By Ginef
Ginef@aol.com
 

Sun Nov 03 22:39:32 1996
First off, I must say that I awaited this episode with trepidation. And all
for naught! I found TFWID to be one of the best episodes in a long time. It
opened all kinds of doors and closed none. Kudos to Morgan and Wong. Welcome
home, guys.

Summary: Scully reflects on her relationship with Mulder and how the events
of the episode TFWID will change things. This is not a pretty story, nor does
it have a happy ending (but it does leave the potential for one).

Warnings: TFWID spoilers. Scullyangst alert in effect. Enter at your own
risk. It's been a rough week between worrying about this episode, the whole
Fox/website fiasco (Free Speech Is Out There!), that pesky little thing
called real life and the stunning realization that I will not be able to
raise the additional $34,999 I need to buy my very own life-sized X-wing
fighter from the Neiman Marcus catalogue. This is a first for me-- an entire
story without one feeble attempt at humor! I must be growing. But seriously,
this is a real departure for me and I'd love to know what you think.

The legal stuff.... I have borrowed the characters and situations of the
television program "The X-Files" and will be returning them no worse for the
wear. They are the creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting
and 1013 Productions. I have used them without permission. No copyright
infringement is intended.

Thanks to the usual list of suspects, the sainted Darin Morgan, and Gil for
all he's done to promote fanfic and the X-Files.
 

"The Field Where I Lied"

by ginef@aol.com

"Dana... if over the four years we've been working together, an event
occurred or somebody told you that we'd been friends together, in other
times, always... would it have changed some of the ways we looked at one
another?" His voice had been hollow and haunted, as he asked me the one
question I didn't want to answer. Not even to myself. So I lied. I lied to
him for the first time in our partnership, just as I know I will lie everyday
for the rest of my life.

But now, tonight, is for the almighty truth. I am sitting here in my darkened
apartment drinking Irish whiskey to steel my resolve. To purge a man who will
never be mine from my heart. I down shot after shot. Straight. Ahab would be
so proud. "...would it have changed some of the ways we looked at one
another?" The words ripple like a stone tossed in a lake, spreading in
perfect symmetry, reaching out forever with no resolution. I close my eyes to
hold back the tears. If only I could change everything. I laugh, bitter and
short. Regrets have become my bosom buddies, my constant companions. They
dance unbidden like the headlights of passing cars on my walls. They come.
They go. They are ever present.

My phone is ringing again. I know it's him. I don't answer.

I look for the whiskey and think of Melissa. Not Mulder's so-called soul
mate, the one he's destined to love in place of me. No, I think of my sister.
I wish she was here instead of cold and rotting in the ground. My ultimate
regret. As much as I tell Mulder and myself that he and I aren't to blame for
her death I know in my heart of hearts that we are. I am. He is. The bastard.
Some days her absence is like a huge, gaping maw sucking me into the abyss
with such force that I can barely pull myself from my bed. Some days I don't
think about her at all. I don't know which is worse. When I was a kid I
wanted to be Melissa so badly. Wearing make up and a bra. Fighting with mom
and Ahab. Missing curfew. I couldn't wait. Now I want nothing more than to be
ten years old again and able to crawl into bed between my parents, safe and
warm and loved. I am none of those things now.

The phone rings again. I ignore it.

They must have known that eventually we'd destroy each other. It just took a
little longer than expected. I will not leave him. I will not leave the
X-Files because, Goddamn him, the truth is addictive and I'm as hooked as any
junkie. But, so help me God, he won't have my heart, my soul. They're mine
again. Mine alone. He can lament about his lost soulmate. He can go to hell.
I don't want to hear it.

There goes the phone again for the third time in five minutes. I don't
answer. I have nothing to say to him. I need to freshen my drink. There's
something to be said for this drinking. Makes everything so much clearer.
Every mistake, every regret, is a tin can lined up on a fence waiting to be
shot down. Joining the Bureau. Bang. Agreeing to be assigned to the X-Files.
Bang. Not transferring the hell out of there as soon as possible. Bang.
Falling in love with my totally self-absorbed partner. Need a shot gun for
that one. BANG. Oh well, the bottle was almost empty and I need to paint that
wall anyway.

My door flies open, kicked in again. My landlord will be thrilled. Mulder is
standing there, gun in hand, ready to protect my virtue, my honor, my life. I
laugh. He must have been calling from downstairs. I drop to my knees shaking
with hysterics. He's so damn handsome even with his unwashed hair and
tattered jeans. I roll onto my back. Now I am a turtle. I can't get up.

"Scully, you're drunk," he observes, helping me to my feet. I shake him off
and wrap my arms around myself, a cheap and worthless protection against the
power of his touch. As effective as a Band-Aid on an evisceration.

"Crack investigator, that Fox Mulder," I sneer as I stumble over a corner of
the rug on my way to the couch. He catches me. I cannot have him touching me,
weakening my defences. I steel myself and shove him away. "Get your hands off
me," I hiss.

He releases me and takes a seat on my couch. "What's going on, Scully?"

I take the chair. "Dana, my name is Dana."

He sighs, passing his hand over his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept since
we returned to Washington two days ago. I try not to care. I fail and I hate
myself a little more. "What's going on, Dana?"

"Nothing." I get to my feet and stumble towards the kitchen. "You want a
drink?"

"No."

"Then get the hell out."

"No."

"No?" I challenge, stopping in front of him, pinning him to the couch by the
shoulders.

"No," he replies evenly. I can see from the look in his eyes that he's not
going anywhere. "You look like you need a friend right now."

"Is that what you are, Mulder?" I ask leaning in closer, my lips nearly
touching his. "Just a friend?"

He swallows hard and won't meet my eyes. "Of course," he whispers.

I slap him across the face with all my might. Unfortunately, I'm drunk and
the impact isn't what I hoped. But I have succeeded in making him angry. I
watch the muscles in his jaw tighten. I resolve to make that pouty lip
fatter. I make a fist and take aim, but he easily catches my hand, deflecting
the blow. I struggle to escape his grasp and end up on my back on the couch.
He is on top of me, pinning me down. I struggle with all the vehemence of a
badger caught in a trap. His breath is warm on my face. I realize that he's
been drinking too. Funny how he of the Russian Jewish background turns to
vodka even as I find my way to the whiskey. "Scully, Dana, what the hell is
going on here?" he whispers.

I stop struggling. Can he really be that obtuse? A man who can sniff out a
conspiracy, a secret from ten miles away really not notice what's been right
in front of him for the last four years?  I grab him by the hair and brutally
pull his mouth to mine. At first he resists, but soon relents with a passion
that surpasses even my own, his hands tear at my skin begging to be let in. I
feel his heart beating through my bones. I feel his soul touching mine. I am
swept away in the moment and just as suddenly in a wave of pure anger. I
shove him away and roll to my feet, staring down at him in contempt. "You
really are a whore," I whisper.

He sits up, dragging an arm across his mouth as if it can wipe away the
evidence of our kiss and feelings long buried and now exposed. He will not
meet my eyes. I feel my defences weakening, his pain is a card pulled from
the bottom of my house. It must be stopped before the delicate structure of
my psyche collapses. Before I become an unrecoverable wreck.

"Your soulmate," I spit out the words, "isn't even in the ground yet and you
kiss me like that?"

He stands slowly, like someone who has walked this earth too long. "I'm going
to leave now," he manages evenly, but his body betrays him. He is shaking. He
stumbles to the door and uses the knob to steady himself. "I came here to
tell you... that in this life my soul must have chosen you."

I do not say a word.  I do not tell him that I love him. Another lie. A lie
of omission. The door closes behind him. I am alone. I am safe.

