By Keleka
keleka@keleka.net
 

Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000
Rated: PG
Category: S
Summary: Orison Post Ep.
Disclaimer: Get real!  If I owned this cash cow, do you really think I'd be
living in Mississippi?

Feedback: This is my first XF fanfiction and I haven't been watching the
show very long, though thanks to FX Network I've caught up fast.    I hope
I've been true to the characters.  Please let me know what you think.

Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27 who encourages
me, God help her; and to brat and brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond
God's help.   :-)
 

Four Words
 

         If I could take back those four words, I would in a heart
beat.  But I can't and now my world is crashing around me as I watch Scully
retreating from me, her eyes wide and her hands trembling.  Finally she
turns and walks quietly to the car and climbs in on the passenger side.

         I feel my own arm shaking as my weapon weighs heavily in my hand,
and suddenly I'm brought back to who I am and what I'm doing.  I turn back
to look at our suspect, spread-eagled against the wall, my weapon pointed
squarely at his back.  If he choses this moment to walk away, I'm not sure
I would have the wherewithal to stop him, or even notice he is gone.

         What the hell have I done?

         Just yesterday morning everything was fine.  Everything was more
than fine.  It had been three weeks since Donnie Pfaster had died.  Just
the day before, the Office of Professional Conduct had cleared Scully of
culpability for Pfaster's death, mostly because of my testimony.   My sworn
testimony that Scully had not shot that bastard in cold blood.  But lets
face it, that's what it was.   She walked into that room and shot Donnie
Pfaster in cold blood.

         Despite that, I convinced the OPC, and I even convinced Scully,
that what I had really seen was Scully defending herself and me, not
knowing that I had my weapon trained on him or that with his eyes he had
already surrendered to me.   Given the angle Scully had entered the room,
the explanation was plausible.  I might even have convinced myself over
time had Scully not admitted her sin to me that same night.   I left that
little detail out of my testimony and the OPC  bought the rest.

         Cleared by the OPC and given the green light by her counselor,
Scully was returned to field duty just in time to keep me from going stir
crazy.  When Scully is on desk duty, I'm on de facto desk duty.  We're
partners.  That's what partners do.  After three weeks of paper pushing, I
was ready to get back to work and it didn't take long for me to come up
with something interesting.

         The police department in Knoxville, Tennessee had requested
assistance with a killing spree that had vampiric overtones.  We had flown
down yesterday morning and it hadn't taken us long to put the lie to the
vampire theory.  All we had here was a whacko who got his jollies killing
teenage boys and staging their deaths to look like vampire attacks.  Like
Scully once said, just a guy who'd seen one too many Bela Lugosi movies.

         I decided to stick around and help, though.  It seemed safe
enough.  The victims weren't little girls, no aliens were involved, and the
suspect showed no signs of necrophilia.   Nothing too sensitive for my
still-hurting partner.  And the winter weather in Knoxville was much milder
than what we had waiting for us back in D.C., so I thought it would do us
both good to hang out here for a few days.  Besides, Knoxville has some
great restaurants.

         Last night had been incredible.  We knocked off about 8 o'clock
and I treated to ribs at Calhoun's on the River.  Watching her devour a
huge plate of ribs brought back some great memories, though this time she
wasn't nearly as prissy about keeping clean.  By the time we finished, she
was as messy as I was.  Then we went to Old Town and I managed to coax her
into a disco named "Tony's" and before you could say "John Travolta," I had
her on the dance floor and we were having the time of our lives.

         After a good night's sleep, we were back at KPD Headquarters this
morning when the call came.  Another victim had been found.  Through some
stroke of luck--Scully would call it one of my intuitive leaps of logic, i
just call it luck-- we found ourselves hot on the heels of our chief
suspect, chasing him through an empty Neyland Stadium on the University of
Tennessee campus till I cornered him against a concrete bulkhead, just 100
feet inside the gate we had originally come in.

         With all the adrenaline pumping through my system, I was none too
gentle as I pushed the guy up against the wall and trained my weapon on him
while I caught my breath.  I'm not getting any younger and chasing these
guys is starting to wind me.  I heard Scully running up behind me.  She
just hates that she can't run as fast as I can, but hell, my legs have got
at least eight inches on hers.  And I'm not wearing three-inch heels.

         As she ran up beside me, I saw her weapon raised and pointed at my
prisoner.  Without thinking, I reached out,  grabbed her gun hand, and
pushed it down so that her weapon was pointed at the concrete
floor.  That's when I uttered the four words I now so regret: "I've got
him, Scully."

         It took about two seconds for the import of those words to
register in Scully's brain, but when it did, her jaw dropped and her eyes
widened.  Her eyes locked on mine and I saw two pools of blue filled
with....what?  Horror?  Disbelief?  Hurt?  All of the above?   She took a
step backwards and looked at the weapon in her hand, then at me again,
backing up several more steps till finally she turned and walked quietly
back to our car just outside the gate.

         And now, here I am, barely conscious of my prisoner or the KPD
officers rushing in to assist me.  My eyes keep darting back to the car
where I see my partner sitting alone, her head lowered.   I've got to go to
her.  I've got to undo the damage I've done.  But can I?  Now she knows
I've been lying to her.  Now she knows that I lied to the OPC.  Now she
knows that Agent Fox "I only want the truth" Mulder can lie with the best
of them.

         Jesus.

         After KPD has our guy cuffed and tucked away I finally walk back
to our car.  Now I know what prisoners on death row feel when they take
that final walk to the death chamber.  Every step takes me closer and
closer to what I fear might be the death of our partnership, of our
friendship, of.....us.  I climb behind the wheel, busy myself fastening my
seatbelt, and then stare out the windshield, waiting for her to say something.

         She doesn't.

         I don't either.

         We drive back to KPD headquarters in complete silence.

                                                 *

         When we get to the police station  I go in to fill out paperwork
and accept the gratitude of the KPD detectives.  Scully stays in the
car.  When I get back to the car, she is gone.  I do a three-sixty, trying
to spot her in the parking lot.  I wasn't in there long so she can't have
gotten far.  I don't see her anywhere.  I pull out my cell phone and jab
number "one."  It rings and rings but Scully doesn't answer.
         Shit.

         I drive around the area for awhile trying to find her but finally
give up and return to our motel.  When I get there, housekeeping is in her
room, changing the sheets and cleaning the bathroom.  Scully is
gone.  Checked-out.  The guy at the desk tells me she left in the same cab
that brought her.  Jesus.  She's running from me.  And if I don't catch her
fast she might do something crazy.

         At the airport they tell me she just took the first flight
out.  It was going to Toledo.  Okay, she'd rather go to fucking *Toledo*
than talk to me.  I'm a big boy.  I can take it.  Maybe I can beat her back
to the office.   The next flight is to Pittsburgh.  If it arrives there on
time, I'll be able to catch a flight to National Airport almost
immediately.  I look at my watch.  No way she can beat me back as long as
everything goes smoothly.

         Three hours later, I verbally abuse the D.C. taxi driver to get
him to step on it.  I flash my badge and promise him he won't get a
ticket.  He gets me to the Hoover building faster than I've ever gotten
there from National.  I run in the front door to save some time, race
through the security checkpoint, and run up the four flights of stairs to
Skinner's office rather than wait for the elevator.  Don't ask me how, but
I know that's where Scully's headed.  To Skinner.  To resign.

         By the time I get to Skinner's office, I'm gasping for air like
the nearly forty-year-old man I am, and I'm sure I must look the mad man as
I dash in and come to an abrupt stop.  I think I've scared Kimberly as she
jumps in her seat and looks at me wide-eyed.

         "Agent Mulder," she said reproachfully.  "The Assistant Director
is in a meeting and can't be disturbed."

         I bend over, trying to get my breath, finally able to gasp out,
"Has... Agent.... Scully.... been..... here?"  I put my hands on my knees
for support and take in great heaving mouthfuls of air.

         "Agent Scully?  Not today."

         I nod appreciably and take a seat.  "I'll wait," I say.

         For the next hour-and-a-half I drive Kimberly to distraction with
my fidgeting.  I call Scully's cell phone a few times, but she never
answers.  I let my eyes run over the pages of a magazine, but nothing
registers.  My hands are sweating so badly that I can barely hold onto the
glossy pages.  Then I hear the elevator door open down the hall and the
"click click  click" of footsteps that I would recognize anywhere.  She's
coming.

         When she walks in the door her head is down and she doesn't see me
at first.  But I see her, and more importantly, I see in her hands her
holstered weapon, her badge, and a sealed envelope.  I was right.  She has
come straight here to resign before I can talk to her.  Before I can talk
her out of it.

         When I leap to my feet, she registers my presence at last.  Her
eyes flash a look of disbelief and then look down, finding it too painful
to maintain eye contact with me.  I barely hear her say, "how?"

         "An intuitive leap of logic and some friendly airline employees,"
I say softly as I move us toward the door.  Kimberly has been witness to
too many of our personal crises already.  And I don't want Skinner getting
even a wift of this problem.  That it even happened could be enough for him
to reopen her case with the OPC.  I've got to get her alone.

         When we get to the door she resists, refusing to move into the
hallway.

         "Where are you going, Scully?" I ask, running my finger tips down
her arms till they rest on her hand holding her weapon, badge, and letter.

         "I've got to see Skinner," she whispers, still unable to look at me.

         I take the objects from her hands and stuff them in my coat pocket.

         "Why, do you need to see Skinner?" I ask softly, once again
nudging her gently through the door and into the hallway.

         "To resign," she says, choking on the words.  Then the tears
start, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.  Several agents
walk past us and pause as though to offer help.  I wave them away.  As much
as I hate to see Scully cry, I know now that we'll be okay.  I know now
that she'll talk to me.  I just have to get her someplace private.
 

