By Paige Caldwell
paigec38@yahoo.com
 

Classification: MSR, Casefile, Angst

Spoilers: Season Four, Post "Momento Mori"

Rating: R

Disclaimers: The characters belong to 1013. No
infringment intended.

Summary: I have traveled both time and
distance to find her...  My Immortal Beloved.
 

For previous sections to this WIP, once posted
please visit my webpage at:

http://www.iwtbxf.com/paige/
 
 

Prologue
 

Her hair is the color of burnt sienna...
Her eyes rival the most brilliant azure and lapis lazuli.
For generations, I have put oil to canvas
With every portrait I am closer...
To her Renaissance...
 
 
 

"Katherine, it's beautiful," her mother said, descending the
stairs with her usual pretentiousness, slow enough to strike
a pose at a moment's notice. Had she not been a politician,
her mother could have easily been a movie star.  She certainly
acted like one.

Kate was pleased that her mother, who generally was her
worst critic, actually approved.  "Alessandro has a remarkable
gift," she said, hoping that by referring to his talent she
could hide the infatuation she felt towards the man.

"Yes..." Her mother stopped three steps from the bottom of
the staircase so she still towered over her.  "Of course, now
that your portrait is done, I'm sure there is no need for you
to continue to see Mr. Dante."

Kate pretended not to hear her mother's last remark. "Let's
see how the portrait looks over the mantle in the living
room."

"I won't have my daughter involved with a common immigrant."

"Don't let your constituents hear you, Senator," Kate chided,
"You support the INA. Benefits for immigrants, remember?"

"You are not the benefit I had in mind."

Kate leaned over to pick up the portrait. "Shit," she gasped.
"The paint is still wet."

"Not surprising," her mother called behind her.  "And to
think you wanted me to introduce him to National Museum of
Art."

"Not necessary," she said, setting the portrait down and
staring at the paint on her fingertips.  "I made the
introductions on your behalf."

"You what?"

"You were the benefit I had in mind," Kate retorted.  She
flexed her fingers.  They felt numb as if they had no weight
or feeling to them at all.  Suddenly, she felt dizzy.  Her
vision began to blur.

"Katherine!"

The horrified expression on her mother's face seemed to be
getting smaller and smaller.   Katherine closed her eyes
and smiled.

How many times had she wished that her mother would just
disappear?
 
 

**********
 
 

Part 1 of  ?

Mulder paced the hall outside of the Assistant Director's
office. He glanced at his watch and then the elevator.  It
wasn't like Scully to be late. She was the punctual to his
tardy. However, lately it seemed like their sense of timing
was reversed.  Rather than keeping two steps ahead of a
partner who outwitted his every move, he was now two steps
behind, trailing her with worry.

Only a month had passed since she was diagnosed with a
disease that he dared not call by name.  To articulate the
word was to acknowledge its presence.  It was easier for him
to remain in a state of denial and elude the overwhelming
guilt he felt over her illness. He felt like it was his
fault.  Had he not been so obsessed in finding the truth,
he wouldn't now be trying to avoid it.

When the elevator doors opened, Mulder's relief quickly
dissolved into anguish.  Scully was alone inside the elevator.
Her eyes were closed and she was leaning against the railing
looking tired and defeated.

"Morning," he called out to her.

Her blue eyes opened wide, pupils dilating to the sound of
his voice. He fought the urge to apologize for startling
her.  Instead, he imagined sudden improvement, pretending
that her flush of color was actually a healthy glow.

"You look great, Scully," he said, trying on a compliment
to see if fit.  It didn't.  Rather than put on designer
charm, he should have settled for bargain basement humor.

"That bad?" she asked.  She got off the elevator and turned
around to stare at her reflection in the metal doors.  Her
eyebrow lifted in critical assessment.  "Yes... that bad."

"No... not bad," he lied.

Her scrutiny turned to him.  "Mulder, when you resort to
compliments... it's bad."

"I'm just practicing for our meeting with Skinner," he
joked.  Clearing his voice, he pretended to address his
boss. "'The scowl looks great, sir... Agent Scully should
be late more often'."

"I know..." Scully tiredly waved him down the hall. "Let's
get this over with."

Mulder went into the Assistant Director's office first,
hoping to intercept one of Skinner's laser guided reprimands,
which was deadly accurate and often devastating.  He was
surprised to find their boss sitting at his desk, thumbing
patiently through a report instead of his usual "get to the
bottom-line" tear.  "Take a seat, Agents," he said calmly.

"It's worse than bad," Scully murmured to Mulder as they
sat down in front of their supervisor.  She, too, noticed
Skinner's unusual demeanor and began making excuses. "It's
my fault we're late, sir. Agent Mulder would have been
on time but he was waiting for me."

The Assistant Director did not respond to her apology, but
his concerned expression was enough to make Scully squirm
in her chair.  Mulder knew that to Scully, pity was worse
than a reprimand.  It meant that the disease no one spoke
of was still being heard loud and clear.  Anxious to break
the awkward silence, he said,

"You wanted to see us, sir?"

"I have an assignment that requires your immediate attention."
Skinner adjusted his glasses and resumed his detached manner.
"Senator Wingate's daughter, Katherine, is missing. She may
have been kidnapped."

Mulder instantly noticed Skinner's choice of words. "May
have been?"

"We have an eyewitness who disputes this theory, which is why
I want the two of you to take over the investigation," advised
Skinner.

"Disputes it how?" asked Scully.

"The witness claims that Katherine literally disappeared
before her eyes."

"Some eyewitness," Mulder punned.  "Maybe she blinked."

Skinner pushed the report across the desk with enough force
that it landed on Mulder's knees. "Senator Wingate doesn't
blink, Mulder. She stares long and hard, particularly at the
FBI's budget.  Before her daughter's disappearance, she wanted
to reduce spending on non-essential projects such as the
X-files."

It was his turn to blink.  "The Senator is the eye witness?"

The Assistant Director nodded.  "More than a file has landed
on your lap, Mulder. It's an opportunity for you to finally
prove that the X-files are worth it."
 

**********
 

"Why don't you let me drive?"

Scully knew that it wasn't an offer or even a request. Judging
by the sharp tint to his eyes, it was a hazel-colored demand.
Because she recognized the hue, having seen it many times
before, her fingers closed around the car keys.  Handing them
over would be symbolic.  By allowing him to drive, she would
remain in the passenger seat throughout the entire investigation.

A month ago, she would have left him standing on the curb,
choking on his ego and the fumes of her car's exhaust.  But
her health was deteriorating much faster than she had expected.
She could barely keep up much less outmaneuver him.  The best
she could do was to go for the ride and hope that he didn't ditch
her along the way.

Scully tossed up the keys, trying not to frown as Mulder caught
them in mid-air.  "Where first?" she asked, glancing at her feet
where she wished the keys had landed.

"The scene of the abduction," Mulder said as he opened the car
door and got inside.  Scully joined him from the other side,
slamming the passenger door behind her.

"You mean kidnapping, right?"

"Nope," Mulder started the car and began tapping the wheel in
excitement. "You heard what Skinner said.  Katherine Wingate
disappeared right in front of her mother's eyes.  What else
could it be, Scully?"

Before she could answer with several theories, Mulder screeched
the sedan out of the parking garage.  It landed it with a bounce
onto the city street. "Classic abduction scenario with missed
time sequences," he concluded for her.

"Mulder, you need to slow down," she cautioned.

He flashed her a grin that was meant to be disarming but was
only annoying. "Don't worry, Scully.  I've got it all under
control."

"Not your driving," retorted Scully as she pointed at the
car directly ahead of them.  "Look out!"

Mulder slammed the brakes to avoid a rear-end collision.  He
managed to stop the sedan inches from the other car. Scully
felt herself lurch forward then snap back courtesy of her
shoulder restraint. Her temper flared to the smell of burnt
rubber of tire tread left behind.  "Jesus," she snapped.
"Are you trying to kill me before the cancer does?"

While she rolled down a window to air out the car, Mulder
pulled over to the side of the road.  She glanced over at him
as he turned off the ignition.  "What's wrong?" she asked.

Mulder's eyes were focused straight ahead and his hands were
gripping the steering wheel.  "You said the word."

"What word?"

He looked like he was going to cry.  Stunned, she reached over
to place a gentle hand on his arm. He averted her touch by
reaching up to adjust the rear view mirror. "Never mind," he
answered in a hoarse voice.

"Mulder..."

"The Senator is expecting us."  He brushed the sleeve of his
jacket across his face before starting the car again.

Scully leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
She was exhausted, her partner was upset with her and they were
driving to Georgetown to convince a U.S. Senator that her daughter
had just been abducted by aliens.  Meanwhile, she had yet to
explain to Mulder the reason why she was late that morning.