The End

~~~
 
 

From Ginef@aol.com Sat Nov 16 21:28:45 1996
Second verse, same as the first... except from Mulder's point of view. Yes,
this is a companion piece to "The Field Where I Lied." You don't need to read
the other one first. I’d appreciate any feedback. Thanks!

Thank you to everyone who wrote me about my last story! I really appreciate
it. My AOL account has been acting up so if you received a blank note from
me, I apologize. I really did write you back. Please write me again. I'd like
to thank you personally.

Summary: Mulder takes a good, hard look at his life and what the events of
the episode TFWID have done to it.

Warnings: TFWID spoilers. Big time Mulderangst alert. One offensive word and
thoughts of suicide.

The legal stuff.... I have borrowed the characters and situations of the
television program "The X-Files" and will be returning them after I've bought
them breakfast. They are the creation and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. I have used them without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended.

Thanks to the Olympic beta testing team-- my friends in the Winnebago (Holo,
Ghitsa, PG, Twin, Lala, Leah, Jackee and, of course, Binky) Marlene, Heather,
Hoser and Tracey the Grammar Goddess and to JohnBear for his expertise on
reincarnation theory. And I can never pass up the chance to fawn over Darin
Morgan, so here goes... please come back, Darin! Please, please, please! I'll
give you my original Star Wars lunch box. It only has a couple of dents on it
from where I had to use it on kids who liked Battlestar Galactica better.

This one is dedicated to the memory of Morey Amsterdam.
 

The Field Where She Lied

by ginef@aol.com

It was the longest silence of my life though it lasted less than a heartbeat.
"Even if I knew for certain I wouldn't change a day..." I drew a shaky breath
and knew she had just lied to me for the first time in our partnership. Lied
to make me feel better... to help me make sense of this craziness I'd gotten
us into. At the door she turned and quipped, "Well, maybe that Flukeman
thing, I could have lived without that." Dana Katherine Scully is the only
person, in any lifetime, who could have made me smile at that moment.

I pick up the picture again and run my finger gently along the strong jaw
line. The eyes are earnest, veracious, strong... and so painfully familiar. I
fill my glass and let the vodka burn its way down my throat before I flip the
snapshot over and read the name on the back for the hundredth time...
Sergeant Jack Fletcher, 1863... Scully... oh captain, my captain... I laugh
scornfully, oh sergeant, my sergeant doesn't quite pull the same punch, but
the sentiment is there. I spent two desperate hours hunting down this picture
in the tiny county archive. I knew she wouldn't look. I knew she couldn't. I
let the photo slip from my fingers and fall to the floor, just out of my
reach, like the tattered remnants of my soul. I've had too much to drink. Or
maybe not enough.

I set my glass down on the battered coffee table and consider the bottle and
the holes in what I have learned over the last few days. I am many things--
self-centered, arrogant, and obsessive spring immediately to mind-- but
stupid is not one of them. So, of course, I realize there is no way that the
Cancer Man's soul could have occupied an officer in the Gestapo in 1940s
Poland. No, he would have been too busy pulling the legs off spiders and
torturing puppies stateside. But can I use this one inconsistency as a
catalyst to nullify everything else?

I gather the torn pieces of another ancient photograph and brush them gently
past my lips. I breathe deeply of the musty smell and try to force the image
of her body, cold and limp, from my mind. Melissa... Sarah... my soulmate...
my destiny... I am tired. So tired. I drain the vodka from my glass and try
to imagine what the poison felt like as it travelled down her throat on its
journey to stop her heart. Did it burn or was the taste hidden by the
sweetness of the Kool Aid and the knowledge that this tortured incarnation
was finally at an end? Did she think of me as she slipped away? Is she
waiting for me even now?

I pick my Sig Sauer up off the table and caress it like a lover. It's weight
is heavy and satisfying in my hand. It is an option. A choice. I place the
gun to my head. The cold metal barrel digs into my hairline and sends a
tingle of anticipation down my spine like the last inning of a one run ball
game. I hold my breath. My finger dances lightly on the trigger. I have the
power now. *I* decide if I live or die. I decide whether to free my soul to
go in search of her. I close my eyes and gently tighten my grip. It feels so
good, so entirely different from when Modell forced me to do the same thing.
I am standing on the edge of this existence, my toes curling over the dock,
the unknown waiting, beckoning for me below. I struggle for my final breath,
ragged and desperate, and beg a God I can't quite bring myself to believe in
for guidance. Scully's tortured face appears in my mind's eye. I know she
will be the one to find my body. I picture her using her key to gain entrance
only to find what remains of me sprawled out on the couch, my brains adorning
the wall like some surreal painting, my eyes staring lifelessly into hers...
I fling the gun across the room. It hits the baseboard with a thud that
renews my tenuous grasp on life. Confirms my decision to live.

I bury my face in my hands, sobbing and gasping for breath. It is the first
time I have put Scully's needs ahead of my own. She somehow sees worth in my
existence, and so I return from the dead again to continue with her, united
in dangerous purpose. I laugh bitterly. Sometimes I'm so fucking
melodramatic.

My next door neighbor is playing the Macarena again. Usually I counterattack
with one of my records from the Oxford days-- Sex Pistols, DOA, The Dead
Daalas-- but it seems too much of an effort to bother. I need to get out of
here. I need to see Scully. I grab my keys and my gun and head out in search
of a cab.

I am in luck. I manage to catch one just around the corner. I slink into the
back seat and give the driver Scully's Annapolis address. He looks at me like
I'm an extraterrestrial, or worse, a tourist. "Very expensive, you realize,"
he asks, his voice a wonderfully sing-songy English. "I don't usually go so
far."

I whip out my ID and say, "FBI business." Maybe Skinner will save me the
trouble and kill me himself. We pull away from the curb post haste. I watch
the city whipping by. I open the window and stick my head out in an effort to
clear the cobwebs from my mind. The wind rushes by with the speed of my
thoughts. Could I have been so desperate to embrace extreme possibilities
that I used an obviously mentally disturbed young woman to tap into my own
neurotic needs? Am I Pavlov's dog? Suggest a paranormal experience and I
salivate? I must admit this is entirely plausible. I cannot deny that I felt
a tremendous pull towards Melissa, like a man lost in the desert finding an
oasis. I drank deeply, greedily, only to choke on my own sandy mirage. Was it
love? Was it real? Was this my soulmate or just another attempt on my part to
rescue someone who didn't want to be saved?

I need reassurance. I need logic. I pull my head in and roll up the window
before retrieving my cellphone. I dial Scully's number. There is no answer. I
turn my gaze to the driver, who is eyeing me nervously in the rearview
mirror. "You know anything about reincarnation?"

He grimaces. "Because I'm East Indian, you assume I know something about
reincarnation?"

"No... I-- I guess. Yeah," I admit with no small amount of shame.

He eyes me again, enjoying my discomfiture and finally smiles somewhat
ruefully. "My wife is convinced she was Mary, Queen of Scots. Why do you
ask?" I close my eyes and ride along on his words, deciding I would like to
trade in my Massachusetts nasal for his more melodic intonation.

"What exactly is a soulmate?"

"You mean in the one true love sense?" he asks as we pull off the Beltway.

"Yeah."

"It's a myth."

"It's my experience that myths are usually derived from a truth."

"Perhaps misconception is a better word."

"How so?"

"Despite popular belief, a soulmate has nothing to do with love," he pauses,
searching for the words. "It's about wanting to travel through a series of
incarnations with another soul or souls."

"Really?" I bite my lower lip and consider this.

He nods. "My wife says we travel together as long as we want to and have
things to learn from each other. The dynamics and relationships are always
evolving... changing..."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the back of the seat. "You mean we don't
necessarily have to mate with the same soul time after time for all
eternity?"

"What would be the fun in that?" the man says, eyes twinkling. I rest my head
on my arm. I swear I feel Melissa release her grip on my heart, my mind, my
soul and drift slowly away. The cab pulls up in front of Scully's building
before I have the chance to follow this thought into dangerous territory.

I drop back in my seat and pull out my wallet, handing over my Visa. "Do you
believe?"

His eyes meet mine in the mirror again as he deftly runs my card through his
machine and hands it back. "I have yet to amass the scientific evidence to
either prove or disprove it."

I give him an outrageously huge tip and climb from the car laughing.
Skeptics, skeptics everywhere. I pull my cellphone out again and call my
favorite one. Damn. Still no answer.

I look up and see movement in her darkened window. I take the stairs two at a
time. From down the hall I dial again, her long ago cries for help howl
through my mind like a banshee across the moors. No answer.

I creep slowly down her hall, pulling my gun as I go. As I near the door I
hear glass shatter and my mind dances with images of Duane Barry coming
through that window. Without a second thought I kick the door in, forgetting
that her landlord threatened to ban me from the building if I did it again.

Scully looks at me, stunned, and drops to her knees. She rolls on to the
floor shaking. Laughing or crying, I can't tell, but alive and in one piece.
My heart begins to beat again. I can breath. I reach down to help her to her
feet.

"Scully, you're drunk," I say, somewhat amused.

I am surprised when she pulls away. "Crack investigator, that Fox Mulder,"
she sneers and stumbles again. I catch her in my arms and don't want to let
go. When did she get under my skin? When did she become essential, like a
speedball to an addict? She did it so subtlely, with such characteristic
grace, that I didn't even notice.

"Get your hands off me," she snaps, shoving me roughly away. The door to her
soul slams shut. I am a soldier locked out just before the big battle, left
pounding on the huge wooden door, splinters digging into my hands. I scramble
for a seat on her couch just before my knees give out. I take a deep breath
and ask her what's going on.

She takes the chair. "Dana, my name is Dana."

I look at her. Really look at her for the first time in months. My heart
clenches in my chest. When did she get so thin? Almost painfully so. How
could I have not noticed? And she looks tired, she hasn't been sleeping. I
recognize the telltale signs, the puffiness, the dark shadows on her eyes.
"What's going on, Dana?"

"Nothing," she lies, without ease, and gets to her feet. I feel suddenly
adrift. An astronaut on a broken tether. I feel her floating away from me.
Forever out of reach. "You want a drink?"

"No."

"Then get the hell out," she orders, gesturing to the door, and nearly
knocking herself over with the effort. I notice the broken bottle against the
wall and conclude that she's had more to drink than I thought. I look back to
see her weaving in front of me. She braces herself on my shoulders. "No?" she
questions.

"You look like you could use a friend," I mumble and pray, please Scully, I
want to be that friend. Let me in.

"Is that what you are, Mulder," she whispers, leaning so, so close to me. Air
is becoming a scarce commodity. The effort to breath an Olympic event. "Just
a friend."

"Of course." I realize with a start that I'm lying and that I want so much
more than friendship. Where did that come from? Has it been here the entire
time? A skeleton locked in the closet. Reality returns in the form of her
hand slamming into my face. What the hell was that for? Before I can ask, she
starts in with a right. I grab her fist and roll her over, pinning her to the
couch with my body. "What the hell is going on here?" I demand.

Hurt and confusion echo in her eyes. She grabs my hair and for a moment I
think she's going to head butt me. What she actually does shocks me even
more. She presses her lips to mine with an urgency that nearly sends me into
cardiac arrest and brings down the floodgates. My hands explore her body
savagely. I want to possess her. I want to claim her breath as my own. I want
to be the blood that flows through her veins. I feel her soul touching
mine... and then she's gone. On her feet staring down at me. "You really are
a whore," she whispers.

I feel myself die a little and wish I'd pulled the trigger on that Sig. I
brush the back of my hand across my mouth, an attempt to savor the memory of
her lips. I cannot look at her. If I do, I will lose control. I will come
apart at the seams, a sweater unraveling. And then she drives the stake into
my heart. "Your soulmate isn't even in the ground yet and you kiss me like
that?"

Her contempt is a living entity. I cannot fight it. At least not now. I climb
to my feet and head for the door. I pray she cannot see me trembling. I grip
the knob and lay my heart out, an ace on the table. "I came here to tell
you... that in this lifetime my soul must have chosen you."

She says nothing and so I close the door behind me. This is not over. It has
just begun. I settle myself in on the floor across the hall. I've waited
countless lifetimes for her. I can wait one more night.

The End
 

~~~
 

The Field Where Max Fennig Arrived
 

Classifications: A, X, MSR

Rating: R

Timeline: Starts after "The Field Where I Died" and then jumps to after
"Memento Mori" and ends before "Tempus Fugit/Max". It's Spoiler City, folks.

Summary: Mulder and Scully are asked to assist Scotland Yard on a case
involving a series of murders and possible alien abductions in Southern
England while struggling to cope with their changing relationship.

Disclaimer or "This bucket of bolts will never make it past the copyright
attorneys.": I have borrowed the situations and characters of the television
program "The X-Files" and will be returning them with only minor cuts and
bruises. They are the property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting and 1013
Productions. I have used them without permission. No copyright infringement
is intended.

Speaking of infringement, I have borrowed liberally (and shamelessly) from
sources as varied as Shakespeare and Joy Division. A list of my
transgressions can be found at the end of this story.

Thanks: Muchas gracias to all my beta readers for their endless patience and
wisdom. PG, Ghits, Kelly, Marlene, Tracey, Lala, Holo, there's a piece of all
of you in here. All errors, leaps in logic and scientific inaccuracies are
mine and mine alone. Darin, your picture as Flukeman still graces my wall as
inspiration, but it's about to be joined by one of Vince Gilligan. He's
writing some pretty amazing stuff... you better get back there and defend
your title as Deity of the XF Writers.

Notes: This story is a sequel of sorts to my previous stories "The Field
Where I Lied" and "The Field Where She Lied." I had originally thought to
make this a cross-over with the books of the wonderfully talented Elizabeth
George. Those of you familiar with her intriguing characters will note that
mine have been heavily influenced.

I started this story over a year ago and then merged it with something else I
was working on. When I found out about "Tempus Fugit/Max" I tried to finish
it in time for Stef's Max Returns challenge but events and computers
conspired against me. Sorry, Stef.

All comments and suggestions are welcome! I will write for feedback <g>.

This one is for Gheorghe2, gone but never forgotten. Split concentration
exercises will never be the same... Rest in peace, my friend.
 