*end*

Should I go on?

~~~~~~

Four More Words

By Keleka
 

Rated: PG
Archive: Sure!
Category: S, I guess.  I haven't figured out
all these categories yet.

Summary: Sequel to my Orison Post Ep, "Four Words,"
M&S address their bilateral loss of trust.  If you missed it,
its still on Ephemeral, or you can find it at my brand
new website at http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/

Timeline: New Year's Eve coming over a month early
doesn't help things.  This takes place three weeks
after Orison, and before any of the post-Orison
episodes take place.  Let's make it very early in February.

Disclaimer: Get real!  If I owned this cash cow, do you
really think I'd be living in Mississippi?

Feedback: This is a sequel to my first XF fanfiction,
"Four Words."  I swear I didn't intend for "Four Words"
to start a serial, but the characters had other ideas.
I think all the positive feedback just went to their heads.
I'm sure they (and I) would love more.

Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27
who continues to encourage me, God help her; to brat and
brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond God's help; and
especially to shoshana, who jumped in the when the crap
was deep and helped me shovel my way out.
 
 
 
 
 

Four More Words
by Keleka
 
 

"You lied to me."

I freeze.  My arms are still wrapped around Scully.  Her face
still pressed against my chest, muffling her words.  I realize
suddenly that the tears have stopped almost as quickly as they
had begun.  How long have we been standing here outside
Skinner's office?  Seconds?  Minutes?  Hours?

"You lied to me," she says again, with more certainty.

She pushes against me and pulls away a few inches.  I slide my
hands up her arms and rest them on her shoulders, not ready to
let go, but giving her the space she seems to need.  I look into
her eyes and try to calculate the depth of emotion hidden in
them.  Is it anger she's hiding in there?  Hatred?
Disappointment?  I need x-ray vision to see through the wall
she has so hastily thrown up.

My Oxford-educated brain slips into overdrive trying to
manufacture the perfect response to her accusation.  How can
someone so smart have so much trouble forming a simple
sentence in his native language?  Before the perfect response
comes to me, she says it again.

"You lied to me."

This time its said with an air of finality, as though my silence
has convicted and sentenced me.   All that is left is for her to
carry out the execution.  She turns away and walks calmly
toward the elevator where a small group of people has been
watching us surreptitiously for..... who knows how long.   I can
already feel the building vibrate from the wagging tongues.

I watch her board the elevator,  head held high but eyes
scrupulously avoiding eye contact with anyone.    Just as the
door is about to close, she looks up.  She looks at me.

  "Hold the elevator,"  I yell, and someone obediently sticks out a
hand to stop the automatic door.  I run to the end of the hall,
board the elevator, and take my place next to Scully.  Wherever
she's going, we'll go there together.

In the parking garage we separate, and I go home to shower and
change and to give her time to unwind before we face the issue
that could tear us apart. I fear that in this time she will
rebuild all her defenses and there will be no hope of mending
this tear in the fabric of our relationship. But I also know how
vulnerable Scully is in matters of the heart. Without time to
fortify herself she could shatter altogether,with the same
result as if she had shut me out. Either way, I lose her.

And losing her is what I fear most in the world.

Outside the door to her apartment an hour later,  I remember
what it is like to go on a first date.  My palms are damp, and a
family of butterflies is dogfighting in my stomach.  I tighten my
grip on the bottle of fine wine I picked up on the way over and
knock on the door.

Nothing.

I knock again.

Nothing again.

Now I'm beyond butterflies and into P-51 Mustangs.  I fumble
for my key and slip it into the lock, relieved when the door
swings open unhindered by any bodies or broken glass on the
floor.  I step into the apartment and as soon as my eyes adjust
to the darkness, I see Scully sitting on the sofa.

"Scully?" I say with trepidation.  When I get closer I see that
she is sitting on the center cushion of her sofa, her feet tucked
under her, and her hands in her lap holding a bottle of beer, one
of the ones she keeps on hand for me.   Scully drinking beer
from a bottle?  This is not a good sign.  The Mustangs give way
to F-14 fighter jets.

"I guess we won't be needing this," I say as I walk past her to
the kitchen. She glances at me and a very slight smile appears
on her lips.  Okay, that's a good sign.  I put the wine in the
refrigerator, snag a beer for myself, carry it back to the couch
and sit presumptuously close to her.  I'm surprised and
encouraged when she doesn't move to put distance between us.

I twist the cap off my beer and wipe the top on my sweatshirt
sleeve.  She winces.

"What makes you think that smelly old sweat shirt is any
cleaner than the bottle, Mulder?"

"Smelly?" I say, feigning insult.  "I'll have you know I washed
this sweatshirt just last year."  I take the opportunity of the
jest to slip my arm around her shoulders and I am surprised
again when she leans into me.   We sit quietly for several
minutes, drinking our beers, each trying to find the words to
begin.

Finally, she does.

"I've had so much taken from me because of the X-Files,
Mulder."

"I know you have," I say softly.

"My sister, my health, my daughter...."

I take in a deep breath and let it out.  I sense she doesn't want
answers; she just wants to tell me what is on her mind, so I
remain silent.

"My faith....."

What?  Scully has lost her faith?  I shift in my seat and turn to
see her lift the bottle to her mouth and take a long draught
from it.  With her jaw upraised I can see clearly that she's not
wearing her crucifix.  I scan my photographic memory and
realize suddenly that I haven't seen her wear it since......since
Donnie Pfaster.

"Scully...." I start, but she raises a hand and stops me.  I pull
her closer and she lays her head on my shoulder.  I fear what
she is about to tell me.

"And now, Mulder, you've taken from me the only thing I had
left.  The only thing that keeps me here.  Our trust in each
other.  My trust in you."

My head swims now with all the things she has just told me.
She has lost her faith?  Her trust in me is the only thing that
keeps her here?  What does that mean?  'Here' as in
Washington, D.C.?   The F.B.I.?   The X-Files?  Life itself?  The
F-15s had nothing on the cruise missiles now soaring through my
stomach.

"You've lost your faith," I say, mirroring her earlier comment,
my training as a psychologist finally kicking in.

She nods.

"Tell me what you mean, Scully."

She pulls away from me and stands.  She is drawn to a curio in
the corner where she has a framed picture of her parents and
others of her brothers and sister.  She lifts the picture of her
parents and turns to look at me.

"I don't believe in God anymore."

Whoa.

"When did this happen, Scully?"  If it was Donnie Pfaster who
caused this, so help me, I'll  dig up his corpse and beat the crap
out of it with my bare hands.

She looks at the picture in her hands and I can read her mind.
They don't call me 'Spooky' for nothing.   She is missing her
father.  I think this is a conversation she wants to have with
him, but can't.  That's when I realize that I'm really the only
man in her life and my heart breaks for her again.  She looks up.

"In Africa," she says, placing the picture back on its shelf.  "No,
after I returned from Africa when I found you...at the DOD
facility.  I knew the minute I saw you lying there... when I saw
what had been done to you."

She returns to sit beside me on the sofa, turning to face me,
taking my hands in hers.  I reach for her, pushing her hair back
and sliding my fingers down her cheek to wipe away her tears.

"The God I was raised to believe in couldn't let these things
happen, Mulder.  He just couldn't.   Too many innocent people
have suffered horribly.  You and I have suffered horribly,
Mulder.   We're not bad people, Mulder.  Surely we've passed
every test a God could possibly have for us."

I struggle to find something to say.  How can I, a non-believer,
convince her to believe?   I search her eyes, hoping that
something within her will inspire me as it has so many times in
the past.  I come up empty.

"That these things happen," she continues softly,
absentmindedly picking lint from my well-worn sweatshirt,
"means either that God is not the omnipotent, omniscient,
benevolent deity my parents taught me to worship, or.... that He
doesn't exist at all. "

She stops picking lint and pushes back from me, her eyes
showing the determination I've seen her exhibit so many times
in the past.  "After what I saw in Africa ..... I finally realized
that my religious beliefs had no more validity than any others.
They're all based on fear, uncertainty, and doubt.  They're all
just....superstitions."

There are none so certain as the new convert, I think,
recognizing in Scully's new beliefs the same stubborn rigidity of
her old ones.   She says it's the X-Files that have cost her
these things, but I know in my heart that I'm to blame.  And
now her commitment to me and my quest has cost her that
which was most dear to her: her personal relationship with God.
I take her hand, encouraging her to continue.

"In Africa I learned ... that no God put us here, Mulder.
Extraterrestrials did. There is no benevolent spirit guiding our
lives, nurturing us in His image. Our lives are just ... random."

She grips my eyes with her own and in their blue depths I see
what I never hoped to see in my Scully:  Despair.  The despair
of the unbeliever.  The same despair I have felt every day of
my life since Samantha was taken from me.  The same despair
that causes my depressions and nightmares.  The same despair
that is lifted from me by this tiny woman's presence in my life.
Every moment I have had with her has been a moment without
despair.  And now, she is as afflicted as I am.

Then something registers.

"Are you telling me that you believe in aliens now, Scully?"

Her lips begin to curl up and I see an ironic smile emerge.  "How
could I not after what I saw in Africa?"

"You don't seem to have any trouble putting down my theories,"
I say, unable to suppress a smile myself.

"Mulder, just because I still don't buy every hair-brained
paranormal theory you come up with, doesn't mean I don't
believe in extraterrestrials.   For that matter, none of your
recent hair-brained theories has involved little green men."

"Gray," I remind her with a smile.  "Reticulans are gray."

We take a break for a moment, for her to visit the necessary
and for me to take our empty bottles into the kitchen.  I return
with the wine bottle and two glasses, stopping to look at the
picture of her parents she'd held earlier.  I know her mother is
very strong.  She and I have been through much together.  I
wish I had gotten to meet her father before he died.  I often
wonder how much of the man there is in the daughter.  I often
wonder whether he'd approve of me, or agree with his son that
I'm a "sorry son-of-a-bitch."   I wish I had had a chance to find
out.

When she joins me on the sofa and we fill our glasses, I try to
steer her back to the subject of her faith.

"Scully... why didn't you tell me?  When you lost your faith I
mean?  I thought we told each other everything."

She looks away from me and sips her wine.  I sense that she has
wanted to tell me this for a long time, but hasn't been able to.

"At first, I tried to find God again.  I spoke to Father McCue
almost every day.  But everywhere I looked I found .... nothing.
No evidence that could withstand scientific scrutiny.  I realized
at last that I had been fooling myself for a long time.  I made
you subject your beliefs to my scientific standards, but never
had the courage to subject my own to the same rigorous
scrutiny."

Her voice quavers a bit on the last and I take her hand.  She
looks up at me and takes me in with her eyes again.

"For that, Mulder, I apologize."

She squeezes my hand and we share a silent moment.  I am
stunned, not that she now believes in extraterrestrial life, but
rather, that she thinks she needs to apologize to me for
*anything.*

"I kept up appearances for my mother's sake," she continues
unbidden.  "I went to Mass.  I took Communion.  I wore my
crucifix.  I couldn't tell her.    I *can't* tell her.  It
will break her heart.  But now...."

" Donnie Pfaster...." I interrupt.

" Donnie Pfaster...," she begins in a weary voice, reaching for
the wine bottle to refill our glasses.  "Donnie Pfaster was
irrefutable proof that there is no God.  Any doubts I may have
had were erased when he threw me against the wall.   I can't
pretend anymore.    Mulder, if I had still believed, I could never
have ...."

"You could never have killed him."

She nods.  "Not the way I did.  Not... in cold blood."

"Scully, I .... "

"Don't, Mulder."

She looks away for a long moment and I fear I have lost her
again.  But finally she turns to me, tears stubbornly clinging to
her eyes.   I hold my breath, unsure what she is about to say.

"Why did you lie to me, Mulder?"

Now its my turn to look away.  How do I explain the
unexplainable?  I stand and walk to the curio, looking for a
moment at her pictures, stalling, trying to find the words.
When I turn back she looks at me patiently.

"Scully, if there is one thing I know for an absolute certainty,
it's that Donnie Pfaster deserved what he got.  In fact, he got
*better* than he deserved.  He deserved to die just as horrible
and painful and terrifying a death as his victims had.  As *you*
would have."

"That doesn't excuse...." she interrupts, but I cut her off.

"No, it doesn't.  But imagine if I hadn't arrived when I did.
What would have happened?"

She thought for a moment and then in a tiny voice said, "I would
have killed him."

"Exactly.  You had freed yourself by then and gotten your
weapon.  He was headed to your bedroom when I got here.  He
would have run into you and you would have killed him in self
defense."

"But that's not what happened, Mulder."

"I know it isn't.  But it is what would have happened.  Its *my*
fault it went down the way it did, not yours."

"That still doesn't explain why you weren't straight with me,
Mulder.  Why you lied."

"I know you, Scully.  Or at least I thought I did.  I knew you
would beat yourself up over what you had done.  I knew that
your religious scruples would drive you to confess to a mortal
sin."

"How could ridding the world of Donnie Pfaster ever be
considered a sin?"

"Exactly.  And I knew you would see it that way eventually.  But
I was afraid of what you might do until then.  I ... distorted the
facts enough to convince you that you had done nothing wrong."

"Distorted the facts."

"I lied."

"You lied to *me.*"

I walk quickly back to her and lower myself to one knee in front
of her.

"I'm sorry, Scully.   But I would..."  I look away for a moment
and then take her hands in mine and lock eyes with hers.  "I
would do *anything* to spare you pain.  I would lie.  Cheat.
Steal.  And if I could, I would go back in time and kill that
bastard in his prison cell so that none of this would have
ever happened."

She doesn't respond, but she doesn't look away either, and for a
moment I'm tempted to kiss her.  Not another platonic New
Year's Eve kiss either, but one that will show her what I can't
speak.

"We've both lied to protect each other before, Scully."

She nods almost imperceptibly and I think maybe I've been
forgiven.  If ever there was a 'white lie,' surely this was it.  A
white lie to prevent a disaster from turning into a catastrophe.
A white lie to save a good and just woman from eternal
damnation, if only in her own eyes.

"How can you ever trust me again?" she says, and now I know
we've gotten to the crux of her distress:  my display of distrust
in Neyland Stadium.  She thinks I've lost my trust in her
professional judgment.  She knows that if I have, it's the end of
our partnership.  She may forgive me for lying, but can she
forgive me for doubting?

I pull myself up and sit beside her on the sofa.  All I can think
is that I've got to make this better.  Before I can answer, she
speaks again.

"Mulder, I ... understand ... if you need a new partner.  One you
can trust."

"Jesus, Scully.  Don't even think that!"  I'm angry now, for
reasons I can't fathom.  I turn and grip her shoulders tightly
with my hands.  Her eyes widen and I think maybe I'm hurting
her just a little, but I don't loosen my grip. "I don't *ever*
want another partner."

I stand and move to the window, pushing back the soft curtain
and looking out into the dreary February evening.  Life always
seem to go on outside these windows, no matter how painful our
own lives may be.  I turn and look at her,  trying frantically to
find the words to express what I feel inside.  "Scully, I *do*
trust you," I say at last.  "I don't know what that was back in
Knoxville.   I wasn't thinking."

She looks at me skeptically.   I know that it's precisely the lack
of thought that damns me.  Deep inside me there is some doubt.
If I could reach inside myself and rip it out I would.  Where
the hell is Padgett when I need him?

She comes to me and takes my hand.  I feel her thumb gently
stroking my palm and see understanding in her eyes.  Apparently
this mind reading thing goes both ways between us.

"I think we both have some work to do, don't we, Mulder?" she
says softly and I nod in agreement.  "I need to know you won't
lie to me again, for *any* reason, no matter how noble."

I look down for a moment, feeling chastised, but then I return
to her gaze.  "And I need to know that you...."  I'm not sure
what to say.  That she won't....kill all our suspects?  Go off her
rocker?

After a short but uncomfortable silence she finishes my
sentence for me.  "That I'll 'go by the book.'"

We both laugh and I agree with her.  "At least as much as I do,
Scully."

"I'll try," she says.

"I'll try too," I say.

She wraps her arms around me and holds me as though I am the
most precious thing in her life.  I know she is in mine, and
so we stand for several moments, holding each other and making
silent promises.

When we return to the sofa it's with a decided air of relief as
another crisis has been averted, or at least postponed.  We talk
about everything but work.  She catches me up on her family
and I amuse her with the latest exploits of The Lone Gunmen.

After a while she gets quiet and I sense a change of subject
coming.

"I won't be in tomorrow, Mulder.  I'm taking a few days off,"
she says.  "I called Skinner before you got here."

"Why, Scully?" I ask, thinking she's still hurting from my fumble
in Knoxville.

"I can't live here anymore, Mulder," she says, motioning to mean
her apartment.  "There are too many bad memories.  I've got to
find a new apartment.  Somewhere I don't have to step over
Missy's body every time I walk in.  Where I don't have to see
Donnie Pfaster every time I take a bath or light a candle.  With
windows that don't have Duane Barry lurking outside."

"I know someplace you can feel safe, Scully."

She looks at me expectantly.

"Come live with me."

I think I've surprised her.  No, I *know* I've surprised her.

"You know I never sleep in the bedroom.  You can have it all to
yourself.   I promise I'll try not to be a slob."

She blinks and struggles to find her voice, and I don't know why,
but I have this visceral feeling that she might accept, but then
the phone rings, distracting her.  She raises a finger and
bounces it in front of my face.

"Hold that thought," she says, rising and crossing to the phone.

Her voice noticeably cheers when she realizes it's her brother,
Bill, on the phone.  But then, just as noticeably, the entire room
is chilled and her body goes rigid.  I hear her say, "I'll be right
there, Billy" just before she hangs up the phone.  When she
turns to me it is with a look of pure horror on her face.

I go to her quickly, leaning into her space.

"What is it?  What's wrong?"

"My nephew...Matthew...," she says, choking back tears,
"Billy's boy was abducted from his school yard."

[end]
 