Her latest blood tests had come back.  She was no longer in
remission.

~~~

Part 2

Senator Wingate lived in a typical federal-style
house in Georgetown.  Any other day, her home would
have received a cursory glance during the Heritage
Walking Tour.  Today, it was the center ring of a
media circus.  Reporters lined the sidewalk, flashing
cameras and lights at the ivy-covered, brick facade.
Only the wrought iron fence with sharp finials kept
them from swarming the front lawn and rose garden.

Parking in front of the Senator's home was not an
option.  Mulder continued down the street in search
of an open spot.  He found one near a fire hydrant,
clearly marked "no parking".

"That sign is there for a reason," noted Scully.

"Just one of several rules broken today..." Mulder
grumbled while he parked the car.   He still couldn't
believe that Scully had said the word, much less use
it in an accusation against him.  She had wielded her
cancer like a weapon, taking aim at his unarmed and
defenseless guilt. One false move and he would
undoubtedly be left sprawled across the sidewalk,
using his blood to fingerpaint the words "I'm sorry".

Was that what Scully wanted?  To cripple him with
shame so he couldn't stand tall in the limelight?
She knew what this case meant to him.  It was the
investigation of a lifetime, his one chance to prove
the validity of the X-files.   Maybe she didn't want
him to succeed.  After all, she had been assigned to
the X-files to sabotage his work.

"Mulder?"

Already, her plan was working.  She was outside of
the sedan, tapping on the driver's window while he
was pinned helplessly behind the steering wheel.
"Are you getting out of the car, Mulder?" The sound
of her fingernail annoyed him even more than the
impatient tone to her voice.

He couldn't help blurting out, "You need to get out
of my way."

"What?"

Mulder opened the door with enough force that Scully
jumped backwards into the street. He got out of the
car, resisting the temptation to smirk.  Scully's
expression was priceless... hands on hips, the tip
of one designer shoe tapping insult into asphalt.
Unfortunately, her indignant stance had put her into
the path of Channel Nine minivan.  Panicked, he
yelled,

"Get out of the way!"

With a speed and agility that surprised him, Mulder
grabbed his partner by the arm and jerked her towards
him.  She landed against his chest.  The feel of her
body, so small and wasted, caused him to wrap his arms
protectively around her.  At first, she clung to him.
The sensation filled him with regret.  He closed his
eyes and lowered his cheek to her hair, breathing in
its fragrant scent while trying not to notice its
brittle texture.  But then Scully's spine stiffened.
He suspected that she was debating his words,
weighing their double meaning against his actions.
Most likely, she was wondering if he had just saved
her from the same danger he'd put her in.

At least her skepticism was as healthy as ever. He
realized that she was still Scully, the one person
who kept him on his toes so that he might one day
stand in the limelight. In the process, she had
fallen into the shadows with only a partner's
embrace to keep her on her feet. Tightening his
arms around her, he silently promised to do
better by her. More importantly, he resolved never
to let her go.
 

**********
 

Scully allowed Mulder to lead her past the reporters.
His hand, pressed firmly against the small of her
back, steadied her against the dizzying lights of
the cameras.  Somehow, he knew that she was rattled.
She hoped that he didn't know why.  The near accident
had reminded her of how fragile her life was, especially
having learned earlier that her cancer was out of
remission. She had clung to him out of terror and
then desperation.  In his arms, she had felt secure.
In his arms, she could have told him everything.

But, a greater fear had replaced the first.  She was
afraid that Mulder might treat her differently if he
knew that the radiation therapy had failed.  As a
result, she'd lost her nerve and with it, the
ability to return his embrace.

Now, she tried to compensate by getting into an
argument with one of the snickering agents at the
front door.  "What's so funny, Agent Dobbs?" she asked.

"I can't believe Skinner assigned this case to you
two," the agent taunted.

Scully thumbed over her shoulder at the crowd of
reporters.  "Maybe he realized that the only thing
you're looking for is your name on the front page."

Agent Dobbs immediately became defensive.  "A
Senator's daughter had been kidnapped.  How do
you expect us to keep it out of the media?"

"By not leaking it to them in the first place," she
returned.

"C'mon, Scully."  Mulder took her arm and ushered
her inside the Senator's house.  While they waited
in the foyer, he leaned over and whispered in her
ear.  "Stop picking on the agent-in-charge."

"Mulder, you just became the agent-in-charge."

"Hold that thought," Mulder grinned and rubbed his
hands with excitement.  "Especially when I tell
Senator Wingate that aliens may have abducted her
daughter."

"Again, may I remind you that there are other possible
explanations for Katherine's disappearance?"

"Give me one," he challenged.  "Just one that
explains how a she went 'poof' in front of her
mother's eyes."

Scully moved towards the stairs where the disappearance
occurred.  "Poof?", she snorted. Noting a bloodstain
on the carpet beneath her, she bent over to examine
it.  "Well, it's possible that Senator Wingate didn't
see what she thought she saw."

"I can assure you that my vision is just fine." A
voice from the top of the stairs made Scully glance up.
"So much so that I can tell you that your nose is
bleeding onto my carpet."

"Oh my God," Scully whispered to herself.  She
turned her back to the Senator and pinched her nose
to stop the bleeding.

"I guess we can rule out poor vision, " Mulder said
as he dug out a packet of tissues from his coat pocket
and passed it to her.  Her embarrassment deepened when
she realized that her partner now armed himself with
Kleenex.

"It depends," Senator Wingate said. "Perhaps, we should
rephrase it as being lack of vision.  Until yesterday,
Agent Mulder, I was fully in support of shutting you
down."

"And now?" he asked.

"The X-files may be the one thing that I'm willing to
see differently."

Having regained her composure, Scully turned around
to face Senator Wingate.  She was surprised to find
that the woman had already come down the stairs and
was staring intently at her.  "You look like
Katherine," she commented.

Scully had seen the young woman's photograph.  Katherine
wasn't sickly pale with blood-shot eyes and a red nose.
"Senator, would it be possible for me to use your
bathroom to clean up?" she asked.

"Right down the hall next to my daughter's studio."
The woman's wave of her hand was nothing more than a
dismissive gesture.

Once safely in the bathroom, Scully ran cool water
onto her face and then patted it dry with a guest towel.
The bleeding had stopped as quickly as it had started.
That was the irony behind her nasty, little tumor.
Its effects were as visible as it was inoperable.

Back in the hall, she overheard Mulder question the
Senator about missing time.  Sighing, she stopped at
the door of Katherine's studio and peeked inside.
She had read in the case file that the young woman
was a promising art student.  Most of her oil paintings
were landscapes, the green hills of Tuscany, the canals
of Venice and the ancient Etruscan tombs of Siena.
Her work seemed focused on Italy, both past and present.

There was one portrait on the floor in the corner of
the room, half obscured by a tarp.  She wouldn't have
even noticed it had the sun not caught the edge of its
antique gold frame. Curious, she went over to the portrait
and kneeled down in front of it. Pulling the tarp away,
she fell back onto her heels.

This wasn't Katherine's work...

This was Katherine.

The portrait was astonishingly lifelike.  From the
brilliant smile to the unabashed, blue eyes, the artist
had captured in paint what photographs could not; the
young woman's spirit and vitality. Each brushstroke
seemed to embellish her features, the copper highlights
of her hair, the creamy perfection of her milk-white
skin.

Whoever had painted it was very talented.

Whoever had painted it was obviously enamored with her.

Scully leaned the portrait forward to search for the
artist's name along the bottom.

"Exactly what are you looking for, Agent Scully?"

The Senator stood in the doorway to the studio with her
eyebrows arched and her arms crossed.  She wore peeved
almost as well as she did pomposity.  Scully rested the
portrait against the wall and stood up.  "Senator, who
painted this portrait of Katherine?  I can't seem to
find the artist's name."

"Does it matter?"

"Not realy," Scully responded.  "It's quite good."

"It belongs in the trash."

"Why?"

"Kate and I argued about it the morning she disappeared."
The Senator closed her eyes and shook her head as if she
had recalled a memory she preferred to forget.  "Mr.
Dante had just delivered it.  The paint was still wet."

Scully made a mental note of the artist's name.  "Was
Mr. Dante the last person to enter your home before
Katherine disappeared?"

"You mean before her abduction?"

Mulder's powers of paranormal persuasion were already
at work. She called out into the hallway.  "Agent
Mulder, would you please join us?"

He came into the studio carrying a tape recorder.  "By
the way, did a bright light envelope Katherine before
she was abducted?"

Before the Senator could respond, Scully interrupted.
"No, but an Italian artist dropped this off just minutes
before her kidnapping."

She turned the portrait toward Mulder.  He turned off
the tape recorder and gave it a curious look.  "Why is
she frowning?"

"What?" Scully looked down at the portrait and blinked.
She couldn't believe her eyes.  The woman's smile had
turned downward into a sneer.  Glancing up at the
Senator, she said helplessly, "I don't understand..."

"The paint must have smeared," the Senator concluded.
"I told you that it belongs in the trash."
 

~~~

Part 3
 

"I know what I saw," Scully insisted as they drove
back to the Hoover Building.  Mulder didn't respond.
He knew what he had seen, too. Scully had stained
more than the Senator's carpet.  Her remarks about
the portrait had stained her credibility.