 

~~~
 
 

"The Field Where Max Fenig Arrived"

by Ginef
ginef@aol.com

Near Avebury, England
November 29, 1996
6:22 AM

The sun was rising in the east over the semi-sleeping form of a man sprawled
out in the middle of a corn field. As one no longer accustomed to natural
light, he was attempting to use his hands as protection from the glare
invading his tender eyes. He was cold, oh so cold, his tattered jeans and
light wind-breaker hardly serving as adequate protection against the biting
winter morning. And he was hungry. He was most definitely hungry, and it was
this need for food that finally drove him unsteadily to his feet and out in
search of food...
 

Apartment of Special Agent Dana Scully
Annapolis, Maryland
7:12 AM

"Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably." --William Shakespeare (1)

Scully peered through the peephole and felt her stomach drop at the sight of
her partner still slumbering on the floor across from her apartment. He was
on his side, back braced against the wall, knees pulled up with his arms
wrapped around his ribs as if this would somehow protect him from the dangers
of the world. Scully laughed bitterly and the sound reverberated through her
throbbing head. She could clearly see the imprint of her hand on his face and
couldn't help but take a small bit of satisfaction in the fact that she'd hit
him harder than she thought.  At the same time she couldn't stave off the
large dose of guilt she felt for having hurt him, for the things she'd said
and done. Her relationship with Mulder was certainly a paradox, she mused as
she allowed her head to fall forward. The cool wood of the door against her
throbbing forehead was the only good thing in her life at the moment, but it
held off the effects of last night's overindulgence for only a moment. Well,
you've certainly opened up a can of worms, Starbuck. She jerked her head up
at the sound of her father's voice echoing around in her mind. She paled as
her stomach revolted and ran for the bathroom. She heaved time after time as
if giving birth to the meager contents of her stomach, a cold sweat breaking
out across her brow until she was empty. Until she had nothing left to give.
She wished she could purge Mulder from her system in just such a way. She
rested against the cold toilet seat, pulled the handle and watched her
illness spiral away. She wanted to go with it, to follow it into the depths
and escape this mess she'd created. But with her luck, she'd run into the
Flukeman, she mused as she climbed unsteadily to her feet.

Not one to be easily intimidated, she forced herself to take a long, hard
look in the mirror as she brushed her teeth and was nearly ill again. Red
rimmed eyes stared back at her from the canvas of her pale, splotchy face. If
you drink like your brothers you're going end up looking like them, Dana, she
scolded herself as she fired up the shower.

The water burned her skin like Mulder's hands had only a few hours before.
She couldn't help but close her eyes and remember the way his lips had felt
on hers, the way they'd possessed her and commanded her.  The way his body
dominated her physically as effortlessly as he did spiritually.  She
despaired for ever having a weapon in her arsenal powerful enough to ward him
off.

A half an hour later, as she stood in the kitchen downing (drinking being far
too delicate a word) her second cup of coffee, she started to feel guilty
about her partner sleeping out in the hallway, not to mention the fodder for
the rumor mill it would generate. She was well aware that she was the number
one topic of discussion among her neighbors. And why not? She and Mulder had
single-handedly managed to bring down the property value what with all the
abductions, murders, stretch arm-strong mutants in the airducts, break-ins,
spies, and she noted wryly as she approached, kicked in doors. She examined
the damage. Better get it fixed before the landlord saw it and had an
aneurysm.

She silently opened the door and looked down at her sleeping partner. His
face carried an innocence in slumber he never allowed during the light of
day. She kneeled down next to him, fighting back the wave of emotions
swirling around inside her and brushed back the hair falling over his
forehead. "Come on, partner," she said softly. "We have a funeral to go to."

He opened his eyes with a start and looked around frantically trying to
figure out where he was. Then it all came back to him. "Scully," he breathed,
and reached for her without thinking.

She deftly ducked his advance with all the grace of Joe Montana in the glory
days. "Coffee?" she asked, entering the apartment. He stumbled to his feet,
feeling every moment of his 36 years, and followed.

He found her in the kitchen pouring him coffee and popping a couple of pieces
of bread into the toaster. "Scully, we need to talk about last night," he
ventured.

She shook her head, keeping her back to him. "No. No, we don't," she replied,
pouring herself another coffee and stirring in the creamer with a little too
much vehemence.

Mulder moved toward her slowly and boxed her in by placing a hand on the
counter on either side of her. She froze. "Yes we do," he whispered, his
mouth next to her ear.

Scully swallowed hard, like she was trying to force down a bowling ball. She
willed the phone to ring, a neighbor to come to the door, an explosion, the
atomic bomb, anything. Instead she got Mulder's lips brushing gently over her
neck and the reaction in the pit of her stomach was almost as powerful as
that of a splitting atom. She felt her knees weaken, her eyes involuntarily
close, as she leaned her head back.

Mulder encased her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him. He gently
tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. Her body relaxed against his,
surrendering. "Scully, I want you," he breathed and felt her stiffen in his
arms.

She forced her way out of his grasp with a smartly placed elbow and turned on
him. "I'm nobody's second choice," she said, her voice like steel. "And now
we have to go to the funeral of your first." With that she snapped up her
keys and headed for the door before Mulder could even fathom a retort.

     *    *    *
 

They'd barely spoken a word on the long drive to Tennessee. Mulder had tried
in earnest to tell her about his discussion with the cab driver, but knew he
hadn't gotten through. Now they stood beside the grave, not speaking, and not
touching. The minister had said a few words and left them to their
reflection. The workers, who were waiting for them to leave before filling in
the grave, were wishing they would hurry it up. No one else had come to wish
Melissa Ephesian a safe journey into the great beyond. Mulder hoped that she
found the peace there that she couldn't find here. He was somehow absolutely
certain, although he couldn't say how, that this was their final good-bye. He
would not encounter her soul again. They had different lessons to learn. He
stared into the empty hole so reminiscent of his heart and thought of Scully.
In how many other lifetimes had he watched her move on without him? How close
had he come in this incarnation? He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. Too
damn close to even contemplate.

Scully flinched at his short out-take of breath. How could he grieve like
that for someone he barely knew? What was she doing here? Always the long
suffering Scully. What had happened to her self-esteem? Her pride? The
cornerstones of her personality, vanished in the night like Mulder's sister.
God, even her analogies were connected to him. How pathetic could she be? She
turned and walked away, heading for the relative safety of her car. Mulder
caught her by the elbow. "Scully," he began.

She jerked her arm away from him. "Take all time you need, Mulder. She was
your soulmate after all," she spat.

"Scully, listen to me. There are many kinds of soulmates--," he started to
explain again.

"Right, according the cab driver you had a heart-to-heart with while drunk,"
she scoffed. "Your scientific methodology never ceases to amaze me."

He closed his eyes and sighed as she again headed for the car. Everything he
was trying to tell her was coming out wrong. "Scully, I--"

Scully whirled back around and cut him off with the slash of her hand.
"That's just it, Mulder. It's always 'I' with you. It's always your quest.
Your sister. Your search for the truth. Your soulmate," she paused, her voice
had dropped to a whisper. Mulder felt his heart shriveling up with the truth
of her words. As she continued, the customary strength returned to her voice.
"And now *your* new found desire for me. Did you ever stop to think that *I*
don't want you?"

The challenge in her voice snapped Mulder out of his funk. He grabbed her by
the shoulders and pulled her close. "Do you," he questioned. "Want me?"

"No," Scully said too quickly, and looked away.

"Liar," he whispered. She stared back at him, trapped in his gaze like a
snake by a charmer. His lips were nearing hers and her eyelids started to
close. She welcomed his touch even as she dreaded it. It was like dying,
inevitable, but something you held off as long as you could. The backhoe
dumping dirt onto the coffin of Melissa Ephesian echoed unnaturally loud like
a bass drum in a Mardi Gras parade and they both turned to the sound. Mulder
loosened his grip on her and Scully took the opportunity to flee, running to
her car and driving off without a look back. For once, making Mulder the one
left behind.

     *    *    *

Apparently he did find his own way home, because he was sitting at his desk
going through slides when she arrived the next morning. "Morning, Scully," he
said, but didn't look up.

"Morning," she replied in kind, hanging her coat on the rack and dropping her
briefcase on what served as her desk. She quickly booted up her computer and
checked her e-mail. She flinched at the message informing her that the
remains of another child had been unearthed in Home. It was waiting for her
in the lab. Wonderful, just what she needed to get this day off to a rosy
start, she thought. "Another Peacock baby waiting for me," she said, getting
to her feet.

Mulder looked up sharply. "You're going to the lab then?" he questioned.

"Uh, yeah," she replied. "Unless of course you'd rather I brought it back and
performed the post-mortem on your desk, that is."

"No, no, that's fine."

"Well, thanks for giving me your permission to do my job, Mulder," she said,
as she made her way to the door.

Mulder rose quickly, blocking her way with his arm. "Scully, wait. About
yesterday..."

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before speaking.
"Mulder, we're at work, on Bureau time,  I really don't think this is the
time or place to be discussing this."

"So just where is the time and place then, Dana," he challenged.

"I don't know, *Fox*," she shot back and he flinched at her use of his given
name. "Maybe there isn't a time or place."

His arm dropped from the door and she slipped out quickly. Mulder waited till
the count of five before pounding his fist into the file cabinet.
 

     *    *    *

If she were in the mood to be honest with herself, which she wasn't, Scully
might have admitted that she was stretching this autopsy out as long as
possible. The idea of facing Mulder again was even more unpalatable than the
post-mortem on this poor, tortured child. So, when the door to the lab opened
and Mulder entered she had to fight the urge to run for her life. He dropped
a bag from her favorite deli on the table by the door and then added a diet
coke, pulled from his coat pocket, to the bounty. "I thought you might be
hungry," he said by way of explanation.

She glanced briefly at him and then returned to the microscope. Why, why, why
does he have to be nice to me? It makes justifying his homicide that much
more difficult.

He settled himself on the table by the door and sighed. When Scully didn't
bite and ask about his obvious discontent he said, "I got a memo from Human
Resources saying I had to start burning some of my vacation time or lose it.
I'm going over there in a while to try to get out of it."

Without turning her attention from her work, Scully replied, "You know,
Mulder, most people don't consider taking a vacation that much of a
hardship."

"But I'm not most people," he said as he got up and moved toward her, a
strained attempt at being casual and looked over her shoulder. "Find anything
unusual?" he asked.

She frowned. "He's missing several major organs and appears to have three
lungs," she paused. "It's a miracle he was even carried to term."

Mulder grimaced and settled himself down the edge of the desk. "I double
checked with the sheriff's departments within a 1000-mile radius of Home
while you were down here. No sign of Ma and Pa Peacock... yet."  He smirked
and added, "And I thought my family was messed up."

Scully couldn't resist a half smile of her own. Finally, a Mulder she could
handle. She fought a sigh of relief and felt herself slip into her own
familiar role with the ease of pulling on a pair of worn 501s. She continued
working for a moment, seemingly like she hadn't heard him. "I don't know
Mulder, I think I might see a family resemblance," she finally responded.

He leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear and whispered, "You think?"

Normalcy was abducted by aliens. She shrugged and moved away. "Mulder, I'm
not a suspect, please don't invade my personal space that way," she replied
calmly.

Mulder followed her and leaned a little closer. "Why? Afraid you can't resist
me?"

Scully moved away again, sliding the tiny body back into the refrigeration
unit and closing the door firmly. "Trust me. I can resist you," she said,
frowning slightly.

"I believe you're lying, Agent Scully."

Scully stopped and stared at him. He was breaking the established rules of
their banter, but two could play the sexual innuendo game. She walked toward
him, slowly, tugging off her latex gloves. They snapped unnaturally loud in
the silent room. Caught off guard, Mulder backed up a couple of steps, before
regaining his composure and standing his ground. "If I didn't know better I'd
think you were coming on to me, Agent Mulder." She moved even closer so that
her face was mere inches from his. "Are you?" she challenged, the smell of
her perfume making him lightheaded.

"Always" he pledged, trying to regain a grip on terra firma.

Scully grabbed his tie and pulled his face close. "If we're going to continue
working together you're going to have to respect my wishes," she purred.

"Which are?" he managed, nervously licking his lips.

"That you and I remain partners and," she paused for effect. "Partners only."
 

*   *   *

Oxford, England
February 2, 1996
1:45 AM

The light. The blinding light. He could feel his brain being pulled, sucked
out through his nose, his ears. He could feel his nerve tissue uncoiling. The
pounding was deafening. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. They were
back. They were coming to take him... and his new-found friends. "NOOOO!!!"
he screamed before the darkness took him.
 
 

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D. C.
12:25 PM

A fragile truce of sorts had been negotiated. Special agents Mulder and
Scully dealt with the latest strain on their partnership as they had so many
times before-- by not dealing with it. Instead, they pretended everything was
"fine," each taking turns stitching pieces into this crazy quilt they called
their partnership. It had been an extremely busy couple of months what with
sentences served in a Gulag and contempt of Congress respectively and the
entire Roche fiasco. Then, of course, there'd been what Mulder called her
"excellent tattoo adventure" and... the cancer. Since that early morning in
the hospital hallway after Penny Northern's death, Scully had silently
declared the topic off-limits, except when they were following a lead. Even
then, the matter (the CANCER he wanted to scream some days) was discussed
only in the most scientific of terms. Scully had said she'd find a way to
live with the disease and she had-- by denying it. In doing so, Mulder was