~~~~~~

Four Final Words

By Keleka
 

Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary, etc.
Rating: R, for language and for themes concerning
child abuse and death.
Spoiler Warning: Seventh season up to Orison.
Content Statement: M/S UST; MSR
Classification: SRA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance
Archive: Sure!  It'd be nice if you told me so I could visit
and have my ego stroked.
Category: S, MSR

Summary: Mulder and Scully search for Scully's missing
nephew, and maybe for something else as well.  Threequel
to my Orison Post Ep, "Four Words," and "Four Final
Words."  If you missed them, you can find them at my
website at http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/

Timeline: New Year's Eve coming over a month early in the
XF world didn't help things.  This takes place three weeks
after Orison, and before any of the postOrison episodes
take place.  Let's make it very early in February. All three of
these stories take place in a period of five days.

Disclaimer: Get real!  If I owned this cash cow, do you
really think I'd be living in Mississippi?  Have you ever
BEEN to Mississippi?

Feedback:  I swear I didn't intend for "Four Words" to start
a trilogy, but the characters had other ideas.  I think all the
positive feedback just went to their heads.  I'm sure they
(and I) would love more.

Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27
who continues to encourage me, God help her; to brat and
brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond God's help; to
zephathah, for some good advice; and especially to Shoshana,
who goes above and beyond the call of duty every day.

My Newport, Rhode Island has virtually nothing in common
with the real one.  Yes, there is a naval station there, and
yes the Naval War College is there, along with the Surface
Warfare Officer's School, the Naval Justice School, and
several other navy career schools.  Other than that, my
Newport is entirely a figment of my imagination.  The
Newport Police Department very kindly answered some
questions, and several people offered to feed me info about
the real Newport, but I finally just decided to heck with it.
That doesn't diminish the charity and kindness of their
offers, just my patience and willingness to let real life
interfere with my fantasy.
 
 

Four Final Words
by Keleka
 

I don't believe this.

It's not enough that Scully was abducted, given cancer, and
made barren, or that her sister and daughter were killed, or
that Donnie Pfaster beat the crap out of her.  No, that's not
enough.  Now some psychopath in Rhode Island abducts
her beloved nephew.

I can truly understand why Scully has lost her faith.  If I'd
had any to begin with, I'd have lost mine by now too.  If there
IS a God, he's one sadistic bastard.  Maybe that's the point.
Maybe we're all just playthings of some powerful being who
abuses us for his own amusement.  Wasn't there a Star Trek
episode about that?  Greetings and felicitations, earthlings.

Standing here on the curb outside my apartment building, I
watch cars go by and wonder what these peoples' lives are
like.  Just how out-of-the-mainstream are we?  I'm not sure
I would recognize a normal life if one walked up and
introduced itself.  I can imagine telling a doctor my life story
some day and finding myself committed to an insane asylum
on the spot.  Hell, maybe I AM insane and my so-called life
is just one big hallucination as I huddle in the back of a
padded cell wearing a straitjacket and rubber head
protector.

Scully doesn't say anything when she picks me up at the
curb one hour after I left her apartment.  I'm glad we had
time to catch up before Bill called, else I'd have come home
and packed for a trip to sunny San Diego instead of frigid
Rhode Island.  Bill, it seems, is now teaching at the Surface
Warfare Officer's School at the Newport Naval Station.  Big
Bad Bill a teacher.  Go figure.

I shift in my seat to look at my partner.  I can see the worry
in her face and the tight grip she has on the steering wheel
and on her emotions.  From the moment she hung up the
phone, there was no question I would be going with her.
She didn't ask.  I didn't offer.  We both just knew.  When
she called the airline she ordered two tickets on the late
flight to Providence and I left to pack.

She turns to look at me and offers a tense smile before
prying one white-knuckled hand off the steering wheel and
reaching over to tangle her fingers in mine.  We ride this
way for awhile, each offering strength to the other.  I close
my eyes and hope I have enough strength for the two of us
in case she falters.  This is too damned soon after a major
crisis in our relationship, a crisis of faith which has left us
both weakened.

Ready or not, I'm in the middle of another Scully-family
crisis.  Sometimes I think this family is jinxed, and not just
by its relationship with me  For once, I'm not the cause of
the crisis, and it's not Dana Scully's hospital bed we're
assembling around.  I have doubts about how Bill will react
to my presence, but maybe with his son's life at stake he'll
tolerate me.

We arrive at the airport, make short business of getting
checked in, and just make it to the gate in time to board.  I
don't think we've exchanged three words since Scully picked
me up.  She's too tense for small talk.  At first she tries
looking through a magazine, but finally she puts back her
seat and tries to sleep.  I don't bother trying.  It takes an IV
drip full of friendly drugs to put me into a sound sleep
anymore.

It's a short hop to Providence.  I offer to drive the rental car
but Scully knows the way better.  She spent a few years
here as a child.  At the front gate to the naval station we
identify ourselves as FBI agents and are given directions to
Commander Scully's residence.  When we pull into the
officers' residential area, it's easy to tell which of the modest
townhouses is Bill Scully's.  It's the one with the squad car
parked in front.  The Newport Police Department K9 unit
is here.  Maybe that's good news. Maybe Matthew is safe
and sound and we can go home in the morning.

Scully parks the car in a nearby parking lot.  When she
comes around to my side of the car, I take her hand for the
walk to the house, and I'm surprised that she doesn't resist
my offer of affection.  Maybe things are finally starting to
change between us.  But now is not the time to think about
that.  For now our attentions are focused on little Matthew
Scully.

                     * * *

It seems as though I've been here for hours pouring over
these files.  I lean back in the straight-backed wooden chair
and teeter on its back legs, perilously close to to falling flat
on my ass.  Pretty much a metaphor for my life in general.

I look at my watch and see that it's been only an
hour-and-a-half since I left the naval base with the K9
officer and came to the Newport Police Department
headquarters.  Matthew, as it turned out, is far from safe.
When we learned that Matthew was the fourth child
abducted from school yards in the Newport area since the
school year began, our concern ratcheted up several
degrees.  I left immediately with the officer to come to
headquarters and start reviewing the case files.  Scully will
be along as soon as she's dealt with the family thing.

As if on cue, Scully walks in and sits wearily in the chair
next to me.  I can tell she's been crying, but she tries to
cover it with her doctor's face, the one that takes over
whenever she has to autopsy a child.

"Find anything?" she asks flatly.

"Not much," I say.  "One witness who might have seen a
suspicious character in the shadows at your nephew's
school.  No witnesses at all from the other abductions."

She nods.  "How do three children disappear from their
school yards without anyone seeing anything?" she asks
rhetorically.

"How are Bill and Tara holding up?"

"I had to sedate Tara," she says, so softly I can barely hear
her.  "She's distraught.  Bill is being strong for her."  She
pushes back her chair and reaches for my hand.  "We need
some sleep, Mulder.  There's nothing else we can do
tonight."

I agree and return the files to the desk sergeant.  Tomorrow
I'll visit the school yards where the children were abducted
and try to come up with some leads that might help profile
the suspect.

On the way to the car Scully tells me she already called the
Hampton Inn and reserved us a room.  My ears perk up at
that, but I say nothing.  She says she just wasn't up for
Matthew's bed at Bill's house and me on the sofa bed.
That's one invitation I'm glad she turned down.

After we register and get our bags from the car, we head for
our room.  When the door opens my jaw drops a foot when
I see there is only one bed.  One king-sized bed.  Jesus.
What's she got on her mind here?

Scully heads for the bathroom and wastes no time doing her
nightly hygienic routine.  She emerges in less than three
minutes wearing a pair of red USMC jogging shorts and a
too-large gray FBI tee shirt.  She's never looked sexier.  I,
meanwhile, haven't budged from my spot inside the door,
still trying to comprehend the meaning of the king-sized
bed.

She sits on one side of the bed and looks at me wearily.

"Come on, Mulder," she says.  "Let's get some sleep."

"Scully," I say, a question in the inflection of my voice.

She crawls under the covers and yawns.

"I don't want to be alone, Mulder.  You don't mind, do
you?"

Me?  Mind?  Hell no.  I race through brushing my teeth,
strip to my skivvies, and in just a few minutes climb in on
the other side of this monster of a bed.  I lie facing her,
knowing that a few hours sound sleep is going to be mine
tonight.  Sharing a bed with Scully is better than any IV
drip.  In a few minutes I feel myself drifting off when I hear
her whisper.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmmm," I manage to get out.

"Thanks.  For coming with me."

"Anytime, Scully."

There's silence for about a minute before she speaks again.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmmm?"

I feel the bed bounce slightly and open my eyes to see
Scully moving over next to me.

"Hold me."

I put my arm around her and pull her close.  Within minutes
we are both sound asleep.

                                   * * *
 

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the raisin bagel I
snatched from the motel's breakfast buffet this morning on
my way out.  I'm surprised it's not frozen given the
temperature in the low teens that grips Newport.  I nibble
on it while I pace the ground beside the Newport Coastal
Elementary School for the ninth or tenth time.  The police
have already combed this area for clues and found nothing.
This is where a teacher's aide says she saw someone lurking
yesterday afternoon, shortly before Matthew turned up
missing.