If only she had added a disclaimer, such as "I
thought I saw" or "Maybe my little nosebleed went
straight to my head..."  But no, Scully wasn't
a proviso kind of partner.  She was all or nothing,
which explained why he decided to remove her from
the scene before she tarnished his theory, as well.

He glanced into the rear-view mirror at the portrait
in the back seat.  "She's still sneering," he teased.
When Scully didn't answer, he waited for a few
minutes and peeked again.  "Still sneering..." he
chanted.

"Would it kill you to just humor me a little?" she
asked.

"I think I humored you a lot when I agreed to let
Katherine's portrait tag along with us."

"I know what I saw," she repeated, folding her
arms stubbornly.

"What do you want from me, Scully?" he whined.

"For you to remember that the X-files are not just
about alien abduction," she said.

He applied the brakes with more force than he
intended.  The car came to a screeching halt.
"You're kidding, right? Senator Wingate, who just
happens to be a very powerful woman, is about to
confirm the existence of extraterrestrials, not
to mention validate years of painstaking work."

"Your painstaking work, your quest, your Holy
Grail," exploded Scully, tightening her seat belt
angrily. "But that validation will mean nothing
if you don't rule out other possibilities.  God,
Mulder!  The artist who painted Katherine's
portrait was there just minutes before her
disappearance.  Don't you think we should
interview him, at least?"

Mulder searched for a reason. "The Senator told
me that he just left the portrait at the door.
He never stepped foot into the house."

"So that rules him out?" she scoffed.

"What are you implying, Scully?" he asked. "That
the portrait is some kind of ransom note?"

"You're the profiler," she answered.  "You tell
me."

Mulder pulled the sedan over to the curb and got
out. "This is just great," he fumed, slamming the
door behind him.  He began to pace the length of
the car, back and forth, as his mind raced through
more possibilities than even Scully could have
imagined.  He couldn't help it.  Just as it was
her nature to debate his every theory, it was his
nature to come up with several more than she did.

Further down the street, he noticed another vehicle
pull over to the curb.  At first, Mulder suspected
that they were being tailed by the Consortium.  He
was tempted to tap on the car window and point it
out to Scully.  When he realized it was the Channel
9 minivan, most likely following them for a lead,
he grinned and got back into the car.

"You're right," Mulder said in the most conciliatory
tone he could imagine.  "This Italian artist... what
is his name?"

"I don't know his first name. His last name is
Dante."

Mulder started the car.  "Shouldn't take you long to
find out his last name," he replied.  Before she could
object, he motioned over his shoulder.  "Take a look
at who's following us."

Scully leaned up and peeked in the rear-view mirror.
"The press?" she asked.

He nodded and pulled out into traffic. "I'll divert
them while you check out Mr. Dante.  The last thing
we need is the media scaring off a suspect."

When Scully agreed, he smiled inwardly.  He wasn't
worried about reporters.  What he feared the most was
that Scully might scare off the Senator.  By giving
in a little, he would gain a lot.  He could focus
on Katherine's abduction while Scully was off
investigating the smearing properties of oil paints.
If he was lucky, she would come back with an apology
and a black velvet painting of Elvis.
 

*********
 

Within a few hours, Scully had obtained a detailed
background on the artist who painted Katherine's
portrait. Alessandro Dante was born and raised
in a small village in Tuscany.  Despite an ordinary
if not obscure beginning, he rose to quick prominence
among the Florentine intelligentsia.  By age 19,
artists and art lovers alike were astounded by
his technique.  He was as changeable as he was
exciting, skilled in several art movements.

But two decades later, even his avant-garde style
had become predictable.  He immigrated to the
United States for a new beginning.  He found it
as a freelance portrait artist.  Through Katherine
Wingate, he had been introduced to the National
Museum of Art.  On his own, he had established
a reputation for painting the wives of the
beltway's elite.

His studio was on 29th street in Georgetown, an
old office building which had been renovated into
galleries and boutiques.  As Scully climbed the
stairs to Dante's loft studio, she imagined the
cluttered space of an eccentric has-been.  She
was surprised to find that his studio was large,
open and spacious.  It spanned the entire second
floor of the building and was stylishly designed.
The back wall had been replaced with a window that
rose floor to ceiling.  The effect was dramatic, but
not as dramatic as the loft's owner.

Standing directly in front of the immense window
was Alessandro Dante, who used the amber light of
the setting sun to illuminate his canvas.  He looked
exactly the way she imagined a Bohemian artist would
look; shoulder-length hair and piercing black eyes.
She was glad that his stare was directed at his
canvas because there was one important detail that
his background check didn't mention.  The portrait
artist liked to paint in the nude.

No wonder he was popular among the ladies, she mused
before loudly clearing her throat.

Dante put down his brush and reached for a black, silk
robe. He took his time putting it on before turning
around to greet her. For a moment, neither one of them
spoke. He wore the expression of sudden recognition.
His gaze held such fascination that she couldn't tear
her eyes away from his.  "You are not who I expected,"
he said with a barely discernable Italian accent.

"Apparently not," she said, pulling out her badge.
"Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI."

He approached her slowly to take a look at her
credentials.  "Well, Special Agent Dana Scully.  Are
you to arrest me for indecent exposure?"

She closed her badge cover.  "No, Mr. Dante.  I'm here
to question you about Katherine Wingate's disappearance."

"Disappearance?"  The artist appeared genuinely surprised.
"That cannot be.  I just saw her a day ago."

"When you delivered her portrait?"

Dante nodded and returned to his easel.  He stared
incredulously at the canvas.  "That cannot be..." he
repeated.

For a suspect, he wore the role of victim quite well.
For a moment, Scully thought she saw tears glaze over
his dark eyes.  "Mr. Dante, were you involved with
Ms. Wingate?"

"Involved?" The artist looked up. "Of course. A portrait
artist is always involved with his subject."

 "No, that's not what I meant," Scully tried to explain.
"Were you romantically involved with Katherine Wingate?"

"Ah, you want to know if I slept with her." The man finally
understood.  "Dana - may I call you Dana?  I should think I
might since you feel familiar enough to ask me about my sex
life."

Scully fumbled for the right words to make up for his wrong
impression.  "That's not why asked, Mr. Dante."

"Of course not," he said.  "You are trying to figure out if
I am a suspect."

"Are you?"

"No to both of your questions." The man was emphatic. "Do you
have any more?"

She had several. "Where did you go directly after you dropped
off Katherine's portrait yesterday?  Also, why don't you sign
your portraits?"

"Anything else?"

"Just one more."  Scully felt more uncomfortable asking this
question than she did his sex life.

"Why do I paint in the nude?"

"I wasn't going to ask that," she said, resisting the urge to
fan her face.

"It's easier to clean up afterwards," he volunteered.

"That's nice."  She only hoped that she didn't look as
flustered as she felt.  "Is there... is there something about
the paint you used on Katherine's portrait that could smear
her features, even though the paint was dry?"

Dante looked at her like she was insane.  "Dry paint doesn't
smear, Dana."

"I didn't think so," she sighed, dropping her gaze to the
ground.

"I will answer your other questions if you will do me the
honor... the favor..."

She looked up, suddenly terrified that the artist was going
to ask her out on a date. "I don't do honors or favors," she
stated firmly.  Oh God, she thought, how Mulder would laugh at
that.

"May I paint you?"

It was such an odd request that she gaped at him. "Why would
you want to do that?"

"You have a beauty that is timeless," he conveyed. "Such
beauty should be preserved for those you leave behind.

She doubted that this was his typical sales pitch. "What are
you talking about?" she asked, backing up towards the stairs.

Dante didn't try to coax her back.  He just looked at her
sadly and explained.  "Dana, the look in your eyes, I've
seen before.  In Italy, we call it lo sguardo della morte."

Scully reached for the railing.  "The look of death," she
translated, her voice only one decibel above a frightened
whisper.

"You're dying, aren't you?"

Scully turned around and fled down the stairs, not stopping
until she was in the safety of her car.  She locked the
door and spent several minutes trying not to hyperventilate.
Once she calmed down, she glanced into the rear-view mirror
at the back seat where Mulder had put Katherine's portrait.