able to forget for seconds at a time that she was sick, that he might lose
her and that it was his responsibility to find a cure. They *had* to find a
cure because losing her was a possibility he simply could not, would not,
accept.

All said, it had been a hell of a couple of months. They needed a break and
Mulder was ecstatic that Skinner had provided them with one. It'll be a nice
trip to the old country, he mused.

"Hey, Scully," he called as he flew into their basement office, nearly
scaring her out of her skin. "Is your passport up to date?"

She looked up from the report she was typing, annoyed to see he hadn't
brought her lunch. "Of course. Where's my salad?"

"How can you think about food at a time like this? We're going to England!
And everyone knows the food there is terrible."

"England? The scene of your impetuous youth?" Scully asked, intrigued.

"Well, London actually."

"Oh, the home of your incredibly scary ex-girlfriend." Mulder's face dropped
at the mention of Phoebe and Scully felt a little guilty for having brought
it up. She never had gotten him to tell her what had happened before she
arrived at that Cape Cod house, but whatever it was, it must have been
horrific. So, she asked the one question that she knew would cheer him up.
"What's the case? I'm assuming there's a case."

"Of course there's a case," he said with just a hint of a roguish grin.
"Seems Southern England is experiencing a bizarre series of murders..." he
said, the glimmer returning to his eyes.

"And?"

"...and -- you're going to love this, Scully-- these murders may involve
alien abductions." Scully rolled her eyes. "According to Skinner a certain
Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard heard from a friend of his at
Oxford, one of my former professors, that... well, that I, we, had experience
in this area."

"Great," Scully said, injecting every bit of sarcasm she could into her
voice.

"Hey, it's not often that Scotland Yard asks for help," Mulder said, feigning
hurt.

"And I guess when they do even the FBI jumps," she sighed. "When do we
leave?"

"Tomorrow at 7:30 AM. I'll pick you up at six."
 
 

American Airlines Flt. 342
8:30 AM

Mulder attempted to stretch his legs within the cramped confines of his seat,
the only thing he hated about flying was the lack of space. There was
something slightly appealing to him about being out of control, of knowing
that at any moment they could fall from the sky and crash to the Earth. He
knew it was this very reason that Scully hated to fly. She simply could not
tolerate being out of control. It never ceased to amaze him that they could
be so fundamentally different and still make such an incredible team. He
attempted to find more room for his legs again and ended up kicking his
partner for the effort. Scully glanced up from the case file she was reading
and gave him her infamous "stop fidgeting" look. She really would make a
great mom, Mulder mused, able to strike fear into her kids with the simple
lifting of an eyebrow. The smile faded as he remembered what that hybrid had
told him. Infertile and invaded by cancer. On some level he simply refused to
believe it. Perhaps that was why he hadn't told Scully the entire truth yet.
Refusing to travel on this train of thought, he reached into his briefcase
and pulled out his Walkman. Maybe a little Pearl Jam would do the trick, he
thought slipping the headphones over his ears. He pushed the play button and
got... nothing. Damn! Forgot to replace the batteries again. He removed the
Walkman and was in the process of returning it to his briefcase when Scully
said, "I forgot to remind you about the batteries. Sorry."

He shrugged and grabbed the book he was allegedly reading out of the pocket
in front of him and cracked it open. Scully looked at the title and lifted
that eyebrow again. "Jedi Academy?" she asked.

Mulder blushed a bit. "Yeah. This Kevin J. Anderson... basically I hate him.
He's ruining the characters, especially Luke. I don't know why I keep buying
the stuff."

"Oh?" she questioned.

"I'm just glad there aren't books written about *our* lives, with my luck
we'd end up with this hack."

Scully smiled. "I'm more of a Zahn woman myself."

Mulder's jaw dropped, he couldn't imagine her reading Star Wars novels, but
then again Dana Scully was full of surprises. Before he could reply, Scully
plopped down a copy of a London tabloid with a report on the first murder
onto his lap. It was open to a picture of a shirtless woman in a hard-hat.

"Well, I can certainly see why you lasted three years in England, Mulder,"
she sighed.

"Ah, yes, the Page Three Girl...the only reason to read the Sun--" he was
stopped mid-sentence as Scully's elbow made contact with his ribs.

"They really have a woman in here every day?" she asked incredulously. Mulder
nodded. Scully shook her head. "I don't know whether to be appalled or
amused. Here, let me out. I need to go to the restroom."

"What'll you give me for safe passage?" he teased.

"Mulder, let me out or I'll hurt you like your favorite beast woman," she
said trying to force him out with her shoulder. He moved his legs aside so
she could exit. As she moved by him, her short jacket rode up a bit and he
caught a quick glimpse of the tattoo on the small of her back. He inhaled
sharply and bit down on his lower lip, fighting the urge to grab her and run
his mouth over the mark that so inflamed and aroused him. His mind projected
images of Ed Jerse doing just that in case the pain wasn't acute enough.

Scully turned to him and said, "Sorry. Did I step on your toe?"

Mulder shook his head quickly. No, just my heart, he thought. Just my heart.
 
 

Heathrow Airport
6:30 PM

Scully shifted her carry-on bag from one hand to the other for the third
time, finally dropping it to the ground with a sigh. The line at Customs and
Immigration seemed to snake on forever. A young couple joined the line behind
them. "Is this where we que up?" the man asked Scully, his accent sounding
amazingly like Ringo Starr.

"Excuse me?" she replied, having no clue what he was talking about or even
what he had said.

Mulder laughed, at her expense she could tell. "No," he replied. "E.U.
citizens can clear Customs over there," he said, pointing to a much shorter
line. The couple thanked him and moved on.

"Don't suppose there's a shorter line for exhausted FBI agents?" Scully
whined. Mulder shook his head sadly.

After another twenty minutes it was finally their turn. "Purpose of your
visit," the middle-aged woman asked without even looking up.

Scully put her passport and FBI identification on the counter. "Business. I'm
Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigations here to
work with New Scotland Yard."

Still without looking up the woman pointed to her left. "Secondary," she
replied.

     *    *    *

Another half an hour later Mulder and Scully finally trudged out of secondary
inspection, having been relieved of their guns for the duration of the trip.
"I can't believe they don't even allow law enforcement officers to carry
weapons," Scully was saying as Mulder scanned the crowd looking for their
ride.

"Agents Scully and Mulder?" They heard the crisp English voice behind them
and turned to see an attractive man in his early forties, dressed in an
elegantly-tailored suit, headed toward them. Scully self-consciously tried to
brush the wrinkles out of her jacket. "I'm Detective Inspector Nigel
Spencer," he said extending his hand. Scully and Mulder took turns shaking
it. "Welcome to Great Britain."

"Thanks," Scully said.

"How'd you know it was us?" Mulder asked.

"Let's just say you had that G-man look, Agent Mulder," the man replied,
warmth and humor clear in his voice. "The car's this way." He picked Scully's
bag and headed off.

Mulder leaned over and whispered, "Come on, G-woman."
 

Knightsbridge
9:03 PM

Mulder, Scully and Spencer stood outside the King's Arms having just enjoyed
a dinner of fish and chips. "Detective Sergeant Smith wanted to join us
tonight, but she had a prior engagement, actually what you Americans would
call a hot date," Spencer was saying. "I must remember to give her hell about
that tomorrow," obvious affection reflected in his voice.

Scully and Mulder laughed. Neither of them really liked working with others,
after what they not-so-affectionately called the Mis-Adventures of Ratboy,
but this Spencer seemed all right. "Mulder specializes in psychological
terrorism," Scully said, gesturing at her partner with her head.

"That just might come in handy," Spencer laughed. "Now, you're sure you
remember the way back to the hotel?" Scully and Mulder nodded in unison.
"Right, then. We'll ring you in the morning."

The three shook hands and parted ways. "Well, Scully, should we head back?"

"How about you show me some of the sights?" Scully asked.

It was the first time since Tennessee that she'd made any overture toward
spending time together outside work and he felt an involuntary smile tug at
his lips. "Scully, I'll take you anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?" she challenged.

     *    *    *

Mulder hadn't expected Scully's "anywhere" to be Buckingham Palace. They
climbed out of the cab and Scully stood rooted in her tracks. Mulder waited
patiently while her eyes examined the legendary home of the "merry" Windsors.
Even he had to admit it was pretty impressive. He closed his eyes and took
the moment to let his senses register his return to England. It hadn't really
changed. The cold dampness still invaded his bones even as the combined
smells of diesel fuel, mildew and neighborhood fish and chip shops did his
nose. For the first time in twelve years he desired a cup of tea. With milk.
He opened his eyes and remembered the last time he'd stood in this exact
spot. He'd been newly graduated from Oxford, raw and fragile. His future
before him, the world his oyster, or so he'd been told. Everyone had been so
proud of him-- his professors, his few friends, his mother. Everyone except
the one person who's approval he needed most. Dear old dad had been unable to
attend because of work. Yeah, right. His mom had flown over for the ceremony
and they'd spent a week in London seeing the sights before returning to the
States together. Mulder had eagerly anticipated and dreaded the challenge of
the position waiting for him at the FBI while his heart had broken at the
prospect of leaving Phoebe behind. True, she'd dumped him over a year before,
but that hadn't stopped her from sneaking into his flat the night before
graduation for a frantic romp on the couch with him, while his mother had
slept not 30 feet away in his bedroom. He remembered vividly the fear and
excitement at the prospect of being caught in the act, the way her teeth had
dug into his palm as he'd forcefully covered her mouth to keep her from
calling out, and the small morsel of hope that she'd come to ask him to stay.
He would have, without a second thought. But then she'd stood, dressing
silently, quickly, and left with a jaunty, "See you around, Mulder." He shook
his head, returning himself to the present. He silently prayed that she was
out of town on a case or even a holiday. Or that by some miracle she wouldn't
know he was here. For a bright guy he certainly was a slow learner. To think
he'd almost fallen for it again in Boston. He almost laughed out loud at his
naiveté and turned his attention to Scully, who was still scrutinizing the
palace.

She seemed to sense his return to the land of the living. "That's it, isn't
it? The balcony?" Scully asked, a weak attempt at being nonchalant.

Mulder grinned. "Yeah, that's it."

Scully nodded and continued to stare at the balcony. She savored memories of
being sixteen years old--hopelessly naive-- and witnessing, live through the
magic of television, what she'd thought was the most beautiful wedding
followed by the most romantic kiss she'd ever seen. Proof that truth is
stranger than fiction. "I was holding out for Edward," she finally said,
wistfully.

Mulder laughed. "Scully, I'd never have taken you for romantic."

"Romantic?" she scoffed, slowly tearing her eyes away. "I wanted the
clothes."

He laughed again. "Come on, I'll show you where the Queen Mother lives,"
Mulder said, presenting his arm like a proper escort. "Maybe she'll have us
in for tea." Scully smiled and took it as they headed off in search of
Clarence House.
 

     *    *    *

First thing the next morning, Mulder and Scully climbed into the back of
Detective Inspector Spencer's Jaguar. Mulder was practically drooling and
Scully could just imagine that he'd use about any excuse to get to drive it.
Scully examined the detective's graying curly brown hair and ruddy cheeks.
Checking out another of the older man's obviously expensive suits, she
wondered idly if law enforcement paid better over here or if this detective
was part of the so-called noble class. "Nice car, Inspector Spencer," she
heard Mulder say.

"Why, thank you, Agent Mulder."

"He never lets me drive it, does he?" said Detective Sergeant Jane Smith,
from her spot in the front, laughter clear in her voice.

"I don't even let my wife drive it, as you know, Jane," Spencer returned
lightheartedly.

"And shame on you for that, Nigel, shame on you." They both laughed. Mulder
took in the pretty woman's features. Brown hair, blue eyes, hairstyle and
dress very similar to that of his partner... except for her shoes. He'd seen
Scully make some pretty impractical shoes choices, but nothing like Smith's.
Before they'd all climbed in the car, she'd been out smoking a cigarette. As
they'd approached, he'd been stunned to notice her impossibly uncomfortable
strappy high heel shoes. He was just dying to see her walk in them, let alone
run. Before he could follow this fantasy to fruition, Scully's voice brought
him back to reality.

"So, why don't you fill us in," she'd asked, her mind turning to the business
of the day. She felt Mulder's hand brush up next to hers on the car seat.
Color rushed to her cheeks and she quickly moved away. She looked out the
window at London speeding by as the detective spoke.

"Quite a nasty business, this," Spencer replied. "Seems the first bloke was
out with his mates Saturday a couple of months ago at a local Oxford pub.
They hooked up with an American chap. After last call they all decided to
head up into the nearby hills for a bit more party. His friends claim they
saw a bright light come down from the sky and essentially suck him and the
American up into what they described as a flying saucer. The boys admitted
they were right pissed..."

"...drunk..." Mulder leaned over and whispered to Scully, who was still
adjusting to this familiar yet foreign language they also called English.

"... when his body showed up a few days later we assumed they'd killed him
and concocted this alien story as a cover."

"But then the same thing happened in Hertsfordshire two weeks ago," Smith
interjected. "But no body has turned up...yet."

"No sign of the American? Any description?" Scully asked.

"No sign of the him and only the most basic description," Spencer replied.

"Mid-thirties, blonde pony tail, blue eyes, glasses, your basic American
sixties reject," Smith added. "We seem to attract them over here. They come
looking for Cat Stevens, I think."

"Missed the Peace Train by a decade or two, I'd say," Mulder deadpanned, then
added. "Did anyone else in either area report seeing any suspicion lights or
anything at all?"

"No one except the boys saw a thing in Oxford," Spencer replied.

"But in Hertsfordshire, the victim's neighbors reported seeing strange lights
around his place. When one of his farm hands showed up for work he discovered
he'd gone missing," Smith finished up the story.

"We're on our way to Hertsfordshire now, by the way," Spencer added.

"Perfect," Mulder and Scully said in unison.
 
 

Gracie Farm
Hertsfordshire
1:00 PM

"And then there was the American chap he had working for him," Mr. Gracie,
added to his wife's description of the recent happenings around the Miller
farm.

"Quite right, I'd nearly forgotten," Mrs. Gracie agreed.

Mulder's ears perked up. "How long had this American been working for Mr.
Miller."