The chatter of children draws my attention and I walk to the
front of the building.  The first school buses have arrived
and dozens of tiny tots are racing up the sidewalk under the
watchful eyes of the school's teachers.  I wonder whether
they were as watchful yesterday afternoon.

I wait till the noisy herd is inside and then make my way to
the door.  A security guard stops me and asks me my
business.  I pull out my badge and identify myself.

"Were you on duty yesterday?" I ask after he's satisfied that
I'm not a child snatcher.

"No," he says, moving us out of the flow of traffic near the
front door.  "They've never had security guards here before.
After yesterday's kidnapping the school board hired our
agency to have a guard at every elementary school."

"And you haven't seen anything suspicious today?"

"No, sir."

I always find it odd being called 'sir' by someone old enough
to be my father.  I take a moment to study this man and
realize he's really not old enough to be my father.  He's old
enough to be the father of the young man I still believe
myself to be.  He's probably about fifty, and as I keep
forgetting, I'll be forty in just eight months.  Why is it our
psyches stop aging at twenty-six?

He points me in the direction of the principal's office and I
walk down a long hall lined with classrooms.  As I pass
each room I glance in.  In most of them I see young, female
teachers, but in one there is a man, about thirty-five, thin
and pale, like a junky.  I stop to watch him for a moment
and notice he has the nervous movements of a junky too.  I
make a mental note to find out more about him.

The principal is a young woman, not even thirty years old
yet.  How did she rise so rapidly in the educational
hierarchy?  She's obviously nervous about having an FBI
agent in her office, but I try to put her at ease.  People get
so weird around federal agents sometimes.  She lets me wait
in her office while she seeks out the teacher's aide who may
have seen something shortly before Matthew was snatched
yesterday.
After a few minutes an older woman arrives  She reminds
me of my maternal grandmother.  When I was little, 'Nanna'
gave me cookies and read me stories.  I can easily imagine
this woman doing the same for the children at this school.
According to the file, her name's Edith Jeeves and she's
worked at the school since it opened in 1993.  Unlike the
principal, she doesn't seem nervous.

"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Jeeves," I say, standing and
offering her a chair.  "I understand you saw someone beside
the school building yesterday afternoon, shortly before
Matthew Scully was missed."

"Yes," she says solemnly.  "I went behind the building to put
some trash in the dumpster.  Over by the clump of trees just
to the side of the building, I saw someone standing behind a
tree.  He appeared to be looking at the children who were
playing out front while they waited for their buses."

"Would you describe him for me?"

She looks up as though trying to see the memories inside
her head.  Funny how people do that.  She holds up one
hand and begins to tick off items as though she has
catalogued them.

"Well, he wasn't too tall.  Less than six feet.  Slender,
though the coat he was wearing bulked him up some.  He
was wearing one of those blue coats the sailors wear... what
do they call them?"

"Pea coats?" I offer.

"Yes, pea coats.  That's it.  We see a lot of them around
town because of the naval station.  He was wearing a dark
blue pea coat.  He had a dark wool cap over his head.  I
couldn't see his hair so it must have been short, or he had it
stuffed up under the hat."

"Did he see you?"

"No, I don't think so.  I saw him look at his watch once.  It
was on his right wrist, so I'm thinking he's left-handed."

"That's very observant, Ms. Jeeves," I comment.
She smiles at me, pleased at the compliment.

"I really didn't see anything else, Agent Mulder.  I just put
the trash in the dumpster and went back inside.  If only I
had told someone, maybe little Matthew would still be with
us.  I feel very badly about it."

I can tell she does, but she's also smart enough not to blame
herself.  She knows she's not to blame for all the evils of the
world.  That's my job and I do it very well, thank you.  I ask
her a few more questions, but she's right.  There's really
nothing else.  I thank her for her time and she leaves.

Before I leave I find the principal and ask her for a list of all
the school's employees as well as anyone who comes to the
school on a regular basis, such as visiting administrators or
delivery men. She quickly gets the list together for me.
 

                     * * *
 

Three hours and three school yards later I'm back at NPD
headquarters looking for Scully. She has spent the morning
searching their computer, looking for all the known child
molesters, pedophiles, and otherwise unsavory characters in
Rhode Island.  It's such a small state that limiting the search
to just Newport would be unwise. She has compiled an
impressive list and has been coordinating efforts by the NPD
officers assigned to the case to track down and question
those who live in the Newport area.

I hand her the lists I got from the principals at the four
elementary schools.  She does a quick scan but doesn't
recognize any names.  She hands the lists off to a secretary
for a closer look and to run background checks on the
people on the school lists.

"I called Skinner," she says.  "He's assigned us to the case
officially, at the request of the NPD Chief of Police."

"Good."  I try to imagine that conversation and wonder
whether Skinner even tried to talk her out of it.  Probably
not.  Our boss isn't the type to waste his breath.

"I called the field office in Providence and spoke to the
Crimes against Children Coordinator.  He's going to send us
a response team."

"NPD hadn't done that yet?" I ask incredulously.

She sighs.  "No.  This was the first he'd heard about another
abduction in Newport.  He was going to ask BSU to send
us someone until I told him you were here."

"Yeah?  I'm not quite sure how to take that."

"He said you were the best in the business and we didn't
need anyone else."  She smiles softly.  "I think you have a
fan in Providence."

"Did he call me 'Spooky'?"

"Nope."

"Wow.  Then I'm flattered."

I feel her fingers reach for mine and for a moment I forget
that we're in a police station.  We've shared many such
moments in our seven years together but this one is special.
This time we're communicating trust in each other as clearly
as if we said the words out loud.  It's times like these that I
think my heart will burst if I don't tell her how I feel.  I hear
her stomach rumble and ask her when she ate last.

"Um....breakfast yesterday.  In Knoxville."

"Jesus, Scully.  You're going to make yourself sick.  Let's
go get something to eat."

She picks up her purse and, taking my hand, leads me to the
door.  "Come with me to Bill's.  I'll fix us something to eat
there.  I need to check on Tara."

Oh great.  Back to Bill Scully's.  It's kind of like having an
inlaw who hates me. Guess I can't avoid him forever.

                     * * *

When we arrive at the Scully residence my luck is holding.
Bill is gone.  Tara sits in the living room with her neighbor,
a young Navy wife named Jill Franks.  I'm surprised Bill had
the foresight to have someone come sit with his wife while
he was gone.  Maybe he's not the insensitive asshole I've
always believed him to be.

Tara doesn't look well and Scully gets her doctor's bag from
the car to check her sister-in-law's vitals. I feel for Tara,
knowing from personal experience what it's like to lose a
loved one under such circumstances.

Jill tells me that Bill went to the airport in Providence to
pick up his mother.  She's flying in from Fort Myers, Florida
where she had been visiting friends to escape the winter
weather.  I'm glad the matriarch of this family is coming.  In
my opinion, she's the strongest of the clan, even stronger
than Bill, though he'd probably deck me if he heard me say
it.

When Scully finishes with Tara she goes to the kitchen to
scrounge us up some lunch.  When I go in, she's slumped
over the stove watching a pot of soup come to a slow boil.
I walk up behind her and put my arms around her waist.
She leans against me and I plant a sympathetic kiss on the
top of her head.

"It's okay, Scully," I say softly.  "We'll find him."

She turns to face me and I can see the tears rolling down
her cheeks.  It breaks my heart to see Scully cry.

"Oh, Mulder," she sighs.  "You know as well as I do that
after the first twenty-four hours the chances of getting a
child back alive drop precipitously."

What can I say?  She knows the statistics as well as I do.  I
stand there for a moment holding her close, trying to think
of something comforting to say.  I can't. I can only be there
for her, whatever the outcome.

"I'll make us some sandwiches," I say at last and turn away.
In the refrigerator I find everything I need and a few
minutes later we're sitting at the table eating our lunch in
silence.  It might as well be a bowl of sand and two slaps of
cardboard for all I can tell.  I don't even notice what we're
eating.

Just as we're finishing and filling the dishwasher I hear the
front door open and the sound of Bill Scully talking to his
mother.

"Tara?" he calls out.

Scully goes to the front hall to shush him and hug her
mother.  I lurk in the background, as always not quite a
member of the family but not entirely an outsider.  Mrs.
Scully smiles at me.  Bill eyes me warily.  I decide it's time
for me to go back to work.

                     * * *

When I return to NPD the secretary hands me a legal pad
with the results of her background checks.  I scan the
information and find two items of interest.  First, Stanley
Montel, the male teacher I noticed at Newport Coastal.
Discharged from the Navy in 1994 after just one year, he
went to college and graduated in 1999.  He started teaching
at Newport Coastal at the beginning of this school year.  I
ask the secretary to find out why he was discharged before
completing his enlistment.

The second item of interest involves Garrett Rhodes, a
part-time delivery man for Shoreside Dairy.  Mr. Rhodes's
name is on all four school lists.  According to the dairy, he
delivers to the public school cafeterias in Newport.  He
served in the Navy from 1994 until 1998, when he was
honorably discharged.

All of this isn't very interesting, but what catches my eye is
his rap sheet. Arrested in 1994 at the age of 19, he was
charged with the statutory rape of a 13 year old girl.
According to the secretary's notes, the prosecutor agreed to
drop the charges if Rhodes enlisted in the Navy. Apparently
it was the Judge's idea.

I realize it's a long shot.  But it's difficult to overlook a sex
offender who had access to all of the crime scenes.  I think I
will have to pay Mr. Rhodes a visit.

Just as I'm finishing my records review, Scully arrives.
Maggie Scully will stay with Tara now.  Bill has to go back
to work.  Meanwhile, the Abduction Response Team has
arrived and is organizing volunteers to go out and beat the
bushes.

I show Scully the results of the background checks and we
agree to go visit Garrett Rhodes together.  She lets me drive
this time, occasionally giving me quiet directions.  I can tell
that the pressure is starting to wear her down.  Investigating
a child abduction is hard enough on an agent without the
added burden of being a member of the aggrieved family.

When we arrive at Rhodes's house on Devon Drive, we're
surprised to find ourselves in the high rent district.  The
house is at least 3000 square feet and the lawn is spacious
and well-manicured.  Two expensive cars are parked in the
driveway.

"Maybe I ought to get a job as a delivery man," I say.
"Looks like the money's pretty good."

Scully indulges my joke and presses the doorbell.  After a
moment, a young woman comes to the door.  She has
blonde hair and blue eyes and teeth like Jimmy Carter.  I'm
not sure why, but I take an instant dislike to her, and that's
unusual for me.

We both show our badges and identify ourselves.  She
scrutinizes them as though she actually knows what an FBI
ID should look like.  Finally she decides we're legitimate.
Scully asks whether Garrett Rhodes is in.  We're admitted
and she directs us to a formal living room to wait.

"Nice digs," I say, admiring the distinctive furniture and
tastefully appointed room.  Scully agrees and moves about
the room to examine the art work.  I ask after her mother
and she tells me we're expected to dinner tonight, at her
mother's insistence.  Leave it to Maggie Scully to try to
impose some semblance of domestic tranquility.  Under the
circumstances it's probably just what Bill and Tara need.

A young man approaches us.  He's about five foot, nine
inches tall, slender, with blonde hair and more teeth than
any one person should have.  Now I AM looking at Jimmy
Carter.  I suspect he and the young woman are brother and
sister.

"I'm Garrett Rhodes," he says.  "You're FBI agents?   You
wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Mr. Rhodes," I begin.  "I'm Agent Mulder.  This is
Agent Scully.  We'd like to ask you a few questions if you
don't mind."

He motions us to the sofa and takes a seat opposite us in a
wing-backed chair.  The young woman continues standing
in the archway and I look at her questioningly. Finally she
introduces herself as Betty Rhodes.   I'm right, she's his
sister.  She leans against the wall and gives me a blank look.
Apparently she thinks this is her business.

"Mr. Rhodes," Scully begins.  "We understand that you
make deliveries to the Newport public schools for Shoreside
Dairy."  He nods but says nothing.  "What time do you
finish your route?"

"Usually by noon."

"And then what do you do?"

"I go to college in the afternoons on Mondays, Wednesdays,
and Fridays," he says.

"What about last semester?" she asks.