The woman in the painting was smiling again.

~~~

Part 4
 
 

Mulder glanced at his watch before reaching into
his bag of sunflower seeds.  It was almost midnight.
He was parked across the street from Senator
Wingate's home, having outmaneuvered the media,
his partner as well as his own conscience. As he
cracked open a seed, he hoped that the salt of
the kernel would overpower the bad taste in his
mouth.  He knew the flavor of guilt.  Over the
years, Scully had brought out the connoisseur in
him.

He wondered why she hadn't called.  It had been
hours since he had sent her on her wild artist
chase.  It wasn't like her not to check in.
Maybe, she was using silence to paint a portrait
of him, a caricature of a man whose morals had
been abducted by his ambition. Oh God. He deserved
to be mocked.  Ditching Scully had become a flat
joke with a routine punch line, one that he now
regretted.

In the darkness of his car,  Mulder reconsidered
the abduction of Katherine Wingate.  He had no
solid proof of alien involvement, just an
influential woman ready to endorse it.  For all
he knew, Katherine could have been taken by the
same men responsible for Scully's cancer.  They
could have been interested in harvesting more
than the ova of a Senator's daughter.  Perhaps
they were interested in cultivating the Senator's
cooperation.

This was an attractive theory for it suited all
of Mulder's purposes.  He could achieve validation
and still pursue a cure to Scully's illness.  What
he didn't understand is why a "win-win" situation
left him feeling like such a loser.  Was guilt
more terminal than cancer?  It must be, for he
suffered all the physical ailments; a dry mouth,
shaky hands and a tightening of his chest.

Reaching for his soda, Mulder took a sip and
repeated to himself,

"If there's an ice tea in that bag, it could be
love."

"Must be fate, Mulder. Root beer."

He changed beverage choices the next day. She
never noticed.  He should have known better
than to use carbonated symbolism on a scientist.
She should have known better than to get mixed
up with a man whose emotions were as stagnant
as the dank air of a late-night stakeout.

When his cell phone chirped, Mulder almost
spilled the soda all over himself trying to
answer it.

"Mulder, it's me."

"You okay, Scully?"

"Not really..." There was hesitation in her
voice. "If it's not too late, Mulder, do you
think you could come over?"

"It's never too late," he said.  "I'll be right
over."

Mulder arrived at Scully's apartment to find her
standing outside in the hallway.  She was in yellow
pajamas and a matching terrycloth robe.  She looked
dressed for bed but too terrified to get into it.
When he asked her what was wrong, she simply pointed
at the open door to her apartment.  Peeking inside,
he found the portrait of Katherine Wingate sneering
at him across the living room.

"I don't get it," he shrugged.

"She's smiling, Mulder."

He took another look.  "No, she's not, but then
neither am I.  This whole portrait thing is getting
out of hand, Scully.  I'm worried about you."

"You're kidding me, right?" She asked, moving past
him and confronting the portrait with both of her
hands on her hips.

"No, I really am worried about you."  Mulder followed
her into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

Scully pointed an accusing finger at the portrait.
"She was smiling at me, Mulder.   From the minute I
left Dante's studio to just now, she was grinning
like a Cheshire cat."

"Scully in Wonderland," he murmured on his way to
her kitchen.  "Why don't I make us some tea while you
tell me about your art suspect."

"I'm not sure if he is a suspect," admitted Scully,
sitting down at the kitchen table. "But, he certainly
is mysterious."

Mulder filled the kettle with water and placed it
on a gas burner.  "In a creepy, wish-I-had-taken-
my-partner kind of way?"

"Not really," she paused and flicked imaginary
crumbs from the table.  "His eyes... his manner
of speech... it was all so suggestive."

He almost dropped the teacups into the sink.  "Of
what?"

"Of having known me."

"You mean that he had met you before?"

"That's just it," Scully remarked.  "I've never
met this man before. Trust me, Mulder, I wouldn't
have forgotten someone like him."

"That interesting, huh?"  The cups on the counter
rattled.

"Who said I was interested in him?" she retorted,
getting up from the chair.

"That's not what I said or meant,"  Mulder
reassured her.  "You're intrigued by him."

Scully sighed and sat back down.  "The only man
who has ever intrigued me is about to break my
antique china."

Mulder steadied the teacups on the counter.
"Sorry."

"No, I am," she apologized.  "This whole day has
left me feeling jumpy."

For the next few minutes, neither spoke as he
prepared hot tea sweetened with honey.  She sipped
it gingerly before encouraging him to join her at
the table.  "So, tell me about your afternoon," she
invited.  "How goes your alien hunt?"

"Not well," Mulder replied.  He took off his jacket
and draped it over the back of the chair.  "There
are certain things that just don't add up."

"Such as?"

"I've interviewed the Senator's household staff.
No one reports anything unusual happening that
morning.  There was no noise, no bright lights or
walls shaking.  Alien abductions are not quiet
events.  A disturbance is always noted, either
before or after."

"Maybe the disturbance is in the Senator," Scully
commented.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Emotional upset can often distort one's perception
of things," she explained.  "Despite evidence to the
contrary, Senator Wingate truly believes that she saw
Katherine disappear."

"You see changes of expression in an oil painting," he
returned. "Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

When she didn't answer, Mulder reached across the
table and took her hand.  She weaved her fingers
through his.  "Mulder, I wasn't going to tell you.
However, if I'm becoming delusional, then you need
to know ."

He cut her off before she could finish.  "You're
not delusional, Scully."

"Mulder, please," she pleaded.  "Look at me and tell
me what you see."

He glanced up, hoping his eyes didn't convey the
fear that he felt.  "You look fine, Scully."

"That's just great," she complained bitterly.
"A complete stranger takes one look at me and tells
me that I'm dying.  But, you think I look fine."

"You're not dying!"  He rose so quickly from his
chair that it screeched across the kitchen floor.
"I refuse to believe that, Scully."

Scully closed her eyes and sighed.  "Emotional upset
can often distort one's perception on things," she
repeated.

Mulder went around to her side of the table and
knelt down beside her.  When she didn't look up,
he turned her chair so she was forced to face him.
"Scully, listen to me.  Or better yet, remember your
own words.  People live with cancer. They carry on,
and so will you."

"People also die of cancer."   She placed a hand
on his shoulder.  "Will you be able to carry on?"

Mulder cringed from her touch, stunned that she
had asked such a morbid question.  Carry on without
her? He was still trying to carry on with the fact
that he'd fallen in love with her.  He couldn't
imagine his life without Scully.  He might wish
her temporarily mute or that her stoic rationalism
might vacation in Tibet, but nothing so permanent
that he would have to remember what he once tried
to forget.  He was in love with her.

"Hey Scully!"  He jumped to his feet and went
over to Katherine's portrait.  "Why don't I take
old Kate down to the Bureau lab?  I bet they can
come up with a logical explanation for what you're
seeing."

She didn't respond. Her hands had fallen helplessly
into her lap, palms facing upward in open defeat.
It was a hard image to behold much less cause. He
tried to lighten her mood by sparking her intellectual
curiosity.

"Maybe the paint colors produce some type of
optical illusion," he suggested.

Scully blinked, registering a flicker of interest.
"Then why don't you see it?" she asked.

"I'm colorblind," he grinned.

Her smirk was worth noticing, if not framing.
Mulder then realized where he had seen it before.
He glanced down at Katherine's portrait and then
up at his partner.

"The two of you really do look alike," he said.
 

**************
 
 

The next morning, Scully went window shopping at
the galleries on 29th street.  Within minutes, she
realized that she couldn't have appeared more obvious.
It was pouring rain.  She had no umbrella.  Her
preparations were as makeshift as her excuse for
conducting this surveillance.  She no longer
considered Dante a suspect.  She decided to follow
him for another reason.

Dante saw what her partner refused to see.  She
wanted to know more about the artist, his ability
to capture life on canvas yet recognize the look
of death.  But, it was more than that.  She had
just been emotionally jilted by Mulder, leaving
her desperate enough to seek out empathy from
another source.

She waited for him under a dripping awning of a
gallery storefront.  Just when wet and miserable
began to compete for her attention, she spotted
his reflection in the window.   She cleared her
throat loudly, signaling her presence before he
could pass her by.

"We meet again, Dana."  Dante smiled and glanced
over her shoulder at the window display.  "In
search of an objet d'art?"

Scully turned around and met his gaze with her
direct one.

"Of course, not," he said. "You're searching
for answers."

"Yes, Katherine is still missing," she told him.

"Let us not pretend that is the reason you are
here."  When she didn't respond, Dante pointed down
the street.  "There is a cafe around the corner that
serves espresso.  You look cold and tired.  Perhaps,
you will join me in a cup?"

His old-world charm did not impress her.  She
stepped out into the rain, no longer caring if she
got soaked.  "I'm dying," she said bluntly.

Dante took off his jacket, using it to keep her dry.
"Yes, I know," he replied.  "For some of us, death
is not the end.  It is only a beginning."
 

~~~
 

Part 5
 

Inside the cafe, Scully pushed the small cup across
the table.  "I don't care for espresso," she told
the artist.  "It's too strong and bitter."

Dante smiled and reached for a sugar packet. With
great deliberation, he sprinkled a bit of sugar
into the cup.  "Strong will revive you," he said,
pausing to stir the granules with a spoon. "A bit
of zucchero, not too much... as the beans are
naturally sweet."

Scully watched the slow, circular movement of the
spoon.  His voice was hypnotic, with its deep,
resonant tone and languid tempo. He spoke as if
he had all the time in the world.  Perhaps where
he came from, he did.  She imagined sitting on a
piazza in Florence, sipping espresso in the
afternoon sun.  She tasted it now, allowing the
flavor to imbue her thoughts.  It was delicious.