Mr. and Mrs. Gracie looked at each a moment, considering. "No more than a
couple of weeks," the man finally answered.

"Mr. Miller had a habit of taking in the needy and giving them a few weeks
work here and there," his wife added.

"Did you ever meet this man or get his name," Scully asked.

"I saw him a couple of times, said good day, but I don't recall a name, do
you Bess?"

She shook her head. "He was very polite, but quite shy really."

"Would you consent to working with a police artist to help us create a
composite picture?" Spencer asked.

"Certainly," Mr. Gracie replied. "Anything to help bring Mr. Miller home
safely."

"Splendid," Spencer said. "I'll set it up with the local constable."

"Now about those lights you described..." Mulder started.

Detective Sergeant Smith fussed with the hem of her skirt and then looked out
the window at the quaint dairy farm before returning her attention to the
attractive American detective, uh, agent as he interviewed the Gracies. He
was so attentive and encouraging you'd almost think he believed this alien
abduction rubbish. Who knew, with a first name like Fox he could be one of
those crazy California types. Maybe he was even a vegetarian. That thought
made her smile so she turned away and pretended to take a sip of her tea. It
had been Nigel's idea to bring in these two, who were purported to be experts
in the field of unexplained phenomena. She'd gone along with his idea
because, frankly, she couldn't think of a reason not to. She liked to think
her mind was open to extreme possibilities. But extraterrestials? That was a
bit of a stretch, wasn't it? Speaking of beings from other worlds, she'd run
into Phoebe Green at the Yard yesterday and the dreadful woman had been full
of questions about these two. Seems Phoebe and Mulder had been "friends" at
Oxford. You'd think he'd have better taste. Well, perhaps it had improved
with age. He seemed quite taken by his partner these days. And Jane liked
what she'd seen of Agent Scully so far. She was intelligent, forthright and
hardworking. Not one to get by or ahead on her feminine whiles.

By all appearances the interview was over, Jane noted silently. Mulder was
thanking the old couple and heading for the door, followed closely by Scully.
Jane smiled and added her thanks, then hurried to catch up. She didn't want
to miss what the Americans were saying. "Mulder, I know what you're thinking.
Just promise me you'll at least consider a rational explanation," Agent
Scully was saying when Jane got within earshot.

Mulder was leaning back on the car calmly popping a sunflower seed into his
mouth. He discarded the shell before speaking. "Hey, it's me."

Scully shook her head in either disgust or frustration and looked away.
"Where to next?" she asked as Smith and Spencer approached the car.

"Well, that was the last of the witnesses," Spencer said. "So I guess the
Miller farm."

"The scene of the crime, so to speak," Jane added, climbing into the car.
 
 

Miller Farm
Hertsfordshire
2:00 PM

Before the car even pulled up Scully could tell Mulder was in full
investigative mode. His eyes scanned the tree line and the roof of the tiny
farm house. Scully's eyes followed and she sighed as she noticed the scorched
tree tops. She *knew* what was going on in that little mind of his. Spencer
parked the car and they all got out and began examining the scene. Scully,
shivering in the damp English cold, decided to by-pass the outside and head
right for the house. She nodded to the constable on duty and flashed her FBI
ID. He waved her in. She wandered around the livingroom finding nothing that
seemed out of place and then headed up the stairs to the bedroom. She took in
the pale blue walls, the orderly dresser and quilt-covered bed. In fact, the
quilt and sheets folded back were the only things out of place in the
immaculate room. There was no sign of a struggle. Who ever had taken John
Miller had been a friend or at least someone he didn't take as a threat. She
walked over and picked up a photograph of a border collie off the dresser.
She wondered where that dog was now and what it could tell them if it was
around. Suddenly Mulder was behind her, his breath warm on her neck. "I'm
having a vivid fantasy about you and me living on a farm like this..."

"I don't know, Mulder, don't think you'd get the Playboy channel out here,"
she said, moving away.

"A hole in my master plan," he said, peeking in the closet. "So where do you
suppose the American was staying?"

Scully pursed her lips a moment. "Good question. Maybe we better find out."

     *    *    *

Forty-five minutes later they all seemed to end up on the porch. "So, the
American was staying in the guest room next to the victim?" Scully repeated.

Spencer nodded. "And I noted no sign of a struggle nor any indication that
anyone had slept there."

Jane nodded her agreement. "Seems the American must have somehow lured poor
Mr. Miller out of his house, doesn't it?" she added, taking out a cigarette
and lighting it.

"But his clothes were still in his room. He didn't even put on his slippers
or robe," Mulder pointed out.

"Are you saying that he disappeared into thin air out of his bed, Agent
Mulder?" Smith asked, taking a long drag off her smoke.

"Or was taken," Mulder said, spitting out another seed shell.

All eyes turned to him. "Mulder," Scully warned. His eyes went to the tree
tops. "I know, Mulder, I saw it too, but that doesn't mean what you think it
means."

Spencer and Smith's eyes moved to the trees for the first time and noted
their burned appearance. "Maybe you could fill us in," Smith said, releasing
a lung full of smoke.

"A low flying, hovering craft could generate enough heat to cause that kind
of damage to the tops of trees," Mulder said evenly. Scully sighed and
crossed her arms, knowing that there was no way she could stop him.

"So could lightning," Spencer pointed out.

"True, but that wouldn't explain the singe marks around the top of the roof."

"What are you saying, Agent Mulder? That you actually think ET swooped down
here and took this poor little dairy farmer?" Spencer asked.

"I'm saying it's a possibility."
 

     *    *    *

It was nearly 8 o'clock by the time Spencer dropped them off at their hotel
with a promise to ring them first thing in the morning. They hurried through
the lobby and into the elevator before Mulder's rumbling stomach broached the
subject of dinner. "How about another round of fish and chips, Scully?" he
offered as they exited the elevator and headed for their respective rooms.

She lifted an eyebrow and considered a moment. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't
think I can face any more food fried in lard," she paused a moment and Mulder
felt his heart sink at her apparent refusal, "but take me for Chinese and I'm
yours."

"Deal," Mulder grinned, biting back any number of sexually laden comebacks
that her comment inspired.

"Just let me change," she said opening her door. "I can't believe these
rooms," she added, shaking her head.

"A far cry from our usual dumps," Mulder agreed. They'd been surprised the
night before to find themselves ensconced in what could best be described as
mini-suites with the customary adjoining rooms separated by a small common
sitting room.

"Guess we should have gone to work for the Yard, huh?" she said as she
entered her room and closed the door.
 

     *    *    *

Having gorged themselves on one of their best Chinese meals in recent memory,
Mulder and Scully sat hunched over the table discussing the case. Mulder was
busy attempting to flatten out the paper that had contained his chopsticks.
"Mulder, all I'm saying is that they don't know you like I do and your
theories can... well, be a bit alarming to the uninitiated."

"So, you're saying they think I'm nuts?" he grinned.

"Mulder, *I* think you're nuts, but I just don't want them not to take you
seriously," she stopped. "Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say." She
picked up her empty beer and looked at it mournfully.

"Want another?" Mulder asked, looking around for their server.

"No, I'm fine."

He looked back at her, not wanting this evening to end. They were actually
having fun. He felt like a kid at Christmas. "So, want to go see if the Queen
is up for her audience with us?"

"Nah," she replied, something in her eyes and her smile spelled trouble. "I
want to go dancing."
 
 

Club Jade
Chelsea
11:06 PM

Mulder squinted through the smoke and crowd of the trendy little night club--
like so many others that came and went along King's Road-- looking for his
wayward partner. This was a side of Dana Scully he'd only heard rumor of...
flirtatious, wild and a little bit tipsy. The kind of woman who went on a
date and got a tattoo; or who seemingly popped a live cricket into her mouth.
She called it her second wind. He called it hilarious. Until he caught sight
of her on the dance floor again, with another man, her fiery hair moving with
the sound of the blaring punk music.

The outfit on the stage was certainly interesting, looking more like a bunch
of computer junkies than a punk band, but they definitely had a loud and
vocal following. So far they'd covered a number of old Ramones songs, but
currently were doing some sort of send up to the "Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Scully was enjoying them immensely and had barely left the dance floor.

Mulder leaned up against the bar, ordered another pint of Guinness and
settled back to wait. Scully wasn't the only one who had caught a buzz. The
man she was dancing with leaned down and whispered something in her ear.
Scully laughed and gently pushed him away. Mulder considering sticking his
head into the path of the ceiling fan rotating overhead, but settled for
softly bashing his head against the wall as if that could drive Dana Scully
out of his mind. When he returned his gaze to her he saw that she was hanging
on the arm of her dance partner and was headed his way. Mulder took in the
other man's shoulder-length brown hair, John Lennon glasses, tattered jeans
and "Dead Daalas" T-shirt and was struck by the impulse to deck him. "Mulder,
this is James. James, this is my partner, Mulder," she said, releasing his
arm and reaching for Mulder's beer. "Could I have a sip of this?"

Mulder nodded and handed her the glass. The two men shook hands. "Mulder,
tell him I am so a doctor," Scully said with a slight slur in her voice.

"She's a doctor."

"I *told* you," she said, favoring James with one of her radiant smiles.

That urge to deck the guy returned, but instead he said, "She's fixed me up
more times than I can count." He took his beer back and had a long drink.

Scully giggled, "I even shot him once and had to fix him up." Then she turned
serious. "Did I ever tell you I was sorry that I shot you?" she asked Mulder,
taking his beer once again.

"Now that I don't believe," James said, a smile spreading across his face.

"I did! I did! I shot him," Scully said, indignation reflected in her voice.
"Show him your scar, Mulder."

Mulder sighed and looked from Scully to James and then pulled the collar of
his shirt over his shoulder to show the man his scar. James was taken aback,
finally realizing this wasn't a joke. "Why did you do that? Is it some crazy
American dating ritual?" he asked.

"It's a long story," Mulder and Scully said in unison and started laughing.

James backed away slowly. "Well, it's been nice meeting you, but I have to
find my mates..."

Scully laughed harder and snuggled up to Mulder. "I think I scared him away."
 

Mulder handed her his beer. "Well, telling potential dates that you're a mad
woman with a gun probably isn't the best way to meet men."

Scully shrugged and finished his beer. "He was boring anyway. But since you
chased him away--"

"--*I* chased him away?--"

"-- you have to dance with me," she finished, grabbing his hand and pulling
him to the dance floor.
 

10:59 PM

Scully returned to Mulder's side bearing two more pints of Guinness. "That
was last call," she said handing him a glass.

"So, let's drink to the Scullys of Cork, once again."

"And the Mulders of where?"

"How the hell should I know...let's just drink to all of Ireland," he said.
They clinked glasses and locked eyes. After a moment, they both looked away,
sipping their beers in slightly awkward silence. Mulder looked back at Scully
and noticed a small bit of foam from her beer just above her lip. He
tentatively reached out and brushed it away with his thumb, lingering a bit
longer than necessary. Scully met his eyes again and froze.

Just when he thought she was going to say something, challenge him, a new
song started and her eyes lit up. "Come on."

This is exactly what the doctor ordered, and I'm the doctor, Scully laughed
to herself as she and Mulder moved in time to the music. She couldn't believe
how good it felt to be away from Washington, away from the X-Files, away from
the cancer... NO! She wasn't going to think about that now. Instead, she
started to look up into Mulder's eyes, but got sidetracked by his broad
shoulders. She'd always liked the way this particular black mock turtleneck
outlined his lean body and tapered down to tuck into his jeans. She felt the
walls she'd spent years fortifying threatening to buckle and fought the urge
to rest her hands where Mulder's shirt met his 501s... It was time to get out
of here. Time to go back to the hotel and pass out before she said or did
something stupid. "Mulder," she said. "I'm not feeling so well."
 

     *    *    *
 

Within moments they were pulling on their coats and were on the sidewalk--
where they were confronted by pouring rain. Mulder laughed, "Now this is the
England I remember. Wait here and I'll get a cab."

Scully stepped out into the onslaught, spinning around, arms outstretched.
"No, let's walk." Mulder grinned and shook his head before following her.

Two blocks later and soaked to the skin, Scully was trying to remember the
words to the second verse of "Singing in the Rain." Unable to do so, she was
repeating the chorus for the third time. "Hey, Scully, don't quit your day
job," Mulder laughed.

"I know, I have a dreadful voice, just awful. Sister Mary Francis used to
tell me not to really sing, to just mouth--" something caught her attention.
"What's that?" she asked pointing to a large building across the street.

"Harrods."

Scully's raised an eye brow. "Let's go!" She checked for traffic, but looked
for it coming in the wrong direction, something Mulder'd done all too often
during his first couple of months in England.

"Scully! Wait," he called as he saw that she was about to step out into the
path of an oncoming cab. Time seemed to slow down as he heard the cab sound
its horn frantically. He lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist,
stumbling back on to the pavement. He landed firmly on his back with Scully
on top of him. Her face was so close to his that he could feel her short,
uneven breath on his face. He reached up and brushed away a drenched strand
of hair that was stuck to her face, not sure how she would react to the
physical contact. He wanted to kiss her so badly... but he didn't want to
breach this fragile truce they seemed to have fashioned... he had to get away
from her or... He started to push her away even as Scully was lowering her
lips to his in a gentle, exploratory kiss. He froze, a thief caught in the
act. Before he had a chance to respond she was on her feet and halfway across
the street, this time having looked the correct way for traffic. He caught up
to her just around the front of Harrods.

He grabbed her arm, spun her around and then pinned her to the wall by her
shoulders. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

She looked away, shivering, and hating herself for it. "Nothing."

Mulder tightened his grip on her shoulders. "For weeks you put me off. Deny
everything, say you just want to be partners, push me away..." He trailed
off, feeling his rising anger surrounding him like a shield. "Dammit, Scully.
You accuse me of playing head games."

Scully's chin dropped to her chest. "I'm sorry, that was..." She looked up at
him, her composure more or less returned. "It won't happen again." Scully was