"The same."

"What do you do the other days?" Scully asks.

He shrugs.  "Nothing in particular.  Study.  Work out.
Whatever.  What's this all about?"

"Mr. Rhodes," I say, deciding it's time for me to speak up.
"We're investigating the disappearance of a five year old
child from the Newport Coastal Elementary School
yesterday."  His back stiffens when I say that.  "As well as
the disappearance of three other children in Newport in
recent months."

His eyes betray his growing comprehension.  He knows we
know and I can see his breath catch.  He recovers quickly.  I
notice him look at his watch.  On his left wrist.

"What's that got to do with me?" he asks.  Peripherally, I
see his sister rolling her eyes.  'Been there, done that' is the
message she conveys.

"Your route includes every school where a child has been
taken, Mr. Rhodes," Scully says flatly, not an ounce of
accusation in her voice. "And, we can't overlook your arrest
for a sexual offense against a minor five years ago."

Rhodes puts his hands to his head and rubs his forehead as
though suddenly afflicted with a fierce headache.

"You make it sound so sordid," he says finally.  He looks at
me and in his eyes I can see the resentment of a man who
believes himself falsely accused.  This man clearly has been
scarred by what happened to him five years ago.  "She was
my girlfriend.  I was nineteen.  She told me she was
seventeen. She LOOKED seventeen.  She ACTED
seventeen.  I didn't know she was only thirteen until her
father had me arrested!"

"You like little girls do you, Mr. Rhodes?" I ask,
deliberately trying to provoke him.

His eyes widen and his fists clench.  I see a flash of anger,
but he controls it quickly.  He's resentful, but he's not
stupid.

"I am not a pedophile," he says softly.

There's an uncomfortable silence and I steal a glance at his
sister.  She is watching her brother squirm, and she looks
amused.

"Nobody said you were, Mr. Rhodes," Scully says finally.

"Where were you yesterday after you finished your route?"
I ask abruptly to see how he reacts.  Is he defiant?
Submissive?  Does he have anything to hide?  He shifts in
his seat and looks for all the world like a man with a secret.

"I was here," he finally says.
"Alone?"

He doesn't answer.

"What time did you get here, Mr. Rhodes?" Scully asks.
"How long were you here?"   I watch him nervously pick at
the seam in the arm of the chair.

"About two.... until after five," he says, raising his eyes to
meet hers.

"Were you here alone?" I ask again.

He doesn't answer me, so I turn to his sister.  "Were you
here?"  She says she was but doesn't offer to verify his
story.  This is getting frustrating.  I'm about to press the
issue when our suspect speaks up.

"I want you to leave," he says.  "I won't talk to you
anymore without a lawyer."

I look at Scully.  She motions me toward the door.  We
don't have much choice.  We don't often have to worry
about things like lawyers and Miranda rights given the
paranormal nature of most of our investigations, and it
always seems odd when we do.  I hand him one of my cards
and ask him to have his lawyer call me right away.

Walking back to the car, I ask Scully what she thinks of our
prime suspect.  She shrugs.

"He's hiding something," she says.

"That's an understatement," I mumble, thinking about the
odd vibrations I picked up from the sister.   Something
about her is bothering me, but I can't quite put my finger on
it.

When we get back to the car I don't move to start the
ignition.  Scully looks at me, puzzled.

"Lets go, Mulder."

"Go where?  I'm at a dead end."

She looks at me for a long moment and then picks up the
files lying on the seat between us.  She looks through them
for a moment and then at one in particular.

"What about this guy?  Stanley Montel.  Why do you have a
file on him?"

I shrug.  "A teacher at Matthew's school.  He looked like a
junky to me.  I had the secretary run a background check
on him."

She looks through the file for a minute.

"Not much here."

"Nope.  I asked the secretary to find out why he was
discharged without finishing his enlistment."

She shuffles through the papers and mumbles, "I can tell
you that, Mulder."

After a moment she looks up at me.  "Homosexuality.  He
was discharged for being gay."

I'm stupified.  "How can you tell?" I ask.

She points to some numbers on one of the Navy records in
the file.  "It's this code."

"You never cease to amaze me, Scully."

She smiles at that.

"I'm a Navy brat, Mulder.  It's not a magic trick."

I start the car and back us out of the driveway.  When we
get to the street I stop again.  I still don't have anywhere to
go.

"Lets go talk to him, Mulder."

"Who?  Montel?  Why?"

"All the victims are boys.  He's gay.  It's not much, but it's
something."

"Pedophilia has little to do with sexual orientation, Scully."

"Come on, Mulder.  Humor me.  You suspected him
enough to order a background check even before you knew
he was gay.  Don't you trust your own intuition anymore?"

I roll my eyes at her.  All of a sudden she trusts my screwy
intuition.  But I guess I can understand.  We have no leads.
NPD has no leads.  We might as well go talk to the guy.  At
least it will give Scully the feeling that we're accomplishing
something.

At the school the security guard remembers me and doesn't
stop us.  We find the principal and tell her we'd like to speak
to Montel.  She hesitates but after a moment she leaves to
find our man.  Scully moves to stand by the window,
looking out at the school yard in front, the yard her nephew
was taken from.  I wonder what is going on in her head.

I'm trying so hard to read Scully's mind that I don't hear the
office door open.  Scully does, though, and when she turns
to look, I turn with her.  It's Montel.  The principal shuts the
door behind him.  I motion Montel to a chair.  He is a tall,
painfully thin man with short blond hair and eyes that are
too close together.  He wrings his hands and seems to have
a nervous twitch.  He still looks like a junky to me.

"Mr. Montel," Scully begins, still standing by the window,
"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully.  This is Special Agent Fox
Mulder.  We'd like to ask you a few questions."

He looks nervously from her to me and then back to her.
"What about?" he says, and I swear his voice breaks.

"Could you tell us where you were yesterday afternoon?"

He looks puzzled.  "I was here until shortly after 4:00," he says.  Matthew
was snatched sometime between 3:00 and 3:15.  "After that, I went home."

"Why were you here that late, Mr. Montel?"  Scully asks.

"I direct the school chorus.  We have practice twice a week
from 3:00 till 4:00."

That's that, assuming we can verify it, of course, and I don't
imagine that will be too difficult.  I look at Scully and I can
see she has reached the same conclusion.

"Thank you, Mr. Montel," I say and open the door for him
to leave.  When he's gone, I turn back to Scully.

"Well, Mulder.  When you're right, you're right."

I smile at that.  I don't get to hear Scully tell me I'm right
too often.  I hand her the keys and suggest she wait for me
in the car while I verify Montel's story with the principal.
When I get to the car she is looking through Garrett
Rhodes's file.

My cell phone chirps.  It's a lawyer named Jane Elliot and
she claims to represent Garrett Rhodes.  I cover the
mouthpiece with my hand while I tell Scully.

"Thanks for calling, Ms. Elliot.  We'd like to talk to Garrett
Rhodes"

"I think you already have talked to him, Agent Mulder,
without informing him of his right not to talk to you."

Oh, she's going to play hardball, is she?

"He obviously already knew his rights, Ms. Elliot, and not
only that, he wasn't in custody at the time and it was hardly
a coercive atmosphere."  Damn, I hate lawyers sometimes.

"Nevertheless, I expect you not to speak to him again unless
I'm present."

"Agreed.  We'd like to talk to him about his whereabouts
during the recent child abductions in Newport."

"You're shooting in the dark, Agent.  I understand your
suspicion is based entirely on the fact that he happens to
deliver dairy products to the schools where the abductions
took place."

"That and his evasiveness when we questioned him, AND
his arrest five years ago for a sexual offense involving a
minor."  Take that!

"He explained that to you."  Now she's affecting the
standard lawyer's 'you're too dumb to live' tone of voice.
"When you have probable cause to believe my client may
have committed the crimes you're investigating, then I'll
consider your request to talk to him.  Until then, back off,
Agent Mulder."

<click>

Damn.  She hung up on me.

"Let me guess," Scully says.  "We can't talk to Rhodes again
unless we come up with something significant to connect
him to the crime."

"Bingo," I say.  Again I'm at a loss for what to do next.
Finally I suggest to Scully that I drop her off at NPD
headquarters to work with the Abduction Response Team
for awhile, while I go pay another visit to the schools
where the children were abducted.  Maybe the second time
will be the charm.  She agrees.

By the time I get back to the station it's after six.  Neither
the ART nor the other detectives have anything new to
report, nor do I for that matter.  Just a few suspicions with
nothing substantial to back them up.  I see Scully sitting at a
desk at the other side of the room, using the telephone.  She
looks as worn out as I feel.

I collapse into a wooden swivel chair.  Not the most
comfortable thing in the world, but right now I'm just glad
to be off my feet.  I don't know why I'm so tired. I certainly
slept well last night.  I guess it's the emotional baggage we
brought with us, and what we've picked up since we got
here.  We need some time to ourselves, away from work,
family, and anything even vaguely paranormal.  When this is
over, I'll suggest it to Scully.  A vacation together.  We've
never had one and I think that now would be a good time in
our relationship to plan one.

After a moment, Scully drags over to me.  She puts her
hands on my shoulders and squeezes softly a few times.
Ahhhh, a Scully massage.  How does she always know just
what I need?

"Come on, Mulder," she says.  "My mother is holding
dinner on us."

I don't mean to, but I let an agonized moan escape my lips.
Oh, shit.  Looks like I finally have to make nice with Bill
Scully.  I guess I can't blame him for hating me.  His sister's
devotion to me has caused the Scully family so much pain.

"Come on, Mulder," she says, pulling on my arm.  "It won't
be so bad.  Mom said she made your favorite."

I look up.  "Macaroni and cheese?"

She nods.

Damn.  Maggie Scully knows EXACTLY how to pull my
strings.

I let Scully pull me to my feet and I follow her to the car.  I
can feel her looking at me, and I know she's wondering
what's going on inside my head.  It's not easy talking to her
about this case.  Ordinarily I would tell her how helpless I
feel.  I would pour out my frustrations and bang my head
against the wall that is Scully.  I've nothing to work with.
How can I get inside the head of the killer when I know
absolutely nothing about him?  And how can I tell Scully
how helpless I feel, when it will only increase her own
despair?  I can feel her eyes studying me and I give her a
small smile even though she can easily see its insincerity.
What's one more deception among friends?

When we get to Bill's house I am once again overwhelmed
by how thoroughly Maggie Scully has accepted me into her
family.  She hugs me, calls me 'Fox,' and fusses over me in a
way my mother never does.  The whole time I can see Bill
lurking in the background, probably trying to find some way
to blame me for his son's disappearance.  I swear that if it
turns out that that smoking bastard had ANYTHING to do
with this, I will kill him with my bare hands, even if he is, as
he claims, my biological father.

After the hustle and bustle of our arrival, Maggie and Tara
return to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner.
I follow Scully into the living room and stand next to her by
the picture window.  Bill follows us in carrying a beer.  He
stands a few feet away, glaring at me.  I try to ignore him
and listen instead to Scully tell me a story from her
childhood in Newport.  Evidently Bill can't stand being
ignored and I hear him clear his throat.

"What I want to know, Mulder, is what the hell you're doing
here."

Scully and I turn in unison to look at him.  He can't be
drunk.  At least, not THAT drunk.

"I'm trying to find your son, Bill," I say with more
equanimity than I had thought I could ever muster with Bill
Scully.

He continues to glare and after a moment Scully continues
her story in a soft voice meant just for me.

"I hope to hell you aren't going to try to tell us he was
abducted by little green men," Bill blares out, evidently
spoiling for a fight.  Man, he knows JUST how to piss me
off.  I start to take a step in his direction, but I stop when
Scully lays a gentle hand on my arm and whispers to let it
go.

Maggie calls us to dinner.  I look at Bill.  He looks at me.
He knows better than start something just as his mother is
about to serve up dinner.  He walks over to his chair at the
head of the table and I hear Scully let out a low sigh of
relief.  We switch roles for a moment as she puts her hand
on the small of my back and gently guides me toward a seat
next to her and as far away from Bill as possible.  Just as I'm
about to take my seat, my cell phone chirps.