As Dante spoke, his words began to paint of
portrait in her mind.  Italy was hers.  She could
feel the cool breeze of the open-aired museums.
In the distance, she could hear the bells of the
Cathedral of Santa Croce.  She was wearing a white
lace dress that skimmed her shoulders.  Her feet
were bare against the warm, mosaic tile.  There
was no illness or impending death, only a sense
of renewed health and contentment.

Setting the cup down, Scully sighed and rested her
cheek in the palm of her hand.

She didn't notice his stare until she heard his
words. "If I were to paint you, I would choose
this moment... this look."

"What look?" She glanced up at him.

"As if you are dreaming of another time or
place," he said.

Scully straightened up in her chair. "Not lo
sguardo della morte?"

"Death does not become you, Dana."

"Neither does flattery."

Dante leaned back and smiled. "Special Agent
Scully has no use of compliments?"

"Not when they're used to avoid answering a
question," she replied. "You see something in
me that others don't, Mr. Dante.  I want to
know how."

"I have an artist's eye," he shrugged.

Scully didn't believe him.  "It can't be that
simple."

"What more could there be?" The artist waved his
long, slender fingers through the air.  "Do you
think I have some type of power to divine death?"

Scully reached for her coffee and took another
sip. This time it tasted bitter, exactly how
she remembered. She wondered if Mulder ever
felt as ridiculous as she did now. What more
could there be?  Just because Dante was very
talented at representing life on canvas didn't
make him an authority on death.  His artist's
eye was trained to visualize details.  Of course,
he was able to discern the look of death.  What
surprised her was that it had arrived so soon.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, getting up from her
chair.  "I shouldn't have come."

The part of her that dreamed still hoped that
Dante would stop her.  He didn't.  He turned and
stared out the window. "One short sleep past, we
wake eternally," he murmured.  "And death shall
be no more; death, thou shalt die."

Scully reached for her coat, suddenly feeling
dizzy. She had heard the words before.  They
were from a poem, a famous one, one that she
recognized.  Her mind was quickly becoming
a mural of images, not softly tinted as before,
but a spiral of landscapes that were painted
from memory.  A sickening deja-vu overwhelmed her.
Grasping the chair, she managed one last question.
She only hoped that it was an important one.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

Dante's face swam above her.  "I can paint eternal
life."
 
 

***********
 
 

Mulder hoisted the portrait of Katherine onto the
counter.  The FBI lab tech looked less than enthused.
"You want me to do what?" he asked.

"A material analysis," Mulder requested. "Check
out the oil colors, the paint strokes or whatever
you think could explain an optical illusion."

The lab tech scrutinized the portrait from several
angles before asking. "How about a vivid imagination?"

Apparently, his reputation had preceded him. He tried
a different angle, as well.  "Agent Scully asked me
to bring it down here."

The lab tech's sneer lifted into a smile.  Scully
had the same effect on infatuated lab-boys as she
did portraits.  The tech snapped on latex gloves
with renewed interest.  "Do I have permission to
remove some of the paint to examine it?"

Mulder hesitated until he remembered that the Senator
had told them that the portrait belonged in the trash.
"Sure," he agreed. "Scrape off all you want."

"The paint does look old," commented the lab tech.
"Maybe that's our first clue."

Mulder's attention had already shifted to his cell
phone. "Hang on," he spoke into it, waving to the lab
tech. "Agent Scully needs the results as soon as
possible."

"Should only be a couple of hours..."

Mulder nodded and focused on the call.  It was
Skinner, sounding irritated that he had been put
on hold.  "Agent Scully has just been taken by
ambulance to Georgetown University Hospital."

"What?"

"Are you deaf as well as blind, Mulder?"  Skinner
growled. "Even a fool can see that she's not getting
better."

"Not just any fool..." he whispered. Not that it
mattered.  His guilt spoke volumes and Skinner had
already hung up on him.

It didn't take Mulder long to arrive at the hospital.
It took him even less time to annoy the staff. "Agent
Dana Scully was brought here by ambulance," he said,
trying to force his way into the emergency room.
"Where is she?"

"Sir, the doors are kept locked for security
reasons," informed the woman at the front desk.

"She's here, right?"

"I'm not authorized to release that information."

"Here's your authorization." He flung his badge down
on the desk.  "Now, where is she?"

"Perhaps, I can help you," a calm voice interrupted.

Mulder turned to find a man leaning against the
wall in the patient lounge.  He scrutinized his
shoulder-length hair and casual attire. "Are you
a doctor?" he asked.

"No."

"Then you can't help me."  He faced the woman at
the front desk.  "Well?"

The man behind him persisted. "We were talking over
a cup of espresso when she fainted."

Mulder turned back around. "Who the hell are you?"

"Permit me to introduce myself."  The man walked
over and extended his hand. "Alessandro Dante."

His formality was as ill timed as his presence.
Mulder gaped at his outstretched hand. "The portrait
artist?"

"Ah, my reputation precedes me." The artist withdrew
his hand in lieu of flattery.

"Trust me, pal." Mulder snorted.  "That's not
necessarily a good thing."

The artist smiled, revealing perfect, white teeth.
Mulder felt the urge to knock out every single one
of them.  "So tell me, Mr. Dante.  Why were you with
Agent Scully this morning?"

"Dana had questions."

"Dana, is it?"  Mulder took a step forward.

"Agent Mulder," the woman behind the front desk called
his name.  "You've been cleared to go back."

"Stay here," he pointed a finger just inches from the
artist's face.  "Dana isn't the only one who has
questions."

Mulder followed a nurse back into the emergency room
where Scully was sitting up on a gurney.  "I could
hear you all the way back here, Mulder." she complained.

It was not the greeting he imagined.  "What happened,
Scully?"

"I fainted," she said nonchalantly. "Can you hand
me my boots?"

"Going somewhere?" he asked, passing them to her.

"I'm being discharged." Scully explained.

"What do you mean?" he asked.  "Don't they have to
check you out, run some tests?"

"They already checked me out," she replied.  "I'm
anemic, Mulder.  I just need to cut back."

"On work or espresso?"

Scully glanced towards the doors to the waiting area
and sighed.  "He's still out there?"

"Do you generally interrogate suspects over coffee?"

"He's not a suspect," she said, trying to tug on a
boot.  It proved too much of an effort for her. "God,
I'm exhausted.  Maybe, I'll leave them here and go
home in my socks."

"Let me help," Mulder offered.  When she daintily
lifted a foot, he couldn't resist a tease. "You
know it's serious when Dana Scully is tempted
to abandon her latest fashion in footwear."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?" he asked.

"Finally realize how serious this is?"  Scully
looked upset that he dared joked with her.  She
glanced over her shoulder.  "He does and he doesn't
even know me."

"Who?"  Mulder mocked. "The Florentine Fabio?"

"I knew you'd find fault with him," she said. "It's
just like you, Mulder."

"It's supposed to be just like you," he insisted.
"Scully, whatever crap this guy is trying to sell,
you're buying.  And worse yet, he knows it."