still talking although he could no longer hear her words. They were drowned
out by the driving rain and the pounding of his Guinness-soaked heart. He was
completely enthralled by her mouth, by her slightly smeared lip stick, by the
way her lips grazed her teeth as she spoke. The way they beckoned to him,
begging him to fall into her depths again. And he went, willingly and against
his will, silencing her with his mouth. In that moment the rain ceased, the
world stopped turning and his entire universe consisted only of her.
 

Grosvenor Hotel
7:28 AM

How could what had seemed to be so right in the middle of night and in a haze
of Guinness, seem not nearly so wise in the morning light? Scully asked
herself for the tenth time. "Mulder, wake up," she said, giving him a short
poke in the ribs.

The form beside her slowly rolled over, his hand making a futile attempt to
smooth down his unruly dark hair. "Hey, don't I know you?" he asked with a
wry smile.

Typical Mulder. "This is no time to joke!" she said, hitting him with a
pillow.

Mulder removed the offending cushion and then stretched his body over hers as
he reached for the phone and dialed. She had to fight the urge to stroke the
taut skin of his stomach. "You're right. It's time to eat," he said to her.
And then into the phone. "Yes, I'd like to order two continental
breakfasts...and coffee....great. Thank you."

Mulder rolled back over, taking Scully's hand in his. He gently kissed each
of her fingers. "The thing is Scully, what happened last night. It was
fate--"

"No," her brows furrowed in thought. "No. It was a drunken hormonal reaction.
Really, not all that unusual if you consider it rationally..."

"Scully, if you want me to say I'm sorry it happened, I can't. Can you?" he
asked, gently fingering her chin with his other hand and forcing her to look
at him.

She still managed to avoid his eyes. "I... don't know. I need some time to
think about this."

"That's your problem. You think too much," he laughed.

"And you don't think enough," she shot back sharply.

Mulder pulled her chin, bringing her toward him until her face was mere
inches from his. "I'll give you something to think about," he said softly,
and put his mouth to hers.

Scully meant to resist. Really she did, but the feel of his lips on hers was
too strong a drug. She had no idea how long she let her thoughts and her
hands wander before something her mother had preached all through her
adolescence popped into her mind. Think with your brain, not with your
hormones. She used every bit of her strength to push Mulder away. "This is a
bad idea," she said firmly.

Mulder reached out and stroked her hair. "Why?"

"We just got our friendship back on track after..." she couldn't bring
herself to end the sentence so she concluded by brushing his hand away.

"You're still my best friend," he said softly.

"And your partner," she added.

"--and your lover."

"Which is frowned upon by the Bureau."

"And I've always let that stop me as you know," Mulder said dryly.

She flopped over onto her back and covered her eyes with her arm as if it's
weight could somehow drive her desire for him away. He leaned over and kissed
her again, his hand brushing her cheek. His touch was like quicksand, the
slightest contact and she was lost. A knock at the door sounded, a lifeline
just before she went under. Mulder pulled away and slipped out of bed and
into a pair of jeans that were strewn over a chair. "Be right back," he said,
flashing her that lopsided grin of his as he headed out into the common room
of his suite.

Scully took the opportunity to make her great escape into the bathroom,
locking the door behind her. She grabbed one of Mulder's sweatshirts off the
floor and pulled it on, grateful for the moment that he was such a slob. It
smelled like him, and she found herself shamelessly inhaling his scent, as
addictive to her as that of freshly baking bread. What a tangled web we
weave, she mused as she settled herself down on the edge of the tub to
consider her options. She lifted her head and eyed the phone on the wall.
When she'd first checked in she thought the idea of a phone in this room was
crass, but now it seemed like a lifeline. But who to call? Her mom? Ellen?
No. Who she really wanted to call was her best friend. She reached for the
phone and dialed.

     *    *    *

Mulder was just finishing paying the person from room service when he heard
his cell phone ring. He searched around for the overcoat he'd been wearing
the night before, finally finding it flung behind the couch. The first thing
out of the pocket was Scully's underwear (he didn't have time to think about
that now as much as he wanted to) which he tossed to the floor. He grabbed
the phone on the sixth ring, hoping it wasn't Detective Inspector Spencer.
"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

"Scully, where are you?"

"I'm in the bathroom."

"The loo," he corrected, laughter in his voice.

"I've locked you out."

"Okay..." Mulder said uncertainly.

"I need to talk to you about what happened last night..."

Mulder sat down on the couch. "And you can't do that face to face?" he asked.

"I don't trust you to just talk," she said.

"Don't trust me or don't trust you?"

"What if we've ruined everything..." she went on ignoring his question.

"We haven't. Scully, we haven't," he said as he got up and wandered back into
the bedroom and sat on the floor, back up against the bathroom door. "I've
been thinking about this--"

"How can you say that? How can we still work together? You know it's
unofficially against Bureau policy--"

"So, we won't tell them."

"How are we supposed to keep it a secret, Mulder?"

"In the time honored tradition of our enemies, we'll just deny everything."
She laughed at that one. "Scully, please come out. Breakfast is here. Just
friends... for now. Deal?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment and then he
heard the latch unlock and the door open. He got to his feet and looked at
her standing there in nothing but his sweatshirt, her hair mussed up and he
knew he couldn't keep his end of the bargain.

He pulled her into his arms and tilted her head up, looking deeply into her
sleepy blue eyes.  Scully reached up behind his neck and pulled his mouth to
hers, the words to an old Blue Rodeo song echoing in her mind... "one look in
your eyes and all my resolution goes..." (2)

Their kiss deepened as Mulder's hands slid under the sweatshirt Scully was
wearing and explored her muscled back while Scully's fingers moved to the top
of his 501s and slowly started undoing the buttons. And then the phone rang.
Scully pulled away as a pained moan escaped Mulder. "Can't we just ignore
it?" he pleaded. Scully shook her head. Mulder turned and moved toward the
phone, grabbing it on its sixth double ring. "Mulder," he said, sounding none
too happy. "Good morning, Detective Sergeant Smith... Of course, we'll be
there in an hour...." Scully moved to the other side of the bed, intent on
listening in. "You'll pick us up. Even better. We'll be out front. Thanks."

Mulder turned toward her and said, "Duty calls."

     *    *    *

Forty-five minutes later Scully sat on the edge of her bed nibbling on a
piece of toast and reading the paper. She could hear the blow dryer running
next door, waging a losing battle against Mulder's anarchistic hair. She
smiled as a collection of Mulder's past hairstyles paraded through her mind.
She wondered what he'd look like with a Jean-Luc Picard as she idly scanned
the front page. "American sought in disappearance of Canterbury man," the
headline caught her eye, but what sent her pulse racing was the composite of
the suspect. The man staring back at her was unmistakably Max Fenig, UFO buff
extraordinaire and supposed abductee.

Before she could call out to him, Mulder poked his head around the door.
"Ready?"

She quickly held the paper up. "Mulder, I think we've found our mysterious
American."

"Oh, my God," he said, his wide eyes slowly raising to meet hers. "He's
back."

"Mulder, chances are he never left," Scully said, shaking her head.

"I know what I saw," Mulder said, fluttering around and pulling on his coat,
all manic energy, then pausing. "Coming?"

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath before nodding.

     *    *    *

Spencer and Smith were hunched over the newspaper in a tiny coffee shop near
the hotel. After a long moment Spencer looked up and said, "You two know this
man?"

They both nodded, Mulder with much more enthusiasm than Scully. "This man is
an abductee. I witnessed him being taken."

"Taken? How?" Smith asked.

Mulder pursed his lips. "I'm not entirely certain. We were in a warehouse
together. He'd been injured and I was staying with him while Agent Scully
went for assistance. Anyway, one moment he was there, the next he wasn't."

Spencer stirred more sugar into his tea. "Couldn't he have just given you the
slip?"

"Yeah,  I guess," Mulder paused for effect. "But the building was surrounded
by approximately 150 military police at the time."

Spencer stopped stirring. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning."

"I met him in a military confinement facility in Townsend, Wisconsin. We were
both being detained for attempting to breach a quarantined area where there
were reports of a Fallen Angel." Mulder was speaking quickly now, hands
flapping, eyes darting around in excitement. Scully decided to switch him to
decaf and was grateful she had the outside seat on the booth or he'd probably
be pacing by now.

"Fallen Angel?" Smith questioned. Both the English detectives had suddenly
lost interest in their breakfasts.

"A downed UFO," Mulder continued quickly, not noticing the look of skepticism
that passed between Smith and her partner. Scully didn't miss it and silently
wished that one of Mulder's many gifts was that of subtlety. "I got pretty
close. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. Definitely not a derailed train
like the government reported."

"Did you see this as well, Agent Scully?" Spencer asked, taking a sip of his
tea.

Scully hesitated. "Well, not exactly. I--"

Mulder cut in. "She wasn't there. I went in alone."

"I bailed him out," Scully added.

"Again," Mulder finished, a wry grin gracing his face.

Scully turned to her partner. "And I'm not doing it again," she said, poking
his chest with her finger. "Next time you're on your own."

He took her hand, pulling it away from his chest and encasing it in both of
his. "I've heard that threat before."

"Consider it a promise, Mulder," she said, reluctantly yet quickly pulling
her hand from his.

He smiled again. "Ah, Scully, you just can't bear to be left behind."

Smith and Spencer watched this exchange with a combination of amusement and
horror, unsure just how much was in the truth.

"So, I guess we put an APB out on one Max Fenig and then head for
Canterbury," Spencer said, signaling for the bill.
 
 

*   *   *

Christ Church
Canterbury
2:45 PM

Mulder, Scully, Spencer and Smith approached the ancient cathedral via Christ
Church Gate and Scully couldn't help but slow her progress a bit to examine
the wonderfully ornate architecture and breathe in the tangy slightly salty
air. It was only with great reluctance that she was able to tear herself away
and catch up with the others. She was glad she did. Mulder was just beginning
to share his ideas with the local constable assigned to work with them, but
by some miracle that even she had to admit bordered on paranormal Mulder had
found an ally in constable Morgan. "Been up 'round Silbury Hill, have you?"
the man was asking, as he pulled his hat more firmly upon his sandy-blonde
head.

"Not since I was at Oxford," Mulder admitted sadly. Oh Lord, we're in for a
trip to this place, Scully realized.

Fumbling with his rather large ear, the young man (no more than twenty,
Scully guessed, and somewhat reminiscent of Agent Pendrell in demeanor and
sheer earnestness) leaned forward and said, almost conspiratorially, "Been
quite a lot of activity up that way over the past few weeks, I've heard
tell."

Mulder nodded. "I'd heard that too."

"Members of my MUFON group--"

"You're with MUFON?" Mulder interrupted.

"These past five years," he nodded, blue eyes serious, as if he were talking
about a matter of national security. "We've been following the recent
activity very closely."

Mulder pulled out a business card and handed it to the younger man. "Here's
my card. My cell number is on it. I'd appreciate hearing about any
information you might find."

The constable looked at the card in awe. "Certainly, Agent Mulder. We'd be
honored to assist you in any way."

With a start, Scully realized that he knew who Mulder was. That his
reputation had preceded him across the Atlantic. Smith must have come to the
same conclusion because she caught Scully's eye and smirked before speaking.
 "Constable Morgan, perhaps you could fill us in on the poor bloke who's gone
missing."

"Certainly, Detective Sergeant," Morgan replied, straightening up. "Rory
McDonough's been a ringer here since I was a boy," he stopped and considered
a moment. "At least twenty years, anyway."

"Ringer?" Scully asked.

Morgan looked at her a moment like she'd grown a third head and then quickly
covered. "Rings the bells at the cathedral, doesn't he." The constable paused
as they reached the entrance to the church. He opened the doors motioning the
women to go in first.

Scully and Smith exchanged an amused glance, but neither commented as they
entered. But Scully's slight smile turned to a dropped jaw as she walked into
the interior and surveyed the cathedral. It was simply breathtaking with its
high vaulted ceilings, the stained glass capturing the sun and displaying it
like colored angels across the walls and floors. She followed a strip of blue
to her feet and stepped back quickly when she realized she was standing on
someone's grave. Stepped back straight into Mulder. "Sorry," she breathed,
moving away.

"Scully, are you okay?" he asked quietly even though Morgan and the others
were still talking to the man who collected admission at the back of the
church.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she replied without thinking, still staring at the name
engraved in stone. "There's someone buried in this floor."

Mulder chuckled. "Lots of somebodies. And if memory serves, Henry IV is
around here somewhere," he said looking around. He paused when he noticed she
wasn't finding humor in this revelation. "Does that bother you?"

"No. No, it's just... no." How could she, a forensic pathologist, explain to
him that since she'd been diagnosed with cancer cemeteries made her
tremendously nervous? That they were a painful reminder that she'd be
spending a lot of time in one, possibly in the very near future. She was
saved from further explanation by the return of the rest of their party.

"Father Smith will be joining us straight away," Morgan said.

"A relative of yours, Detective Sergeant?" Mulder asked, displaying a wry
grin.

Smith laughed. "From our lot? My grandmother could only dream, I'm afraid."

A voice from behind interrupted them. "Hello, I'm Father Smith. How can I be
of assistance?"

Spencer stepped forward. "Detective Inspector Spencer of New Scotland Yard,
Father," he said, shaking the elderly priest's hand. "This is Detective
Sergeant Smith and Special Agents Mulder and Scully of the Federal Bureau of
Investigations in the United States." More handshakes and pleasantries were
exchanged before Spencer continued. "And I believe you know constable
Morgan."

Father Smith nodded. "Haven't seen you in church in quite some time, young
man."

"Been sneaking in late," Morgan assured him. "Sitting in the back. Must have
missed me."

"A likely story, to be sure. I expect to see you front and center next
Sunday," the priest said, a small smile gracing his face.

"Yes, Father," Morgan replied, looking down and gripping the hat he held in
his hands even harder.

Turning his attention to the others, Father Smith gestured to the nearby
pews. "Why don't we sit down. I'm guessing this has to do with the
disappearance of Rory McDonough."