Bill shoots me a look of disgust as though he thinks I dialed
myself somehow just to interrupt dinner time at the Scully
house.  I don't rise to the bait.  Instead, I leave the room to
take the call in the hallway.  I look back and see Scully
watching me with concern.  She knows if there's a break in
the case they're more likely to call me than her.  She's too
close.  She shouldn't even be working this case, but I'm not
about to tell her that.  I don't need to tell her.  She knows it
already.

I listen intently to the voice on the phone and make a few
noncommittal grunting sounds.  I can tell from the deafening
silence in the dining room that the whole family is hanging
on my every word.  I return to the dinner table and try to
give Maggie and Tara a reassuring look.

"We need to go, Scully.  I mean Dana."  Damn, it's
confusing having a room full of people named Scully.
"NPD needs our help with something."

Scully looks at me and we communicate in that magical way
we have.  I help her into her coat and thank Maggie when
she promises to save me some macaroni and cheese.  I
glance at Bill and for the first time I see raw fear in his face.
He knows I wouldn't whisk us away from this table if it
weren't something big.  Our eyes meet and I swear there's
some kind of communication between us too.  With one
look he both apologizes and pleads with me to find his
son....alive.  Jesus.  I've got to get out of here.

When we get outside I tell Scully to drive.  We need to go
someplace called 'Planter's Hill' outside the city.  She says
she knows where it is.

"What's waiting for us at Planter's Hill?" she asks me over
the roof of the car.  I take a deep breath and meet her eyes.

"A body."

She looks at me.  She knows I would tell her if I knew
more.  It's a body.  It might be her nephew.  It might not be.
We're frozen for a moment, the car between us keeping me
from reaching out to her and promising everything will be
all right.  It's just as well.  I shouldn't make promises I might
not be able to keep.

We ride in silence to Planter's Hill.

                                 * * *

on to part 2!
 
 
 

______________

Keleka
My small but growing collection of fanfiction
and my X-Files fanfiction recommendations can be
found at: http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/
ICQ: 3341000

From: Keleka <Keleka@compaq.net>

From: Keleka <keleka@compaq.net>

Four Final Words, pt. 2/2
By Keleka
Email: keleka@compaq.net
Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys, Xemplary, etc.
Rating: R, for language and for themes concerning child
abuse and death.
Spoiler Warning: Seventh season up to Orison.
Content Statement: M/S UST; MSR
Classification: SRA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance
Archive: Sure!  It'd be nice if you told me so I could visit
and have my ego stroked.
Category: S, MSR

Summary: Mulder and Scully search for Scully's missing
nephew, and maybe for something else as well.  Threequel
to my Orison Post Ep, "Four Words," and "Four Final
Words."  If you missed them, you can find them at my
website at http://home.compaq.net/~keleka/

Timeline: New Year's Eve coming over a month early in the
XF world didn't help things.  This takes place three weeks
after Orison, and before any of the postOrison episodes
take place.  Let's make it very early in February. All three of
these stories take place in a period of five days.

Disclaimer: Get real!  If I owned this cash cow, do you
really think I'd be living in Mississippi?  Have you ever
BEEN to Mississippi?

Feedback:  I swear I didn't intend for "Four Words" to start
a trilogy, but the characters had other ideas.  I think all the
positive feedback just went to their heads.  I'm sure they
(and I) would love more.

Author's Note: Huge steaming piles of thanks to TBishop27
who continues to encourage me, God help her; to brat and
brandi, who tolerate me and are beyond God's help; to zephathah, for some
good advice; and especially to Shoshana, who goes above and beyond the call
of duty every day.

My Newport, Rhode Island has virtually nothing in common
with the real one.  Yes, there is a naval station there, and
yes the Naval War College is there, along with the Surface
Warfare Officer's School, the Naval Justice School, and
several other navy career schools.  Other than that, my
Newport is entirely a figment of my imagination.  The
Newport Police Department very kindly answered some
questions, and several people offered to feed me info about
the real Newport, but I finally just decided to heck with it.
That doesn't diminish the charity and kindness of their
offers, just my patience and willingness to let real life
interfere with my fantasy.
 
 

Four Final Words, part 2/2
by Keleka
 

Two hours later we're just about finished at Planter's Hill.
The coroner's office has packed up the body and is
preparing to transport it to the morgue for Scully to
autopsy.

I'm thankful it wasn't her nephew.  It was bad enough as it
was.  A little Asian boy.  It's probably the first victim and it's
obvious he'd been dead for awhile.  I'm standing just a few
feet from where he was found, staring at the spot,
visualizing the horrific sight that met us when we arrived.

A search team had found the boy's body under a pile of
leaves with his feet sticking out.  The body had been placed
there recently, maybe only a matter of days.  His mouth was
covered with a wide swatch of duct tape that was wrapped
around his head several times.  His arms, hands, and feet
were also duct taped tightly.  I'm sure he could barely move.

I watched as Scully examined the scene while we waited for
the technicians to begin excavating the body.  The look of
relief on her face when she saw that it wasn't Matthew was
immediately replaced with a look of horror at the sight of
the dead boy, and then, just as quickly, by the dispassionate
face of Special Agent Dana Scully.  She gave the
technicians some special instructions and then moved aside
to stand with me to survey the scene.

"What kind of person can do this?" she says.

I want to reach for her to comfort her, but I know she won't
permit it.  Not here.  Not in front of half the Newport police
force.  It's too important to her to be the stoic Agent Scully
in the presence of her male colleagues in the field.  She has
let that facade slip only a few times in the seven years I've
known her.

"A sociopath," I say after a moment.  "Someone with no
regard for any life other than his own."

She nods.  It's one thing to intellectualize the bastard's
motive, but quite another thing to know that a real person
committed this crime.  Someone whose friends probably
think is a great guy.  Hell, Ted Bundy snookered some
mighty sophisticated people into thinking he was the boy
next door.

Before we leave I ask the crime scene photographer to
make an extra set of prints for me and get them to me as
soon as possible.  Finally I have something to work with and
I don't want to waste any time getting started.  Neither does
Scully, it seems, as she tells me she wants to do the autopsy
tonight.

I offer to go with her to the morgue but she says it's not
necessary.  She drops me off at NPD Headquarters and I
watch with trepidation as she drives off.  There are some
things Scully just has to do alone and autopsying this poor
child is one of them.  The last thing she wants is me
hovering about picking at the cracks in her emotional armor.

At NPD I commandeer a desk in the detective's room and
resume pouring over the records of each case, looking for
anything they might have in common.  Something has been
in the back of mind since our conversation with Garrett
Rhodes this afternoon and I find a calendar so I can pursue
it.  I check the dates and discover that all four abductions
were on either a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, between
the hours of two o'clock and five o'clock, precisely the days
and times Rhodes would not account for.

As I had requested, the secretary has opened a file on
Garrett Rhodes.  There's not much in it yet, just his service
record and a few odds and ends.  I scan his Navy record for
anything interesting.  His rating was "molder," whatever
that is, and he made it to Petty Officer Third Class by the
end of his enlistment.  He spent one year at sea on an
aircraft carrier, and had nothing but "above average"
evaluations from his superiors.  Looks like he kept his nose
squeaky clean the whole four years.

One of the odds and ends is a photocopy of an obituary
from the local paper.  It's his father, a John Jacob Rhodes,
and from the looks of it, he was an important man in this
state.  That explains the house.  The obit is dated just a few
weeks after Garrett Rhodes was arrested.  It says that J.J.
Rhodes was survived by his wife, Hester, his son, and a
daughter.  I look through the rest of the file and see nothing
about Garrett's mother or sister.  I make a note and ask the
secretary to follow up on it in the morning.

I go off in search of some coffee and find the crime scene
photographer who hands me an envelope full of prints.  This
guy's a Speedy Gonzalez in the darkroom, but then, I don't
guess he has a huge backlog of work in a little burg like
Newport.

Back in the detective's room I'm struck by how quiet it is.
Another perk of small town life.  A big city detective's room
would be hopping at this time of night. There's even an
empty sofa by the radiator where I can hoard some heat while I
look over the gruesome pictures and drink my coffee.

The picture on top of the pile shows the undisturbed scene
as the searchers found it.  A small pile of leaves.  It could
easily have been overlooked had the boy's red tennis shoes
not been prominently exposed.  My impression is that this
was not an attempt to hide the body.  He wanted us to find
it.

The next pictures show the body with the leaves removed.
The child is practically mummified with duct tape.  It's
wrapped around him tightly and appears to be one piece
around his arms and chest, another around his legs, and a
third around his mouth.  His eyes are wide open and blank
with the cold, dark stare of death.  The tape shows signs of
stress, as though the child had struggled against it.  There's
no obvious cause of death.

Scully already asked the question.  What kind of person
could do this?  That's the question I hope to answer
sufficiently to help us narrow down the search.  Certainly
male.  Probably mid 20s to early 30s.  But that describes the
probable perpetrator of seventy-five percent of crime in
America.  I need more if I'm to get inside this guy's head.

I hear someone whispering my name and realize with a start
that I've fallen asleep.  The warmth of the radiator beside
me and comfort of the plush sofa put me out like a light.  I
look at my watch.  It's just before one o'clock.  I've been
asleep for an hour.

"Mulder?"

It's Scully.  She has reached for my shoulder and shaken me
gently.  I must have really been out.  I can tell by the drawn
look on her face that she is exhausted, physically and
emotionally.  She sees the pictures spilled out on the sofa
beside me and closes her eyes tightly, backing away from
the sofa.  I quickly pull them together and return them to
the envelope.  I stand and lean into her space.
"Scully?"

She raises her eyes and looks at me, then quickly looks
away.  I'm afraid that with that one look I've pried open her
emotional armor and now we need to get out of here.
Quickly.  Toward that end, I pull together my files and
guide her out through the police station to the parking lot.
She stops at the car door and looks over the hood at me.
We seem to be having half our conversations over the top of
the car lately.

"Mulder, I don't want to go back to Bill's tonight."

Hallelujah.

"Do you mind if we just order a pizza back at the motel?"

"Suits me," I say, realizing suddenly just how hungry I am.

She keeps her head turned toward the side window as we
drive the few miles to the Hampton Inn.  She's quiet and
tense and it worries me when she's like this.  Something
about the autopsy is weighing on her.  And I mean
something other than the youth and innocence of the victim.
She'll tell me when she's ready.  While we're stopped at a
light I reach over and take her hand.  I give her hand a
gentle squeeze and she turns to look at me, her eyes filled
with unshed tears.  I know that look.  Her struggle not to
cry is constricting her throat.

"It's okay, Scully," I say, thinking to myself that it damned
well isn't okay.  "I understand."  But I don't really.  I don't
understand why Scully can't have even a day of peace to
recover from one trauma before having another thrust upon
her.  She offers me a weak smile and turns back to the
window.  I drive one-handed the rest of the way to the
motel.

An hour later we are seated side-by-side on the sofa in the
motel room, an open pizza box on the coffee table.  Scully
has nibbled on a single slice until she has eaten almost
all of it.  I've scarfed down three slices before leaning back
and waiting for Scully to tell me about the autopsy.  It's a
good thing I'm a patient man.

"He died of dehydration and starvation," she says finally.
"There's no indication of any physical harm or abuse.  He
was simply restrained and left to die."

I'm stunned.  I had expected her to tell me that the victim
had been strangled or poisoned, and had begun my profiling
with that in mind.  But this!  This was....inexplicable.

I look at Scully and I can see that she is watching closely for
my reaction.  She wants to know whether I find this as
repulsive as she does.  What kind of person kidnaps a child
for no apparent reason other than to starve it to death?  This
was not just a sociopath.  This was something else.

I open my mouth to say something but before I can I see
Scully's eyes undergo a remarkable transformation.  Since
we left D.C. she's been playing the part of a victim herself;
she's been depressed, distressed, and emotionally drained.
She's gone through the motions of the investigation, but it's
been obvious she'd already given up any hope of finding her
nephew alive.

But now that she's seen the surprise and horror in my eyes,
hers have shown a flash of anger.  It's an anger I am glad is
not directed at me.  Her body practically bristles with
indignation and I can see that she's ready for business now.
Her lips purse as she's about to speak.

"Bastard!"

Again she startles me.  I think I can count on the fingers of
one hand all the times I've ever heard Scully use strong
language.

"Yes," I agree softly.  "Yes, he is."