The distant look to her eyes scared him even more
than her response.  "I don't think you can put a
price on what he's offering."
 

~~~

Part 6
 

At home on her sofa, Scully pulled the cashmere
afghan up to her neck.  She wasn't cold as much
as she felt exposed to her partner's icy scrutiny.
"I'm fine, Mulder," she told him.  "You really
don't have to stay."

Crouched by the fireplace, it seemed like Mulder
was trying to stoke her temper as well as the
flames. "But, Dana has questions," he mimicked
in a thick Italian accent.

"Mulder...."

"Too bad Mr. Espresso couldn't stick around the
emergency room long enough to answer them."

"You blame Dante for leaving?"

Mulder turned around and pointed the poker at
her.  "I blame you for going to him in the first
place."

Scully drew her knees up to her chest. "You're
the one who suggested it, Mulder."

"I suggested that Agent Scully interrogate a
suspect."

"That's what I did," she protested.

"Maybe, the first time."  Mulder punctuated his
words by jabbing the logs on the andiron. "But,
Dana was the one who went back.  Dana was the
one who let her guard down, allowing a suspect
to get inside her head."

"The only one trying to get inside my head
is you."

Mulder set the poker down and stared a moment
into the fire.  "I'm just trying to understand
you," he said quietly.

"By profiling me?" she demanded.

Mulder stood up and brushed off her accusation
with the soot on his hands.  "It's what I do,
Scully.  Besides, you're not exactly an open
book."

"Only to the emotionally illiterate," she
snapped.  She couldn't believe that after
all their time together, he'd rather skim
each chapter than read between the lines.

"You're crying?"

The shock in his voice infuriated her. She
swiped the tears from her cheeks and continued
in a choked voice. "I'm surprised you even
noticed."

"Actually, you'd be surprised by what I do
notice," Mulder said as he slowly approached.
"I notice the shadows beneath your eyes
and the paleness of your skin.  I notice that
you've lost weight from not eating and that
you've stopped wearing make-up, although I'm
not sure what eating food and applying mascara
have in common.  I notice that you forgot to
carry your gun today. Not that it matters much
because I seriously doubt that you have enough
strength to fire it."

Scully buried her face in her hands. She was
horrified by Mulder's vision of her, a portrait
of self-neglect and incompetence.

In Dante's eyes, she was different, a woman in
a lace gown with skin bronzed by the Tuscan sun.
No wonder she had given in to the artist's power
of suggestion.  He saw her as eternally young
and beautiful, untouched by the ravages of
disease.

She felt the cushion sink beside.  "Scully,
I'm not sure what's going on with you," Mulder
said.  "But, from this point on, I'm going to
be in a position to notice a lot more."

She lifted her face and gave him a sidelong
look.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mulder pushed the hair back from her eyes.
She knew that it wasn't a comforting gesture.
He wanted to make sure that she could see
him clearly and understand his intent.
"I'm going to be staying with you for a
while," he announced.

Scully couldn't help but laugh at his audacity.
"What is this, Mulder?  she asked.  "Since I
won't let you into my mind, you've decided
to camp out in my apartment?"

"Hang on," he said, reaching into his pocket
to answer his cell phone.

Scully used the opportunity to get up from
the sofa and move as far away from him as
possible. She resented his overbearing attitude
far more than the intrusion of her privacy.
However, by the time she reached the kitchen,
she overheard words that drew her back into
the living room.

"Are you sure?" Mulder asked, glimpsing back
at her before cupping his hand around the
cell phone.  "No, don't remove the entire
layer of paint until I take a look at it."

"Take a look at what?" she asked when he
clicked off the phone. "Katherine's portrait?"

Ignoring her question, Mulder got up from the
sofa.  "I need to run down to the Bureau and
then pick up a few things from my apartment.
If you promise to be a good Scully while I'm
gone, I'll let Dana ask a few questions when
I get back."

Scully watched him leave her apartment before
glancing at the clock on her mantle.  She
couldn't help a snort of sarcasm.  So much
for staying with her.  He hadn't even lasted
five minutes.
 

*************
 
 

Down at the Bureau's lab, the tech pointed
at Katherine's portrait.  "Tell me that isn't
Agent Scully."

Arms folded, Mulder chewed on a knuckle as
he took another look.  Beneath the first layer
of paint was a second portrait.  Although it
was only partially revealed, the woman looked
remarkably like his partner. But, it couldn't
be Scully. According to the analysis, the oil
paints used on the first portrait were centuries
old.

"Okay, it's not Agent Scully," Mulder said,
dryly. "For that matter, it couldn't have been
painted by the same artist."

"Artists often recycle," the lab tech admitted,
scratching the side of his head.  "It's odd
that a modern day artist would use such an old
canvas.  The age alone would make the underlying
portrait valuable. Why cover it up?"

Considering the emerging relationship between
Scully and her portrait artist, Mulder was
determined to find out. "Take off the rest of
the first layer," he instructed.

"Are you sure Agent Scully won't mind?" asked
the lab tech.  He looked nervous in an "eager
to please - hope she'll notice" kind of way.
Mulder was amused.  This was the type of
infatuation that he could handle, the type
easily contained and manipulated.

"If she asks, just tell her that Fox had a
few questions," he grinned.

As Mulder drove to his apartment, he stopped
whistling to the radio and ultimately turned
it off.  Matching wits with Scully had always
been like cerebral foreplay, intellectually
stimulating and professionally satisfying.
But, dealing with her emotions made him feel
like a teenager trying to cop a feel.  No
wonder she was attracted to Dante.  He was
cultured, seductive, a man of the world.

Mulder realized that he was profiling the
wrong person.  A young woman who resembled
Scully was missing.  Beneath her portrait was
yet another woman who looked like Scully. He
didn't need to recognize the subtle hues of
his partner's emotions.  He needed to play
connect-the-dots with an artist who was
obviously obsessed with her.

Scully had ruled Dante out as a suspect.  He
could only presume that she had done so after
a thorough background check and verifying his
alibi. Given her state of mind and less than
forthcoming attitude, he wasn't sure that she
had done either.

Mulder reached for his cell phone.  Before he
could find out more about Alessandro Dante, an
incoming call interrupted. It was Senator
Wingate.

"She's back!" the woman exclaimed. "Katherine's
been returned."

"What?" His voice squeaked with surprise. He
coughed to cover up his embarrassment.

"Just a few moments ago... at the bottom of
the stairs..."

The sound on the other end was breaking up.
Mulder wasn't sure if it was the static of his
cell phone or the Senator's hysteria. But,
her timing couldn't have been worse. He
had just abandoned his alien abduction
theory for a libertine with a paintbrush.

Stopping at an intersection, he debated
which direction to turn.

"Is she okay?" he stalled.

"What a stupid question to ask," retorted
the Senator, sounding more like herself.
"I just told you that my daughter reappeared
as mysteriously as she disappeared.  Is that
the best you can do?"

Hearing this, Mulder didn't wait for the
traffic signal.  He turned left, cutting
off several cars as he sped towards the
Senator's house.

"Did you notice any noise, bright lights
or walls shaking?" he asked excitedly.

~~~
 

Part 7 of ?
 

Scully gazed at the embers in the fireplace.
After a few flickers of hope, her optimism had
died with the flames.  She should have known better
than to believe that Mulder was coming back. Just
because he noticed the little details didn't mean
that he understood the emotional big picture.  He
saw what he wanted.  For a few moments, so had she.

She had wanted to believe that Mulder's concern
was genuine.  But, she was a realist.  When it
came to the affairs of the heart, Mulder had the
attention span of a flea.  Her belief that he
would eventually evolve no longer mattered. Now
that there was so little time, Scully realized
that she had waited too long.   She should have
been as generous with her love as she was with
her criticism.  Had she been more giving and
less self-righteous, things may have turned out
differently for Mulder. He would have had a love
to remember rather than a poorly drawn memory
to obsess over.

Maybe, she should reconsider Dante's portrait
offer.  At least, the artist could paint a more
flattering impression than the one she had left
behind.

Scully picked up her phone.  Although she didn't
have Dante's telephone number, it would be easy
to obtain it.  The concept of using official
channels for personal reasons no longer fazed
her.  She had literally given her life for her
job. It was time for the Bureau to give back.

Her phone rang before she could dial the number.
It wasn't Mulder, but the lab tech he had assigned
to examine Katherine's portrait.

"This is Agent Webster down at the lab," he
announced in a voice that sounded nervous.  "I
hope I'm not disturbing you at home, Agent Scully."

"Not at all," she answered, her thoughts shifting
to Katherine's portrait and Mulder's secretiveness
about it.

"I've been trying to reach Agent Mulder," the
lab tech relayed.  "I guess his cell phone isn't
working."

She placed a hand over the receiver and snorted.
Mulder's cell phone wasn't broken.  He just didn't
want to be reached.   Talk about a wake-up call.
Here she was blaming herself for his shortcomings.
In truth, she really made no difference in his life.
He would go on fine without her.

"Agent Scully?"

"How can I help you, Agent Webster?"

"I've removed the rest of the first layer of
paint," he advised.  "My initial findings were
confirmed."

"Which were?" she asked.

"Didn't Agent Mulder tell you?"

"I'd like to hear it from someone who actually
knows what he's talking about," she cajoled.

The lab tech made a type of gurgling sound before
he blurted out.  "The underlying portrait looks
exactly like you. From the color of your eyes to
the shape of your hands, it's the most realistic
portrait I've ever seen."

The phone almost slipped through her fingers.

"Agent Scully... are you there?"

Regaining her composure, she spoke calmly to the
agent.  "I'd like to take a look at it. Is there
any way it can be delivered to my apartment?"

"I'd be happy to bring it myself," he offered.

Scully thanked him and hung up the phone.  For
a moment,  she stared into space trying to make
sense out of Dante, the portrait and Mulder's
deliberate attempt to hide the truth from her.
But, what was the truth? Had Dante taken one
look at her and recognized the shared features
of a portrait he had once painted?  Or, was the
artist obsessed with a face from a past that
didn't exist?

There was more, an unspoken theory that was
taking shape, form and texture in her mind.
What if reincarnation was real, that life
after death had nothing to do with eternal
bliss but continued struggle on Earth?
She remembered the time when Mulder recounted
his multiple lives during regression therapy.
More importantly, she recalled that Melissa
Ephesian got to star as his eternal soul mate
while she was stuck playing a dead confederate
sergeant.  She wasn't interested in a theology
that kept recycling her in a supporting role
and paired Mulder with another brunette.

No wonder she didn't believe.  She didn't want
to.

**********
 

Mulder stood outside Katherine Wingate's bedroom,
speaking urgently into a tape recorder.

"Subject was returned to the exact location of her
abduction.  There were no witnesses or disturbances
noted.  Subject has no recollection of her abduction
experience, although she clearly remembers the
events that led up to it.  She reports a sense of
feeling trapped which is consistent with documented
cases.  Results of a physical examination are still
pending."

