as
inscrutable as Mulder's. Somehow Dana was not surprised to see that
the officer had taken the time to change back into his uniform.

     "Knew my dear 'cousin' would come sticking his nose in this,"
Harwick called, his voice slick with sarcasm.

     As if he wished they weren't there, Thane deliberately ignored
both of the FBI agents and focused his attention on the sparse-
haired, wiry man before him. Dana wished she wasn't there either.
There was no reason for them to be, the local police were clearly
handling the theft, but for Mulder's sake she stayed even if it
meant knowing that every sly and bitter word that fell from
Harwick's mouth was plunging like a fist into her friend's gut.

     "Dan, Dan..." Thane was saying with a fury underneath the
profession calm. "Damn it, man, you are not this stupid! When are
you going to think about your wife, your kids?"

     Harwick's face wrinkled into a sneer. "Will you lay off me
already about my kids!" The smaller man stepped down off the porch.
He was shorter by two inches and slighter than Thane but twisted
and bent a little already, although they were clearly of an age.
None of this slowed him, however. Spiteful, impudent, Harwick was
working himself into a rage, clearly an attitude of long habit,
probably from a time when they were kids and he was taller than
Thane. His fist came up near Thane's irritating, placid face.
Beside her, Dana could feel Mulder's muscles contract though
neither Thane nor Dale twitched. They obviously did not sense any
real threat from Dan Harwick. Clearly, this too was old posturing.

     "When are you going to lay off and just go away? For twenty-
five years I had to listen to you and your self-righteous muck! All
those times you ran away? I begged Pop to just let you go so you'd
be out of my sight and good riddance! But he always hauled you
back. Well, you're not my damn cousin and you never were as I have
told you a hundred times. Just some brat spawned behind a barn,
dropped and then thrown out like garbage!" Thane's impassive mein
was darkening, losing its control as Harwick flew at him, his face
ugly. "So how do you get off acting as if you were better'n me? How
dare you complain about MY life, MY family, when you're no better
than trash yourself!"
 

     Something snapped. Thane seemed to expand, to grow with sudden
fury. A woman's tiny cry cut through the thick anger that was
exploding between Harwick and Thane and the swirl of confusion that
isolated Mulder and Dana. Hearing the shouts and accusations,
Harwick's wife had come out on the porch, a ratty dishtowel in her
hands, her face pale. "Jon, don't," she pleaded, staring at Thane
with lost, beaten eyes. Thane was clearly the only one here she
could trust to stop this.

     Dana sensed Mulder staring up at the woman, his own face pale
in the light coming from the single bare bulb that burned above the
kitchen door. She had no doubt that he was seeing another mother
crying, another father and son out of control, but this time
someone other than a twelve year old boy was there to appeal to, to
stop the terrible anger.
 
 

     Dale was moving, but Mulder reached Thane first, taking him by
the shoulders and pulling him aside. "Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop
it! Remember who you are. He's not worth it!"

     "What the hell do you know about it," Thane shouted roughly
throwing off the hands. "To listen to HIM," he pointed to Dan who
Dale had his beefy hands on by now, "I'm nothing and no one and
this county certainly backs him up. There's not a one of them who
is willing to forget about where I came from. He and his father,
they stole everything from me, my inheritance, my name." His arm
gestured at the neglected house, the yard. "This PLACE killed my
mother - "

     "She died!" Harwick growled even from the distance Mulder had
forced between them. "She was weak and she took the easy way out.
Leaving you certainly didn't seem to bother her much." The rest of
the spiteful speech was lost as Dale jerked back on Harwick's arms
and started dragging him, hands now handcuffed behind his back,
towards his cruiser.

     Something came back to Mulder, replayed in his mind. A word,
a name, Dale had used as well as Harwick and Harwick's wife.
"'Jon's' your name?" Mulder asked.

     "Mostly," Thane panted sharply, but the word came out less
bitter than the ones before. He stared. Some thought was breaking
through to show on the FBI agent's austere face and that something
had captured the officer's attention. A razor sharp mind had joined
two pieces of the puzzle.
 

     "Jon Thane," Mulder whispered more to himself than anyone.
"Jonathan? Your first name?" The green-flecked eyes were beginning
to light, his posture had straightened. Dana sensed it. What was
going on?

     "No," Jon Thane admitted in a suspiciously slow voice. "My
middle name, but the one they called me by once my mother and I
came to live here." His voice was filled with bitterness. "They
wouldn't let me use my own name, not that I'd want it now anyway."

     Mulder was shaking his head as if to clear it. "So as a boy
you went by Jonathan Harwick. You dropped the 'Harwick' later but
'Jonathan' was your middle name." His voice rose excited,
demanding. "What was your first name, the one they wouldn't let you
use?"

     Thane's dark eyes were like ice. "Does it matter? And who are
you to ask, anyway?"
 

     "It DOES matter," Mulder insisted, a roaring in his own ears.
"Was your name Daniel Jonathan Harwick? Daniel J. Harwick, like
your cousin, before you came to live with your uncle?"

     Dana felt the infectious excitement growing between the men.
She kept staring at Mulder's hands. He did not touch as a rule any
more than he liked being touched, but he was holding Thane's arms
tight though the officer was held more by the light in Mulder's
eyes and his own burning to understand than by Mulder's frenzied
grip. "It was my name first! First! I was named for an old great
uncle. He and my father were close. Months later Dan's father used
it when his own son was born, hoping for a little of the
inheritance for himself when old Daniel died."

     Mulder was trembling with frustration. Not being able to get
a straight answer was maddening. "I came here to find the man who
twenty-nine years ago was a baby adopted by a couple in this area
and named Daniel Jonathan Harwick. Was your cousin adopted?"

     Thane stared. "That's why you came? Dan adopted? Hell, no.
He's the spitting image of his old man."

     Something like a huge weight began to lift from Mulder's
shoulders. If this were true, he would never be unhappy about being
wrong - occasionally - again in his life.

     Dana stepped closer. "But you were adopted?" she asked, her
eyes moving from one strong male face to the other. "Was that what
Harwick was trying to say?." Mulder swayed a little to hear her put
into words what he had already reasoned out. He kept much inside
but she knew he felt strongly and this was bursting through all his
barriers.

     "So Dan always told me," Thane grumbled, "as mean children
will." His voice changed, softened, his eyes losing focus. "My
mother told me the same thing in the months before she died. I was
four. I thought it was just to make me feel better about her dying
and having to leave me with the likes of Tom Harwick and his devil
of a son who had stolen my name. She told me that they were not my
people, not my family, that I was not one of their kind, that
somewhere there was someone else I belonged to." Thane's dark eyes
burrowed into Mulder's like a starving man suddenly shown a feast
he might have if he only asked.

     "But the records," Mulder said almost to himself his hands. "I
found an old ledger linking a Paul Thomas Harwick and an Anne
Harwick to the adoption of a child they called Daniel. In this town
there are records of a child, Daniel, of the same age who was son
of Tom Harwick and Lee Anne Harwick. We found school records and
hospital records for an older child but no birth