The information flows freely now.  In a strong voice, she
tells me her findings.  There was little decomposition, which
wouldn't be unusual considering the below freezing
temperature that has gripped Rhode Island for several
weeks.  However, the victim was abducted in September
and, Scully estimates, has been dead for months.  This
suggests that the body was preserved somehow, perhaps in
a refrigeration unit, and only recently dumped in the woods.
In fact, the entomological evidence suggests that the body
had been there for only a few hours!

I listen intently as Scully continues her litany of horror.  She
describes the boy's death to me in clinical terms that she has
inured herself to but which nauseate me.

"There were no prints, not even on the duct tape," she tells
me.

"Scully, I"

"He might still be alive, Mulder.  We've got to find him."

For the first time since we've been here, I see a glimmer of
hope in Scully's eyes.  We have something to work with
now, and already in the back of my mind I'm calculating the
meaning of the new information.  Right now, though,  I'm
too tired to concentrate.

As though reading my mind, Scully looks at her watch and
yawns.

"It's 2:00 a.m., Mulder.  Let's get some sleep and get a fresh
start in the morning."

Her yawning is infectious and I'm overtaken by a weariness
I hadn't felt just an hour ago.  While she's in the bathroom
preparing for bed, I strip to my boxers, hang up my suit, and
turn down the bed.  When it's my turn in the bathroom, I
shut the door to keep the steam in while I shower.

Fifteen minutes later, wearing just my boxers, and
towel-drying my hair, I leave the bathroom and walk right
into a nightmare.  Scully is sitting on her side of the bed.
Standing just inside the door is her brother, Bill.  My eyes
widen when I see him, and for at least a moment I'm sure I
must resemble a deer caught in the headlights.  I'm not sure
what to do.  If I get in bed, he's sure to go ballistic.  I don't
even have a bathrobe to cover-up with.  About the only
thing I can do is get dressed.

Before I can do that, however, Bill lets out an exasperated
sigh and tells Scully she always did have terrible taste in
lovers.  I clench my fists but hold my tongue.  I'll leave it to
Scully to defend her taste in men herself.  Then Bill does the
unforgivable.  He looks me, and says, "You had to flaunt it
under my nose that you're fucking my baby sister, didn't
you, you son of a bitch?"

I don't realize what I've done until I've blown across the
room and shoved Bill up against the wall.  My forearm is
pressed against his throat, cutting off his air.  He clutches at
my arm and tries to kick my feet out from under me.  He
quits when I introduce his groin to my knee.  Vaguely I hear
Scully behind me calling my name, but I ignore her.  I've had
enough of this arrogant bastard and I'm not going to take it
anymore.

"How many people have you killed, Bill?" I hiss in a voice
so sinister I almost don't recognize it as my own.

He doesn't answer me, so I hitch my arm up under his chin.
I'm sure I must look out of control, but I know what I'm
doing now, and I know I'm not going to back down from
this bully.  That's what Bill Scully is, after all.  A bully.  He's
bigger than I am, and he thinks he's tougher than I am, but
I'm going to prove to him once and for all that he'd better
not mess with me.

"I asked you how many people you've killed, Bill."

He works his lips and after a moment manages to croak out
an answer.

"None."

"Damned right you haven't," I say.  "I've killed many times,
Bill.  I've faced down monsters and  I've looked into the
eyes of the devil himself.  I'm not afraid of you.  And if I
ever hear you talk about your sister that way again, so help
me, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

I let go of him and he lurches toward his sister, gasping for
air.  Scully looks at him for a moment and then stands and
steps to my side, taking my arm and running her hand over
mine in a quieting manner.  Bill straightens up and looks at
her incredulously.  He visibly deflates then and without
another word leaves our room.

My heart is pounding now and I hear Scully whispering
soothing sounds to me.  She takes me in her arms and hugs
me.

"I'm sorry, Scully," I say softly.

"I'm not.  Let's go to bed, Mulder."

A few minutes later I find myself falling asleep with my arms
full of Scully.

                          ***

It's just a few hours later when I wake to the sound of my
cell phone chirping.  When I reach for it on the nightstand,
Scully stirs against me and I feel myself becoming aroused.
'Down, boy,' I think.  'No sense getting all dressed up when
you've got no place to go.'  I wonder for a moment whether
Scully would be horrified or delighted if she knew how my
body reacts to having her so close.  Finally I get the phone
open.

Damn.  They've found another body, only a mile from the
first.  I slip out of bed and go to the bathroom to wash up
and brush my teeth.  I let Scully grab a few more precious
moments of sleep before I wake her.  Looking at her
peaceful face I wonder whether she finds a few hours of
sleep pressed against my side as refreshing as I do.
Reluctantly I wake her and tell her the news.  While she
pulls herself together I run down to the lobby to grab us
some bagels and juice from the breakfast buffet.  In the
seven years we've been partners, I don't think I've ever
picked a motel with king-sized beds and a breakfast buffet.
Leave it to Scully to do it right.

By six o'clock we're back at Planter's Hill.  The scene is
virtually identical to what we found last night.  One
fully-dressed, duct-taped little boy, covered with leaves
except for his protruding feet.  There's no doubt in my mind
now.  The killer is playing with us.  He wants us to find
these bodies, and he wants us to find them now.

The good news is, it's not Matthew Scully.  Scully almost
cries out in relief this time.  I'm sure I'm the only one who
notices.  She covers her mouth with one hand and pretends
it was a yawn, but I know better.  I squeeze her shoulder to
reassure her.  There's still a chance.  Just as the body is
loaded into the coroner's wagon and we're about to leave, a
call comes over the police radio.  The Explorer Scouts
working a section of Planter's Hill about a mile west of us
have found another body.

The members of the investigative team climb into their
respective vehicles and head for the new location down the
narrow dirt road that runs through these woods.  I almost
feel like a Keystone Kop, being led by my nose from body
to body, and accomplishing very little.  The killer is telling
me more about himself than he probably realizes though.  I'll
discuss my thoughts with Scully after we see what this body
tells us.

When we arrive, I ask Scully to stay in the car until I've
checked it out.  I've seen pictures of Matthew and I think I
would recognize him.  But she will have none of it and
strides through the woods ahead of me.  If only there were a
God I could pray to, I'd be praying now for it not to be
Matthew Scully.

As I approach the scene Scully turns suddenly, her hand
over her mouth and her eyes wide and distressed.  Shit!  It
must be Matthew.  I grasp her arms with my hands.

"Scully?"

She doesn't raise her head to look at me.

"It's not him, Mulder.  It's not him."

I put my arms around her for a moment, and, surprisingly,
she doesn't resist.  When I release her we both step back to
the scene.  It's just like the other two.  We watch the
technicians as they excavate the body.  Same damned M.O.

"This isn't a pedophile, Scully," I say as we watch the
technicians search the body and the site for trace evidence.
"This isn't about sex.  There's something else going on
here."

Scully is quiet, and I know that means she's still feeling too
overwhelmed with emotions to respond.  I take her arm and
nudge her to come with me.  What I want to say, I don't
want anyone to overhear.  We move a few feet away and I
lean down close.

"I don't think you should do these autopsies, Scully," I say.
"Let the state coroner do them."

"Don't be ridiculous, Mulder," she says angrily and starts to
pull away from me. I grab her arm and stop her.

"Scully, please...."

"Mulder, I'm fine."

She says it with such resolve that anyone else would have
believed her.  I pull her to me and wrap my arms around.  I
put my lips close to her ear and whisper, "You don't have to
pretend with me, Scully."

I feel her body go rigid for a moment.  She pushes away
from me and my hands slide down her arms until I'm holding
her loosely by the wrists.  She raises her face to me and
looks into my eyes.

"I know I don't, Mulder.  But I have to do this."

I let her go then, knowing I must, and she slips away.  I
watch as she oversees the removal of the body to the
coroner's van.  She stops to tell me she'll catch a ride to the
morgue with the coroner and will meet me at NPD
headquarters later.

A few minutes after the coroner's van pulls away, a
patrolman approaches me with a small ziplock baggie.

"Look what I found about twenty feet over there, Agent
Mulder," he says, pointing west.  He hands me the baggie.
"It's probably not connected to the crime, but I thought you
might want to see it.

I hold it up for a good look.  It's a ballpoint pen, the kind a
company might have made up to give away as advertising.
Printed on the barrel were the words, "Shoreside Dairy."
A thought comes to me and I jump in the car to go back to
NPD headquarters to check it out.

When I get there I take the baggie to the desk sergeant and
ask him to have his fingerprint technician process it
immediately and bring me the results.  He gives me a file
with some information I had requested yesterday.   In the
detective's room, I go to the map the detective's have on the
wall.  There are four red pins in it representing the locations
of the schools where the children were taken.  One blue pin
represents the location at Planter's Hills where the body was
found yesterday.

Planter's Hill is a large public recreational area west of the
city.  It's largely wooded, but contains several soccer fields
used by the local youth leagues and, near its southern
border, a modest-sized pond used for fishing tournaments in
the summer and ice skating in the winter.

While I stand here staring at the map, trying to make sense
of the jumble of thoughts that are scrambling around my
brain, a detective arrives who had just been with me at
Planter's Hill.  I call him over to the map.

"Where would you put pins for the two bodies we found
today?" I ask.

He studies the map for a moment and then picks up two
blue pins and sticks them in the map.  One is a little west of
the first pin and the third is a little west of that.  The bodies
are being dumped from east to west in pretty much a
straight line.

I point to the road on the western border of Planter's Hill
and ask him what's there.

"That's the Shoreside Dairy plant and depot," he says.
"Why?"

I realize he doesn't know anything about Garrett Rhodes
and right now I don't have the time to tell him.

"Where would Devon Drive be on this map?" I ask

He points to a road running along the southern boundary of
Planter's Hill, close to the pond, just a few miles from
where we found the first body.  Something about this
doesn't feel right, but the signs are pointing more and more
to Garrett Rhodes.

I think about what's nagging at me.  It's the timing, for one
thing.  No clues for months and then as soon as we target
Garrett Rhodes as a potential suspect, clues start popping
up all over the place.  And it's the placement of the bodies,
for another thing.  They're being positioned in a way that
practically POINTS to the dairy where Rhodes works.  If
it's not Rhodes, someone is going to an awful lot of trouble
to make it look like it is.

I carry the file the desk sergeant gave me over to the sofa
and sit down to read.  I scan the information in the file and
begin to put together the pieces that have been nagging at
me.

I open my cell phone and punch in Scully's number.  It takes
her a minute to answer so she must be elbow deep in the
autopsies.  Her voice is thin and shaky when she answers.
Autopsies on three children in less than twenty-four hours
has to be wearing her down.

"Scully, it's me.  Have you found anything?"

I hear her sigh.  "I just finished the first boy we found this
morning, Mulder.  It's victim number two, the Thompson
boy.  Exactly the same as the first one.  No prints, but we
did find a hair on the duct tape."

"A hair?  Human?"

"Yes.  I sent it to the lab for tests."

"We don't have time for tests, Scully.  If we're going to find
Matthew alive, it's going to have to be today.  Scully, I
think you should get over here right away."

"Mulder," she says, sounding exasperated.  "I still have the
other autopsy to do."

"Forget it, Scully.  I've already got the clue we were meant
to find from that one."

She's silent for a moment.

"I'll be right there, Mulder."

By the time Scully arrives I've got the results of the
fingerprint test on the ball point pen.  The technician lifted a
partial thumb print from the pen and it matched perfectly
with the prints in Garrett Rhodes's military record.  Scully
tells me the hair she found was human and blonde.

That's enough for me, and apparently it's enough for the
Magistrate too; he issues me an arrest warrant for
Garrett Rhodes and a search warrant for the Rhodes
property.   I  tell the detectives what we're doing and they
grab a couple of uniforms and an evidence technician and
follow us out to the Rhodes house.

Just as we're about to knock on the door to Rhodes's house
I call Jane Elliot and tell her what's coming down, figuring
the sooner she gets there the sooner we might be able to
interrogate Rhodes.  She says she'll be right over.  When
Rhodes opens the door, I step aside to let the detectives
execute the arrest warrant and cuff him.  I tell him his
attorney is on the way.  One of the uniforms stays with
Rhodes while the rest of us fan out to search the property.  I
go to the backyard to check out some out buildings I
noticed back there when we pulled up.