He paced the length of the hall, considering all
that he had learned and all that he still didn't
know.  The family's private physician was examining
Katherine, the Senator having rejected the idea of
taking her daughter to the emergency room.  He
hoped that her refusal wasn't a clear sign of
obscure things to come.  He was counting on the
Senator's support in legitimizing the X-files.
That would not happen if she was determined to
keep the details of Katherine's abduction private.

"The family doctor has been instructed to check
for scar tissue on the back of the subject's neck
as well as any unidentifiable markings," Mulder
dictated.  He paused a moment and then turned the
recorder off.

For the first time in several hours, he thought
of Scully and his promise to watch over her.
Swearing to himself, he pulled out his cell phone
and turned it on.  The only messages were from the
FBI's lab.  They could wait.

Scully answered the phone with a voice that could
only be described as the calm before the storm.
He began to make excuses.  "You won't believe
what's happened, Scully."

"You'd be surprised what I'm beginning to
believe," she said.

"Katherine Wingate has been returned," Mulder
told her.  "I'm at the Senator's house right
now."

"That's not surprising."

Scully's comment could be taken two ways.
Either she wasn't surprised that Katherine
was abducted or that she wasn't surprised
that Mulder had ditched her for another
extraterrestrial opportunity.  He wasn't
about to ask.

"I'm really sorry for not calling sooner," he
began.  "It's been hectic."

"No problem, Mulder."

The forgiving tone to her voice made him wary.
It wasn't like Scully not to give him hell for
abandoning her.  He glanced at his watch and
said.  "Listen, I should be out of here within
the hour.  Are you hungry?  I could pick up
Chinese on my way over."

"How about the place down by the Hoover Building?"
Scully suggested.  "They have the best steamed
dumplings."

"It's kinda out of the way," Mulder protested
before slapping himself upside the head. "Sure,
Scully.  I'd be happy to go there.  Just add on
another half-hour to that arrival time."

"No rush," she said before hanging up on him.

Mulder clicked off his phone and frowned.  He
would have preferred an angry confrontation.
When on the defensive, there was little room
for remorse.  Now, guilt was closing in on him.

"Agent Mulder," the doctor called him from the
other end of the hallway.

Mulder quickly joined him.  "How is she?" he
asked.

"Physically, Ms. Wingate is fine," the doctor
said. "In fact, more than fine.  I've never seen
her look healthier."

It was an odd statement to make, but Mulder was
in a rush and already a question ahead.  "What
about emotionally?" he prompted.

"She has all the symptoms of posttraumatic stress
disorder," the man advised.  "She's confused...
almost hysterical.  I had to sedate her."

Mulder nodded, grateful that he had just been
handed a doctor's excuse to leave.  "I'll come
back in the morning."

"That would be advisable," the doctor agreed.

Mulder picked up his jacket from the banister
and tossed it over his shoulder.  "Tell Senator
Wingate that I've posted two agents out front."

He was half way down the stairs before the doctor
stopped him.  "By the way, you asked me to look
for any unusual skin growths.  I did find a growth
on the back of Katherine's neck, just below her
hairline."

Mulder reached for the railing to steady himself.
"Was it there before?"

"That's just it," the doctor said.  "I don't
know.  Neither does her mother.  It could be a
mole."

It could also be an implant, although Mulder
didn't voice his opinion aloud.  "Tomorrow, I'll
have my partner take a look at it," he relayed.
"She's a medical doctor and has some experience
with these types of things."

A sense of dread followed Mulder out of the
Senator's house.  He should be thrilled.  Absent
colorful wrapping and a bright, shiny ribbon, he
had just been handed the perfect gift - a classic
abduction.  He couldn't ask for more.  Why was he
expecting less?

As Mulder drove to the Chinese restaurant, he
glanced at the empty passenger seat and knew
the reason.  It was Scully.  Although she wasn't
physically there, he could feel her presence and
hear her skepticism.  The voice inside his head
reminded him that he had been handed similar gifts
in the past which had turned out to be costly to
them both.  Mulder knew that she was right. He
also realized that whatever happened, Scully would
always be with him.

An hour later, he arrived at her apartment.
His arms were loaded with numerous cartons of
spicy food.  It was more than they could eat,
but he hoped an adequate oriental peace offering.
Scully opened the front door before he could
knock.

"Agent Webster was just here," she announced,
pointing at the mantle above the fireplace.
"Look what he dropped off."

The cartons of Chinese food slipped from his arms
and crashed to the floor.

"I hope that wasn't my steamed dumplings," she
said dryly.
 

~~~
 

Part 8 of ?
 
 

Scully had convinced Agent Webster to hang the
portrait over the fireplace before he left.
Anticipating  Mulder's arrival, she added
another log to the fire and lit long, tapered
candles on the mantle.  The effect was dramatic.
The portrait seemed to come alive in the natural
light, each feature hers and, yet, not hers.
While the gaze in the portrait was lost in a
melancholy past, her own eyes were steeled for
impending confrontation.

Scully heard the approach of footsteps outside
her front door.  The smell of Chinese takeout
enticed a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
She had outwitted her partner.  She no longer had
to wait for Mulder to dole out answers like stale
bread crumbs. It was time to serve him up on a
platter, once and for all.

Unfortunately, Mulder's shock was more than her
guilt could handle.   He stared at the portrait
in disbelief, the cartons of Chinese food falling
from his hands. It didn't take him long to recognize
that she had outmaneuvered him.  It took her even
less time to realize that her dry quip about
steamed dumplings couldn't sop up the mess that
she'd just made.

Ashamed, she tried anyway.  Grabbing a roll of
paper towels from the kitchen, she knelt down
to clean up her deceit.

Mulder met her half way.  Grabbing her arm, he
demanded, "What have you done?"

His attitude bruised her more than the iron clamp
of his hand.  "Dana had questions," she mimicked.
"So," she shook off his grip. "Agent Scully decided
to find the answers."

Mulder sighed. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

"No," Scully corrected as she angrily cleaned up
the spilled food.   "You shouldn't have treated
me like an incompetent just because I'm dying."

"You're not dying, Scully."

"For Christ's sake," she swore.  She crossed the
room and flung the cartons of food into the kitchen
trash can.   "What does it take to make you believe?"

"Rather a ludicrous question coming from you," Mulder
snorted.

"I'm serious, Mulder."

"So am I," he stated, nodding up at the portrait.
"What answers do you think you've found, Scully?"

"What answers did Melissa Ephesian give you?" she
shot back.

Scully immediately regretted her outburst, not so
much for losing control but for revealing more
information than she'd intended.  In only three words
she'd managed to convey her short-term belief in
reincarnation and her long-term jealousy of another
woman.

"Crap," she exhaled, shaking her head as she dropped
her gaze to the floor.

Mulder didn't respond.  Either he was trying to
comprehend her sudden open-book psyche or wishing that
his partner had come with a set of Cliff's Notes. Scully
was oddly amused.  Being forthcoming about her feelings
had rendered him speechless.  Had she known this sooner,
she would have cut and pasted portions of her journal
into his FBI field notes.

Even now, Mulder was struggling to find the right
words.  "You... you... believe that Dante's your
soul mate?" he finally choked out.

She thought about if for a moment.  "No, but he does."

Scully saw a flash of jealousy in his hazel eyes
and braced for the thunder.  It came with more speed
than she expected and more force than she could handle.
"Mulder, don't!" she cried as he stormed towards the
front door.  She used her body to block his exit.
"This isn't about you."

With one move, Mulder lifted her up by the shoulders
and transplanted her back into the living room.
"You're right, Scully," he growled, leaning over her
shoulder to point at the portrait above the fireplace.
"It's about you.  Look at that portrait.  Can't you
see that Dante is fixated with you?"

"At least, Dante's not afraid to show how he feels
about me."

She could feel his breath against her ear, growing
hotter with each frustrated pant.  "Do you need to be
an obsession to know that you're loved?" he asked.

"Only when I don't have enough time left to be
anything else," she said.

"To Dante?" From behind, his arm circled her waist
and pulled her back against him.  It was a possessive
gesture, one that thrilled her.  She arched her neck
to one side, inviting his lips to follow its curve.

"To you."

"One kiss," he murmured, the trail of his mouth
against her skin sending tingles down her spine.
"One single kiss."

"Then what?" she whispered.

Mulder turned her to face him.  His lips brushed
over hers, lingering just long enough for Scully
to catch her breath.  While his kiss was gentle,
his answer was not.  "Then you fucking end this
swan song and find the will to live."

Scully swallowed hard before swiping her mouth
with the back of her hand.  "Is that what you
think this is?" she asked.

Mulder glanced up at the portrait again.  "I
don't think it, Scully.  I know it..."
 
 

**********************
 
 

So much for his "kiss and tell-off" tactic.

The clock on the mantle chimed midnight, startling
Mulder's gaze from the portrait.  He was lying on
the sofa, his legs too long and cramped to be
comfortable.  Scully had long since gone to bed,
exhausted from trying to outsmart his every move.

Except for the kiss...

She hadn't tried to outmaneuver that.

One kiss... with one kiss, everything had changed.
His guilt now had an opponent, a lust-driven nemesis
that had just jackknifed into his pool of doubt.
Scully was his partner.  Scully had cancer.
Breaching professional ethics was one thing.
Slapping a speedo over his integrity was another.

Still, Scully didn't seem to mind the kiss until
she realized that it was a different type of foreplay
altogether. He reasoned that if he could stimulate a
desire to live, she would live her desire.

Then, it hit him. Hell, he shouldn't resent Alessandro
Dante.  He should send him a thank-you card.  Of
course, he would tuck an exit visa into the envelope
and make sure Dante was personally escorted aboard
the next Alitalia flight.

Scully didn't want Dante.  She wanted him.

He then remembered how she wiped off his kiss,
obviously revolted by him.  It wasn't his breath,
although he still exhaled into his hand and sniffed
to make sure.

"What are you doing, Mulder?"

Scully's voice started him.  He sat up straight on
the couch and pretended to rub his eyes.  "I'm doing
what you're supposed to be doing," he said.  "Trying
to sleep."

"I can't sleep," she said in a small voice which
sounded like a ten-year old on the verge of whining.

"Dana want a glass of wa-wa?" he teased.

"Only if I can throw it into your face."  Scully
sounded like herself again.  "Actually Mulder, I think
we need to talk."

"I couldn't agree more," Mulder said, patting a spot
beside him on the sofa.  "I need to update you on
Katherine's abduction."

Scully sighed and sat down. "That's not what I meant."

He knew exactly what she meant. "Tomorrow, I want
you to check out the back of Katherine's neck," he
pursued. "There's a growth just above her hairline
that may be an implant."

"Do you really think that I've lost the will to
live?" she asked.

"Didn't I already answer that question?"

"Yes," she acknowledged, obviously working up her
nerve to ask the real question.  "Why did you kiss
me?"

Mulder thought that was pretty obvious, too. He was
half-tempted to tell her but was suddenly interrupted
by a third voice that he barely recognized as his own.
Guilt and lust didn't have a chance against this foe.
It was stronger than any other emotion he'd ever felt.

Before he could stop himself, he exclaimed, "I kissed
you because I wanted to shock you.  I wanted to shock
you into realizing that you should be fighting for
your life instead of surrendering to death. I wanted
to shock you into realizing that Dante's feelings can't
possibly compare to mine.  And Scully, if reincarnation
does exist, you can damn well bet there's a very good
reason why you're in each one of my lifetimes."

If Scully wasn't shocked before, she certainly looked
shocked now.  Mulder cupped her face, tilting her chin
up so her eyes were level with his.

"I love you, Scully.  Now, that's not an easy thing for
me to say, which is probably why it's taken me a dozen
or so reincarnations to get to this point.  But, I'm here.
And, the only question you should be asking yourself
is... are you willing to try to be here with me?"

Scully didn't answer.  She smiled slightly and then
leaned up to give him a tender kiss on the lips.

One kiss... it told him all he needed to know.
 