Scully and Smith took a pew with Mulder, Spencer and Father Smith taking the
one behind them. It was a slightly awkward way to conduct an interview, with
everyone twisting about to face the old man, but it would do. Morgan remained
standing, still nervously fiddling with his hat.

"What can you tell us about the disappearance, Father?" Spencer began.

The priest took deep breath and steepled his arthritis-ridden hands. "Rory,
God bless him, was a lonely man. No wife. No family. Just his friends and the
bells. And his love affair with the bottle. I'm afraid it's finally brought
him to harm."

"How's that?" Mulder asked.

"He's an incredibly trusting individual. Too trusting on occasion," he paused
a moment and brushed a lock of gray hair off his forehead. "He'd recently
befriended a rather odd American chap. A wanderer--"

"The same man who's composite appeared in the paper?" Scully asked.

The priest confirmed her question with a short nod. "He appeared maybe a
fortnight ago here at the church. Scared, dirty, dazed, not sure what had
happened to him. We assumed he'd been in an accident but when we wanted to
call the authorities he was adamant that we not." The man sighed, obviously
wishing he had. "Naturally, we took him in, fed him, gave him a place to
sleep out in the old caretaker's cottage. Rory took a liking to him. Showed
him the bells. Max was fascinated--"

"Max?" Mulder exclaimed.

"Yes, Max. Never did get a last name out of him. Why?"

"It would seem to confirm our suspicions as to who this man is," Spencer
replied.

Mulder reached into his coat pocket and hastily pulled out the photo he'd had
Danny modem Canterbury CID. "Is this the Max you encountered?" he asked,
passing it to the elderly man.

Father Smith examined the picture closely, squinting his eyes for a better
look. "That's him to be sure."

     *    *    *

Twenty minutes later, found Mulder and Scully examining the charming but tiny
stone cottage that Max had briefly called home. Scully prowled around opening
drawers until she felt Mulder's breath on her neck. "What?" she asked.

"Just wondering why this investigation keeps tossing us into these idyllic
little homesteads. Do you believe in karma, Agent Scully?" he asked, wrapping
his arms around her waist and pulling her close so he could kiss her neck.

She snorted. "No, but I believe you're incorrigible," she replied, elbowing
him gently. "Stop that."

"Why? Are your hands dirty?" he whispered and she cursed herself for ever
telling a man with a photographic memory that her favorite movie scene of all
time featured Han and Leia's first kiss in "The Empire Strikes Back."

"Mulder," she warned.

"Come on, Scully, tell me I'm a scoundrel," he said softly, while his mouth
continued its exploration of her neck.

Scully tried to wiggle away. "I'm more likely to tell you you're an idiot.
Now let go," she said firmly. With that, Mulder released her. Scully
struggled to catch her breath. Max Fenig. Right, that's why they were here.
"Mulder," she said, turning on him. "Don't ever do that again. We're working.
We're on the clock. You should know better."

Mulder nodded, contrite. She was right. He did know better. Difficult as it
was, he was going to have to find a way to keep their working relationship
separate from their personal one. "You're right, Scully. I'm sorry."

Scully held his eyes a moment. "Okay," she finally replied, turning her
attention back to their investigation. Unlike his camper, a veritable cache
of bric-a-brac, Max's cottage held almost nothing save a change of clothing.

"I think we should have taken the bell towers," Scully said, hoping her voice
wasn't as shaky as it felt.

"I don't know, Scully," he replied, holding up the tattered piece of a
newspaper classified.

"What is it?"

"The time and location of a local MUFON meeting," he paused. "But it was
scheduled to take place the day *after* Max and Rory McDonough disappeared."

"And that proves what?" Scully asked as she took the scrap of paper from
Mulder's hand, careful not to make contact.

"Why would he pull this from the paper if he didn't intend to be here for the
meeting?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because he wasn't expecting to be taken--"

"Mulder, stop."

"Scully--"

"Mulder--"

"Find anything?" The arrival of the British detectives putting an end to
their verbal sparring. Mulder and Scully sighed in relief.
 
 

Grosvenor Hotel
9:45 PM

Mulder pulled a hooded sweatshirt over his head as he hurried through the
sitting room and then knocked on the door adjoining Scully's room. Finally,
he was going to have her alone again. After the Cathedral, they'd taken their
investigation to a local pub called the Kings Head to speak to Rory
McDonough's fellow ringers. Unfortunately, they really had nothing to add to
the official story. Rory and Max had been last seen leaving the pub three
nights prior, headed for the local football field in spite of the dark. Seems
Rory had been teaching Max, the eager student, how to play. They hadn't been
seen since. Mulder frowned. He hated an unsolved riddle and he was worried
about Max. "Come in," he heard Scully call and felt his heartbeat quicken at
the sound of her voice. After their run, maybe they could pick up where they
left off this morning... or maybe before their run. He nervously fingered the
box he had hidden in his pocket. He found her hunched over the desk, her face
the picture of concentration. He knew that look. It meant she had discovered
something. Thoughts of romance forgotten (or least at pushed aside for the
moment) he moved to look over her shoulder. "Did you find something?" he
asked, studying the calendar she was working on so intently.

"Yeah. My fertile dates."

"What?" That wasn't what he was expecting and the feelings of guilt for not
having told her all he'd learned returned like long lost friends.

"We weren't exactly the poster people for safe sex last night."

"I didn't really think we needed to worry--" he stopped just short of giving
himself away and then added lamely, "the first time."

Scully turned on him, jaw dropped in shock. "Mulder! What are you? In high
school?"

"No..." her blue eyes boring into his was turning his cheeks red.
"I...uh...well, were we?"

"What?"

"Safe. Or did we create uber-Scullys."

Scully finally turned her eyes away from him with a sigh and returned to the
calendar, pointing to a date for emphasis. "Well, according to my
calculations, I should be ovulating next Tuesday. We should be okay."

Mulder nodded. He slowly removed the box from the pocket of his sweats--
further proof that he hadn't entirely believed the hybrid's words-- and
dropped it on the desk. "Just so you don't think I'm totally
irresponsible..."

Scully eyed the package of condoms, struggling to think of the appropriate
response. "A little presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder sat on the desk facing her. "Is it?" he questioned, gently placing his
palm on the side of her face. Scully felt gravity failing as he touched her.
It would be so easy to let go. To give herself to him again... but if
anything, Dana Scully was logical. And logic demanded that they didn't do
this. She pulled away and stood up. Mulder groaned and fell over on the desk,
hamming it up like he'd taken a shot to the heart.

"I'm going for that run. Wanna come?" Scully asked.

Mulder opened one eye. "Sure."
 

     *    *    *
 

Scully and Mulder were making good time as they ran from their Knightsbridge
hotel down to the banks of the Thames. The ancient architecture combined with
the lights bouncing off the water were playing tricks on Scully's mind,
making her feel like she was in fairyland. She stopped suddenly when she saw
what looked like a castle looming in the distance. "Is that what I think it
is?" she asked.

Mulder stopped next to her and nodded before resting his hands of his knees.
"Tower of London," he said, between heavy breaths. "Wanna spend some time on
the rack?"

"Very funny, Mulder. Do you realize what they did to people in there? It's
reprehensible. Torture as a tourist attraction--" Mulder interrupted her with
a kiss. Scully wondered if this was what it felt like to be burned at the
stake...it must be something like this she thought as the heat of raw passion
raged through her veins. She pulled Mulder closer, dragging her hands through
his hair. What was it about this man that could turn her brain and will to
mush? Reluctantly, she pushed him away and turned away from him. "Why do you
keep pushing me away," his voice came husky against her ear.

"I don't want us to change," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Everything changes, Scully."

"I couldn't bear it if I lost your friendship."

"You won't," he said and paused. "You once said you trusted me with your
life. Why can't you trust me with your heart?" She didn't say anything. She
didn't move. Mulder slowly turned her around by her shoulders until she was
facing him.  He lifted her chin forcing her to look at him. "I... I think it
might be remotely plausible that I'm in love with you."

Flukemen. The Peacock family. Fat sucking vampires. All these creatures paled
in comparison to Fox Mulder standing in front of her telling her he was in
love with her. "Mulder, we had sex once. Let's not make it more than it
was--"

"Actually it was three times," he said wryly.

Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay, we had sex three times.
A totally understandable physical release considering all the stress we've
been under lately--"

"No," Mulder interrupted sharply, taking her by the shoulders and fighting
the urge to shake her. "It wasn't just sex. It wasn't."

His eyes bored into hers, a challenge, leaving her little room for deception.
But she knew she had to deny everything or hand him an e-ticket to her soul.
Mulder and his needs would devour her, more insidious than the cancer she was
battling. She would cease to exist. And so she lied with an ease that
startled her. "Mulder, I just don't feel that way about you. I'm sorry."

Of course she didn't. What had he been thinking? Add delusional to his list
of mental ails. He forced himself to look at her a moment longer and then his
hands fell away. "No, I'm sorry for being presumptuous," he whispered, before
turning and running off into the night.
 

4:45 AM

Scully was lying in bed pretending to sleep. What she was really doing was
waiting for Mulder to return. She was fairly certain she would be able to
hear him on the other side of the wall. She felt terrible about what had
happened. But love? Mulder in love with her? Of all his hare-brained
theories... She gave up her charade in disgust, sitting up and turning on the
television. There wasn't much to choose from. Gardening or gardening. She
settled in on the show featuring the best way to grow healthy tomatoes.
Eventually she drifted off to sleep, entirely missing Mulder's return.

     *    *    *

Mulder closed the door and leaned up against it. He was exhausted, having
just spent the better part of the night running aimlessly through the streets
of London. Idiot, he cursed himself for the millionth time. He knew she loved
him in some way, but how could he have thought-- well, he didn't think, which
was the whole problem, wasn't it? He knew she deserved better than him, but
he'd fooled himself into believing that maybe, just maybe, he'd lucked out.
He tugged his sweaty sweatshirt off and threw it across the room. Of course
she deserved better than Spooky Mulder. What would she want with him and his
U-Haul full of emotional baggage? What had he been thinking? He flopped down
on the bed, grabbed the remote and flipped on the television. Tomatoes, he
hated tomatoes...
 

     *    *    *

Mulder was awakened by knocking on the door that separated him from Scully.
His heart froze as he removed the pillow that was covering his head. He
didn't know if he could bear to face her. "Mulder, we're supposed to meet
Spencer and Smith in the cafe downstairs in ten minutes." He opened his mouth
but he couldn't speak. "Mulder," her voice came again, like lemon juice on an
open wound. "Are you okay?"

Finally he found his voice. "Yeah. I'll meet you down there."

"Okay," she replied.

Mulder slowly rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, wishing the hand
of God would appear and strike him down, putting him out of his misery.
 
 

8:15 AM

Mulder adjusted his green and blue tie, one he'd selected specifically
because he knew Scully would approve of how it looked with his dark blue
suit. He glanced around the cafe, easily spotting her auburn hair across the
room where she was seated with Spencer and Smith. He hurried over and took
his seat next to his partner. "Sorry I'm late."

Scully looked up from her breakfast of fruit and toast and smiled shyly. She
couldn't help noticing the puffiness around his eyes, a sure sign he hadn't
slept much, and felt guilty.

"Quite all right," Spencer replied. "I know how those cross-Atlantic trips
can throw off the system."

Mulder nodded as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the
table and picked up the menu. He could tell Scully was staring at him,
wanting him to look up and assure her that everything was all right. But he
couldn't bear to look at her, to see the pity reflected in her eyes.

"Mr. Miller's body showed up last night," Spencer said.

Mulder's head snapped up. "Where?"

"In the woods near his house," the inspector replied. "His dog found him and
alerted the neighbors."

"He wasn't discovered in the preliminary search?" Mulder asked.

Spencer shook her head. "According to the local constable the body wasn't
there the first time through. Seems he was dumped there sometime in the last
twelve hours."

"Or was returned," Mulder said without looking up. There was an awkward
moment of silence.

"We were just discussing today's agenda," Smith said, pushing her unfinished
plate of eggs and bangers away from her. "Agent Scully has indicated a desire
to sit in on the medical examination, which I'm sure can be arranged."

"And I thought the rest of us would head back to Hertsfordshire. Check out
the scene of the crime again, so to speak," Spencer added.

The server came over and Mulder quickly ordered a bowl of cereal. "Sounds
like a reasonable plan of action. Any chance we can talk to the witnesses to
the abduction in Oxford? I have a couple of questions I'd like to run by them
if I may."

"Of course, we'll go to Oxford first thing tomorrow, better plan on staying
over a night. Scotland Yard and Oxford CID don't exactly have the best
working relationship," Spencer replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just
place a call to Forensics and arrange for someone to come and collect Agent
Scully."

"And I'm just going to pop out for a quick fag before we head out. Don't
allow smokers in here, do they?" Smith said as she headed off after her
partner. Scully stared after her in amazement at the shoes the woman had
selected for today. They were even higher and strappier than the previous
pair. And I thought the British were so sensible, she mused, shaking her
head. She ventured another look at Mulder who seemed engrossed by his bowl of
cereal. Wheetabix. She recognized them from his apartment. He had told her it
was the one eating habit he'd brought home from England. "What? No steak and
kidney pie?" she'd asked. "No, I left that for Eugene Tooms," had come his
reply. "I thought he liked liver." "Kidney, liver, what's the difference,"
he'd said doing his best Groucho Marx. Scully brushed the bangs off her
forehead and wished they could go back to being like that.

"Mulder," she finally started.

Without looking up from his cereal he said, "Be sure they check for an
attendant reduction in the lympocide population and the release of
gluco-corticoids."

"Of course," she replied, irritated because he thought she'd forget such a
thing. If he wanted all business, he'd get all business. "Be sure to ask if
there's a plausible explanation, other than little green men."

Mulder finally looked up, anger reflected in his cold hazel eyes. Scully
matched his glare. Before he had the chance to reply, Spencer returned. "It's
all set, Agent Scully. Someone will be round to collect you at half nine."