The smaller of the two buildings is a tool shed.  I find two
unopened rolls of duct tape, but that's not unusual.  What
home owner doesn't have duct tape?

The larger building almost looks like the "doll house" my
dad built for Samantha in the back yard.  She spent hours
out there, having tea parties with her dolls, and playing
house.  Sometimes I would let her talk me into playing
house with her.

This building is larger than my sister's doll house, but it's
been freshly painted and has shudders and a window box
next to the door.  I try the doorknob and it's locked.
Cupping my hands around my eyes, I try to see through the window.  I can't
see much, but I do see what looks like a refrigerator in one corner.  I go
back to the door and shoulder it open.
Not much light comes in the building's one window.  I feel
around on the wall next to the door until I find the light
switch.  When the overhead light comes on, I see a duct
taped bundle lying very still on a twin bed in the far corner
of the room.  Matthew!

I press my fingers against his neck and I can feel a pulse.
He's alive.  He's also ducttaped like the other three.  I
carefully pull the tape from his mouth and he moans.  He's
alive but he's not in great shape.

I reach for my phone and quickly dial Scully.

"I found Mathew, in the large out building.  He's alive.  Call
911 and get out here!"

I shove my phone back in my pocket and pull out my
handkerchief.  I move to the nearby sink and soak it in cold
water and then return to Matthew, pressing the wet
handkerchief against his lips.  He's probably not had any
water in nearly three days.

I hear a noise behind me and assume it's Scully.  When I
turn I see a blur as a figure wearing a blue peacoat and a
blue wool cap rushes up.  Then I see a baseball bat swinging
at my head.  I raise my arm in time to prevent a
scullcrushing blow, but it still knocks me down and
senseless for a minute.

The next thing I see is Scully bending over me, her face
filled with worry.

"Where is he, Mulder?  What happened?"

She's checking my head and I see the blood on her fingers
when she pulls back her hand.  I struggle to stand up with
her help.

"It's Betty Rhodes," I say.  "She's got Matthew."  I stumble
out the door and around the side of the building.  In the
distance I can see a blue clad figure carrying a small bundle
running toward the pond.

"There!" I shout, pointing,  and take off after her with
Scully fast on my heels.  My head is pounding as I race
across the frozen ground.  She's fifty yards ahead of me
but I'm catching up.

"Federal Agent!" I yell.  "Stop right there!"

It does no good and just wastes my breath.  I start to feel a
cramp in my side, reminding me that I'm not a young man
anymore.  Between the cramp and the pounding in my head,
I'm not sure I'm going to be able to catch her.

I've closed the gap to thirty yards when she veers out onto
the frozen pond.

"No!" screams Scully from about ten yards behind me.  We
both stop at the side of the pond.  It's frozen and there's ice
skate marks close to the shore, but we don't know how safe
it is that far out.

Betty Rhodes is in the center of the pond now and shows no
sign of stopping.  I take a few gulps of air and take off after
her over the frozen pond.  I'm probably about thirty feet
from her when I hear the ice begin to crack.  I stop as
quickly as I can on the ice, trying to see where it's cracking.
Scully pulls up beside me.  We watch in horror as the ice
under Betty Rhodes opens and she tumbles in, taking
Matthew with her.

I hear Scully scream, "Matthew!" and without another
thought I race out to the hole in the ice.  I can't see anyone.
I yell back at Scully to call for help, take my weapon out of
its holster, put it in my coat pocket, and throw my coat back
in her direction.  Then I plunge in.

The recent blow to my head probably exaggerates the shock
of the frigid water.  It almost knocks me out. When I open
my eyes I can see Betty Rhodes struggling to find the
opening in the ice.  Just behind her I see Matthew.  I reach
for his foot,  pull him to me, and then turn up to find the
hole in the ice.

Jesus.  Where is it?  I can see Betty Rhodes off to my left
pounding her fists on the ice.  She won't last much longer.
Neither will I if I don't find the opening.  Just then I see a
hand plunge down into the water, its fingers flexing.  It's
Scully!  I swim for her hand and when I reach it I push
Matthew up to her.  I push my head up after him and take a
great gulp of air.  There's a rope lying next to the hole and I
can see policemen on the shore have the other end.  Scully
is moving across the ice as quickly as she dares carrying
Matthew.  I pull myself up using the rope and then across
the ice until I am a safe distance from the thin ice.  I
struggle to get to my feet and race after Scully.

"He's not breathing," she says when I reach her.  "His
heart's not beating."  She's frantically cutting away the tape
with a pen knife one of the detectives hands her.  I tilt
Matthew's head back, clear his air passages,  and start
blowing soft puffs of air into his mouth.  Scully begins
administering CPR and we quickly fall into a steady rhythm.
I'm vaguely aware that Scully is whispering something
beneath her breath, but breathing for two is making me far
too lightheaded to be concerned with what she is saying.

I'm beginning to think we've lost him when suddenly he
coughs up some water and starts breathing.  He's not out of
the woods but the EMTs have arrived and are racing toward
us with a stretcher.

I fall back on the ground, exhausted and dizzy.  I'm shaking
hard from the cold and my head is pounding from the blow I
took earlier.  A uniformed officer has gone out on the ice to
recover my coat and brings it to me.  Scully helps me stand
and put it on and then throws a blanket around me as well.

"Let's go, Mulder.  We need to get you to the hospital too.
I've called Mom.  They'll meet us  there."

I'm too freaking cold to argue with her and I let her lead me
to the car.  I pass out on the way and when I come to I'm
stripped of my wet clothes and lying naked in a hospital bed
with just a blanket between me and an indecent exposure
charge.

Scully stands beside me holding my hand but talking to
one of the NPD detectives.  He's telling her that the State
Police Rescue Squad have pulled Betty Rhodes's body
out of the pond.

I struggle to sit up, being careful to keep the blanket
wrapped around me.   Scully turns to me and smiles.
"Welcome back," she says.

"How long have I been out?"

"About an hour."

"That long?!  How's Matthew?"

Scully's still holding my hand and I can feel her thumb
making small circles on my palm.

"He's in serious condition, but he's going to make it," she
says.  "Thanks to you."  She reaches for my face with her
other hand and lays it gently against my cheek, brushing her
thumb over my lower lip.

"Mulder, how did you know it was Betty Rhodes and not
her brother?"

"A crazy leap of logic," I say, smiling against her thumb.
"Their father died shortly after Garrett was arrested.  The
stress made an invalid of their mother.  Betty had to drop
out of college to come home to take care of their mother
while brother Garrett got to see the world courtesy of Uncle
Sam.  I'm willing to bet she blamed him for disgracing the
family, causing their father's death and their mother's illness,
and for ruining her own career plans."

"So her motive was revenge?"

"That and her mother's estimated $3.2 million dollars in
assets.  With Garrett in prison, Hester Rhodes would be
entirely dependent on her daughter.  It would be easy for
Betty to get her mother to cut Garrett out of the will.  Of
course, I'm just speculating, and with Betty Rhodes dead,
there's no way we can confirm any of it."

"One thing I CAN confirm," she says, "is why Garrett
refused to reveal his alibi.  Apparently he spends Tuesday
and Thursday afternoons in bed with his girlfriend."

"Let me guess.....an underage girl."

She nods.  Jesus.  He was the perfect patsy for his sister.
She just about had him locked in a steel frame.
"Scully, there's something I need to ask you," I say
hesitantly.

She looks at me patiently.

"When we were giving Matthew CPR......you were
praying."

She smiles enigmatically.

"Does this mean ... "

"It means I'm trying, Mulder.  I'm trying."

I understand.  I really do.  Sometimes it's just too hard to
believe, no matter how much you want to.  The key, I think,
is the wanting.  Scully will find her way back to her God if
it's important enough to her.

"Fox!"

Maggie Scully enters the room, with Bill close behind
her.  I can't put on much of a tough guy act in my current
predicament so I hope Bill is on his best behavior.

Maggie hugs me and kisses me on the cheek.  "Fox, Dana
told us what you did.  How can we ever thank you?"

I smile.  "I'd love to have some of that homemade macaroni
and cheese I missed out on last night."

"No leftovers for you, Fox.   I'll make a fresh batch just for
you as soon as you're out of here."  She kisses me on the
cheek again and steps away.

Bill is looking at me, and for once I don't see contempt in
his eyes.  He steps forward and for a moment he looks at
the floor.

"Mulder....."

I wait.  Sorry, Bill, but I'm not going to make this too easy
on you.

"Mulder..." he says again.  Then he lifts his head and I see
everything I need to know in his eyes.  Bill Scully is not
going to be a problem anymore.  "Thank you....for my son's
life."  He offers me his hand and I take it without hesitation.
I wonder what life will be like without the specter of Bill
Scully looming over me every time I try to imagine a future
with his sister.  Out of the corner of my eye I see Scully
smiling radiantly.

After Bill and Maggie leave, Scully nags me until I lie down
again.  She wants me to rest.  She's going home with her
family and will be back in the morning with my suitcase.
The doctor said I can leave then if there are no further
complications from my near death experiences with Betty
Rhodes's baseball bat and the icy depths of Planter's Pond.
Before she leaves, Scully gives me a gentle, chaste kiss on
my lips, and I spend the next hour pondering its meaning
until I fall asleep.

                                  * * *

I awaken in the morning when a nurse comes in to check on
me.  She's followed by a food service worker who brings
me what turns out to be the BEST hospital food I've ever
had.  Of course, the fact that I haven't eaten since the bagel
and juice I snatched from the Hampton Inn yesterday
morning might have something to do with it.  Still, when
two teenage Candy Stripers come to pick up my tray, I
ask them to give the chef my compliments.  It sends them
off in a blaze of giggles and as they leave I hear one of them
whisper, "he's cute!"   I may be nearly forty, but I've still
got it!

The doctor comes in then and spends some time looking
into my eyes and checking my vitals.  Finally he pronounces
me fit to leave but advises me to take it easy for a few days.
This is one doctor's advice I plan to take.  As soon as he's
gone I jump in the shower to wash off the slimy feeling of
Planter's Pond.  I'm standing at the bathroom mirror
combing my hair, a towel wrapped around my waist for
modesty, when Scully arrives with my suitcase.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Like a million dollars," I say, leaning down to kiss her
cheek.  "Thanks for bringing my things.  How's Matthew?"
"Much better," she says.  "He was awake when we got here
and alert enough to recognize Tara and Bill."

I smile, knowing those are good signs.

Scully steps out into the hall while I get dressed.  I opt for
casual and pull on jeans, a shirt, and the blue commando
sweater Scully gave me for Christmas last year.  I open the
door and call her back in while I'm putting on socks and
shoes.

"Mulder," she says pensively, "I was thinking"

"So was I, Scully, and I have a proposition for you."

"Proposition?"  she says, unsuccessfully trying to suppress
an evil grin.  "I'm not sure how to take that."

I stand and put my arms around her, pulling her close.

"I'll show you how you should take it," I say, leaning down
and moving my lips close to hers.  I hesitate knowing that it
has to be her choice, and after a moment, she closes the
distance between us and presses her lips to mine.  My third
Scully kiss this year.  I'm on a roll.

When our lips part she smiles at me just like she did on New
Year's Eve, and this time I don't spoil it by saying something
stupid.  I let my eyes do my talking this time, and her smile
stays and deepens.

Finally I say what's been on my mind all morning.  "Scully,
let's go away for a few days.  A long weekend.  Just us.  A
vacation.  Someplace warm.  Someplace....romantic."

I'm sure the surprise shows on my face as a blush spreads
across her cheeks.  My Scully is blushing.  She looks away
for a moment, then returns her gaze to mine.

"I like that idea, Mulder," she says softly.  "And while we're
gone, we need to talk about the other proposition you made
me this week."

"Other proposition?" I ask, truly puzzled.

"Have you forgotten already, Mulder?  You offered to let
me come live with you.  To make me feel safe."

This time it's my turn to smile.

"There's just one problem," she says and I brace myself for
bad news.  "What if I don't want the bedroom all to
myself?"

For a moment I'm clueless and then suddenly I understand
what she means and I can't help breaking into the widest
smile of my life.  Then, finally, she says the four words I've
waited seven years to hear.

"I love you, Mulder."
 

*end*