"I appreciate it, Inspector Spencer. Now, if you'll excuse me. I think I'll
head upstairs to go over some notes. Good luck in Hertsforshire."

Both men rose briefly as she left and then returned to their seats. "Quite a
brain on that one," Spencer commented, watching Scully walk away. "A doctor
you say?"

Mulder nodded and finished his coffee. "Forensic pathologist. Taught at
Quantico for a while."

A soft whistle escaped the older man's lips. "Well, I guess we ought to hunt
up Jane. We're within the Harrod's danger zone. We're likely to lose her
forever in the shoe department if we don't hurry."
 

*   *   *

Scotland Yard
3:30 PM

Scully pulled off the net that was holding back her hair and shook her head.
Her fingers went idly to the back of her neck to massage the tight muscles
there as she scowled down at her autopsy notes. It seemed that the victim had
simply wandered into the woods in the middle of the night and suffered a
severe epileptic seizure which had caused his death. The fact that he'd never
reported any seizures before was unusual, but certainly not unheard of.
Further, she had discovered no implants, no imbalance in his white blood cell
count and no increase in his gluco-corticoid levels. There was nothing to
suggest that Mr. Miller had left this planet. Mulder would be disappointed.
But even she had to admit that something didn't sit right. For a man of over
sixty he'd been in amazing health. His body had shown almost no internal
signs of aging. Must have eaten a lot of yogurt, Scully mused. Then there was
the issue of why he'd been in those woods in the middle of the night? And why
hadn't his body been discovered during the first search?

"Agent Scully, how nice to see you again." The hair on the back of Scully's
neck raised at the sound of the sickenly sweet and prim English voice. She'd
hoped to make it through this entire trip without running into Phoebe Green.
She'd been kidding herself.

Scully looked up at the tall, slender woman and raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"
she asked.

Phoebe ignored her question. "Where's Mulder? I'm dying to see him."

I bet, Scully thought. "Mulder's in Hertsfordshire with Detective Inspector
Spencer and Detective Sergeant Smith."

"Pity."

"Tragic," Scully countered and returned her eyes to her notes. She could feel
her cheeks turning red, the curse of being Irish. What had Mulder seen in
this woman? Well, okay, forty foot legs, but what else? And who was this
little green monster nipping at her heels?

"Well, tell Mulder I said hello and that I'll ring him later."

Scully nodded without looking up. "Sure thing." As the woman walked away,
Scully cursed the fates that caused her to run into the impeccably dressed
and incredibly beautiful woman dressed in scrubs and fresh from an autopsy.
 

6:30 PM

Mulder was silently going over the day's interview notes trying to keep his
frustration in check. It had been a wasted day on his part. A day that may
have cost someone else their life. Scully's day hadn't been much better. Her
autopsy report on Miller had turned up nothing unusual except for his
exceedingly excellent physical condition. Cause of death had been an apparent
epileptic seizure. He wondered it there was a possible connection to Max?
Scanning through the papers again he couldn't shake the feeling that he was
missing something really obvious. That the answer was just out of reach. He
took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. The phone's sudden
and shrill ring broke his concentration. He grabbed it and barked, "Mulder."

"Mulder, darling?" came the all too familiar voice on the other end.

Oh God, not her. Not now. "Hello, Phoebe. How are you?"

"Terribly hurt that you've been in town for two days and haven't called me."

"We're on a case," he replied, running his hand through his hair.

"So I heard. I ran into your partner at the Yard today," she said, and then
laughed. "She still hates me."

He thought about saying, what's not to hate, but managed to bite back the
words in time. "So, what's up?" he said instead.

"That's what I was just about to ask you," she purred.

"Ha, ha," Mulder replied, not amused.

"Would you like to get together for dinner and a little reminiscing?"

He was relieved to hear a short knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

Scully peeked her head in the door. "Hey, Mulder, you busy?" Her voice was
light, an attempt at being casual he suspected. He motioned her in and
returned to the phone.

"Thanks for the invite Phoebe, but Scully and I have to work. I gotta run.
Nice talking to you." He hung up after barely giving her time to say
good-bye.

"God," he sighed and looked up to see Scully wearing jeans and a jade green
turtleneck which highlighted all the areas of her that he was fighting so
hard to keep out of his mind. He quickly looked back at the papers on the
desk.

"Oh yeah, I ran into Phoebe today. She said," Scully switched to her best
Phoebe imitation-- which was pretty damn good, "tell Mulder I'll ring him
later."

"Well, thanks for the warning."

"No charge," she replied, secretly happy that he wasn't rushing out to meet
her and then chastising herself for the thought. "Jane's coming by and we're
going to Harrods and then out to this East Indian restaurant she likes for
some dinner. Do you want to come?"

"No, thanks. I want to finish this up and then go for a run," he replied,
pleased that he was able to match her casual tone with his own.

Scully moved closer to him, examining what he was working on. "Anything I can
help with?"

"No, but have fun. Oh, and don't let her talk you into any unwise shoe
purchases."

 He almost sounded like the old Mulder, but not quite. Scully was reluctant
to leave him behind. "You sure?" she asked. Mulder nodded, but couldn't bring
himself to look at her. Swallowing hard, Scully put one hand on his shoulder.
"Mul--"

Before she could even finish speaking his name he jerked away. "Please don't
touch me," he whispered.

Scully backed away a couple of steps. "Why?"

Mulder focused his eyes on a stain on the carpet. He figured if he could just
concentrate on that one spot he could get through this. "Because I'll want to
touch you back," he said and paused. "And if you push me away again...," he
trailed off, unable to find the words.

Scully took a step towards him, wanting to comfort him, but he got to his
feet and fled around the other side of the desk. His tortured eyes met hers
for the first time. She'd seen that depth of pain before but she'd never been
the cause. She didn't want to have this kind of power over him. And she knew
for certain she didn't want him, or anyone, to have it over her. "Mulder,
I--"

He looked away. "Please just go." Scully took another step towards him.
"Dana, please..." he pleaded. Scully fled without another word.

     *    *    *

Scully rushed through the lobby of the hotel and into the cold February air.
She pulled her black leather jacket tighter around her to fight off the
chill. But deep down she knew it wasn't the temperature that made her shiver.
It was all she could do to keep herself from going back to him. She was ready
to say or do anything to alleviate his pain. "Dana!" she heard Jane's sunny
voice call out. "All set?" Scully nodded and smiled. "Where's that delicious
partner of yours?" the sergeant asked.

"I don't think Harrods is his idea of a good time," Scully replied, hoping
her voice didn't betray her conflicting emotions.

"Men!" Jane laughed and rolled her eyes. "Well, then, shall we carry on?"

Scully nodded and surprised herself by smiling.
 

     *    *    *

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at Mulder's door as he was changing to
go for a run. He went to answer it, T-shirt in hand, fully expecting Scully.
He knew he wasn't going to get away with that little scene. He knew she'd be
back and ready to battle it out. He just hadn't expected her this quickly. He
pulled the door open and said, "Scully, I-- oh, Phoebe, hi."

"I just couldn't take no for an answer," she said, pushing past him and
entering the room.

"Come in," Mulder said with a smirk.

"Where's your little partner?"

"Oh, uh, she went out for a bit. She'll be back soon."

"Brilliant. That'll give us a chance to visit," Phoebe crooned, moving a
little closer and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. "We never did get to
say a proper good-bye in Boston."

Mulder felt himself beginning to panic. He didn't want her touching him. Then
he wondered why not? It wasn't as if Scully wanted him. And he had to admit,
it was nice to be wanted, no matter what the twisted reason. He closed his
eyes as Phoebe's face moved towards his.
 

     *    *    *

Scully found herself in the shoe department of Harrods, surrounded by about
15 boxes of shoes. "Oh, Dana, you simply must try these," Jane said, holding
up the ugliest pair of platform heels she'd ever seen. They looked like
something out of the "Saturday Night Fever."

Scully smiled politely, and said, "I couldn't bear it if I had to add another
pair to the decision process, but thanks."

Jane laughed and sat next to her, trying the shoe on herself. "Oh, Dana,
you've gone into the wrong field. You really should be a diplomat. "

Scully smiled and said, "Sometimes I feel like I *am* a diplomat."

Jane laughed again. "Your partner, is he always this," she struggled for the
word and finally settled on "colorful?"

Scully grinned at the choice and filed it away in her mind for future use.
"He's on his best behavior for you."

"Oh, my," she paused. "Well, he's quite obviously brilliant."

"Brilliant and certifiable," Scully said, picking up the pair of shoes she'd
selected. "I think we have a winner."

"Splendid," Jane said, thoroughly enjoying this little fishing expedition. It
wasn't that she was nosy, just curious. And she found the dynamics of the
agent's bizarre relationship nearly as interesting as the possibility of an
extraterrestrial serial killer. Besides, Nigel would be expecting a full
report with his cuppa in the morning.
 

     *    *    *

Mulder opened his eyes as Phoebe's lips touched his, so cold, so hard, so
calculating, so utterly unlike Scully's. He practically leapt away. What I am
thinking? Kissing this woman, wishing she was Scully. He quickly pulled his
T-shirt on and struggled for the courage to look at Phoebe. Instead he
settled for saying, "I'm sorry. There's someone else now."

Phoebe seated herself on the end of his bed, leaning back on her elbows and
crossing her legs. "It's her, isn't it? Agent Scully."

God, am I that transparent? he wondered. "No. It's someone... else."

"You're a pathetic liar, Mulder," she laughed. "And judging from that puppy
dog look I'd say your feelings aren't reciprocated." She waited for a
response, and continued when she didn't get one. "You've always been such a
fool for women. Why is that?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

Phoebe laughed again and stood up, moving to the door. "Well, she hardly
seems worth it. Bit of a cold fish, isn't she?"

He finally looked up, fire in his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking
about."

She laughed. "Well, I'll leave you to brood. It's what you've always done
best," she said and closed the door loudly behind her.

     *    *    *

"So, how long have you been working on these X-Files?" Jane asked Scully over
their dinner of curry and rice.

Scully took a sip of her beer before replying. "Close to five years. I spent
two years teaching at Quantico before that."

"Sounds fascinating."

Scully nodded. "It's never dull. How about you? How long have you been with
Scotland Yard?"

"Five years. This is my second as a detective. Oh, I've been meaning to
mention that I ran into a friend of yours, Phoebe Green."

Scully rolled her eyes. "She's no friend of mine."

Jane laughed. "She is dreadful, isn't she?"

"We worked on a case together in the US and, uh, didn't quite see eye to
eye," Scully laughed, pushing her chana masala around on her plate.

"Well, you and any other woman she's ever worked with. She's definitely not
one for sisterhood as it were. Certainly seems to have taken a shine to your
partner though," Jane said and watched Scully closely for reaction. She
wasn't disappointed. For a brief moment there was a flash of emotion in those
normally calm eyes.

"Phoebe and Mulder dated when they were at Oxford," she managed evenly.

"Oh, I see," Jane said, getting the server's attention and holding up two
fingers. "You'll have another, won't you?" she asked gesturing at Scully's
empty beer.

"Uh," Scully considered a moment. "Sure."

"I've been meaning to ask you, what's with the last name thing?"

Scully laughed, "Guess we just got used to it. He started out calling me
Scully, I think as a way of testing me. And he doesn't like his first name.
He told me once even his parents called him Mulder."

"Fox," Jane seemed to consider the name. "Interesting. Does he have a sister
named Deer?" Scully's face paled. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"Uh, no. It's just... he had a sister. She disappeared when he was twelve.
It's not a good topic with him."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What happened?"

"I don't know all the details," Scully lied. "He doesn't like to talk about
it."

"Understandable, I'd say."  The server returned with their beers and they
were both grateful for the chance to change the topic. "So, tell me all about
life with the Bureau..."

     *    *    *

Mulder's feet pounded down the cobblestone streets of Knightsbridge. His
breath was increasing rapidly with his pace, all in an attempt to exorcise
Scully and her blazing red hair from his mind. His Walkman was blasting,
eliminating the possibility of concise thought. Or so he thought until the
lyrics seemed to reach into his mind and pull out exactly what he was
thinking... "I could never be enough, give enough, have enough, be enough,
you could never stand to stay..." (3) His left foot caught the corner of an
upturned cobblestone and sent him sprawling, his forehead making contact and
his Walkman shattering across the pavement. He rolled over onto his back,
panting and staring up at the tapestry of stars in the English sky. Blood
mixed with tears pouring down the right side of his face. He didn't care. An
older man leaned over him and asked, "Are you all right?"

Mulder started laughing and said, "Just fine and dandy, thank you."

The man moved on mumbling, "Crazy Americans," under his breath.

Mulder laughed even harder. Crazy something is right.

     *    *    *
 

Scully returned to her room and tossed her packages from Harrods on the
chair. She'd certainly spent more than she intended to, but then again
Harrods was the true Mecca to the shoppers of the world, so it could have
been worse. Still, she'd finally understood a criminal's compulsive desire to
return to the scene of a crime. As she and Jane had passed the spot where
Mulder had kissed her, she'd ached to fall against the wall and recapture the
feeling of Mulder's lips on hers, of his body pushing hers into the wall,
shielding her from the driving rain even as he pulled down the barriers she'd
carefully constructed around her desire. Instead, she'd given herself a good
mental shake and hurried on. She'd done a lot thinking as the evening
progressed and now it was time to talk to him about this whole mess. She
crept over to the door adjoining her room to Mulder's. An ear to the door
provided no evidence that he was there, so she knocked softly and opened the
door. He obviously wasn't back from his run. Fine. She could wait. Leaving
the door ajar she went to her dresser and selected a pair of sweats and a
T-shirt and changed quickly. She went to the sink and started to brush her
teeth. There was no way she was going to let one night ruin over four years
of partnership and even more importantly, friendship. True, the sex had
been...well, amazing. And she certainly wasn't going to deny that it stirred
some long buried feelings in her. But those feelings were locked up for a
reason. They were partners. If they were to get involved and word were to get
out it would be all