~~~
 

Part 9
 

In the morning, they returned to Senator Wingate's
house.  Before Scully got out of the car, she pulled
down the visor and scrutinized her appearance in the
vanity mirror.

"Pretty as a picture," Mulder joked as he reached over
and unbuckled her seat belt.  His fingers skimmed her
waist, his touch light yet intimate enough to remind
her that things had changed between them.  "Or should
I say portrait?"

Of course, he was still Mulder, capable of bad puns
and Phoebe poor taste when it came to beauty.  But,
she did look better. Her cheeks were flushed and
there was a sparkle to her eyes.

She should kiss her partner more often.

Senator Wingate was waiting for them at the front
door.  Judging by her sour expression, the Senator
hadn't kissed anyone since the Carter administration.
"Nice of you to drop by,"  she said in a cynical voice.

"How's Katherine?" Mulder asked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?  she retorted.
"I thought you were the expert on alien abduction."

Scully rose to her partner's defense.  "You won't find
anyone more qualified to help you, Senator Wingate."

"Is that a personal or professional opinion, my dear?"

"Does it matter?  Scully shrugged.

Kissing also made her reckless.

The Senator gave her a sharp look before her frown
lifted into a quirky smile.  She stepped back, allowing
them into her home.  "You won't find Katherine in
her room," she announced. "My daughter is in her studio.
She couldn't wait to get back to her ridiculous
canvas and oils."

Scully didn't consider the young woman's behavior
ridiculous, at all.  She remembered the aftermath of
her own abduction.  She had returned to work almost
immediately, desperate to regain a sense of normalcy
to her life.  More importantly, she felt a quixotic
need to be near Mulder, to prove herself strong yet
be in a position to draw upon his strength.

She opened her mouth to share these thoughts then
changed her mind.  Her belief in alien abduction was
still evolving.  The Senator deserved an opinion past
an amoeba stage and she wasn't about to let Mulder
know how dependent upon him she had become.

Kissing didn't make her insane.

As they entered the studio, Katherine was intent on
her work.  The canvas was turned away from them, so
they had no idea what she was painting.  It was to
remain that way.  As the young woman heard them
approach, she quickly drew a tarp over the painting.

"Can I help you?"  Her voice was cold, but her gaze
froze Scully on the spot.  They had never met, but
there was such loathing in Katherine's eyes that
Scully couldn't help but wonder.

"Actually, we're here to help you," Mulder explained.

"I don't need your help," the young woman asserted,
shifting her gaze to her mother. "It was the Senator's
idea to enlist the FBI, not mine."

It was an odd way to refer her mother, Scully thought.

"Miss Wingate, I promise we won't take up too much
of your time," Mulder said.  "For today, I just want
Agent Scully to examine the back of your neck."

Katherine drew back in revulsion.  "I will not have
that woman touching me."

"Agent Scully is a medical doctor," Mulder insisted.

The young woman laughed bitterly and set her palette
down.

Scully felt a tingle go down her spine.  This wasn't
instant dislike.  There was bile in Katherine's laugh,
a jealousy regurgitated throughout the ages.

Shocked, she took a step back.  Mulder looked at her
in surprise, not understanding that it wasn't Katherine
who frightened her.  It was the recognition of a past
literally coming back to haunt her.

"Are you okay?" Mulder took her arm and whispered into
her ear.

"I need some air," Scully whispered.  He immediately
released her and she fumbled her way out of the studio.
Katherine's suffocating hate seemed to follow her,
chasing her completely out of the Senator's house and
onto the front porch.  She stood there for several
minutes, a hand pressed to her side as she gulped the
chilly morning air.

"I thought you were better," Mulder remarked as he
joined her, closing the front door behind them so
they could speak in private.

"I thought so, too," she panted.

"Do you need to sit down?" he asked.

Scully shook her head.  "I need you to tell me that
Katherine doesn't hate me for a reason."

"For a reason?" Mulder took off his suit jacket and
draped it around her shoulders.  "Of course she doesn't
hate you for a reason, Scully.  She's traumatized."

"Didn't it seem that she knew me?"  she persisted.

"Where from?" he asked.

For a second time, she started to speak then changed
her mind.  Ridiculous explanations were supposed to
come out Mulder's mouth, not hers.  It was better
for her to internalize this fear and suspicion, to
deal with it herself, to weigh it against her science
and logic and...

She avoided Mulder's eyes as he passed her another
one of his damned tissues.

Kissing hadn't stopped her nosebleeds.

"I need to go," she whispered.

"Go where?" he asked.

Scully pulled the car keys from his jacket pocket
and passed it back to him.

"Where are you going, Scully?"

She waved the bloody kleenex like a doctor's note,
excusing her from Mulder's alien abduction class.
It certainly worked like one.  Her teacher looked
squeamishly convinced.

"I'll be back soon," she promised.
 

***********************
 

An hour later, Mulder sighed and turned off his tape
recorder.   "Maybe, we should try hypnosis." he
suggested.

Katherine looked skeptical as she dipped her brush
into the paint on her palette.  "Exactly, what do
you hope to accomplish, Agent Mulder?"

"Through hypnosis, you will be able to recall the
events without reliving them." he said.  "It's often
used on abductees."

"Did you use it on your partner?" she asked, leaning
forward to add a few touches on her canvas.

Mulder was experienced enough not to show his surprise.
It really didn't matter how she learned of Scully's
abduction.  What did matter is that she intended to
manipulate him.

"What are you painting?" he asked, getting up from
his chair.

Katherine covered the canvas with the tarp and leaned
back on her stool.  "That is none of your business."

"Maybe, it is," he countered.  "You're an artist, aren't
you?  What's difficult to speak in words, artists often
convey on canvas, correct?"

Katherine's sneer reminded him of the portrait.
"Shouldn't your partner be back by now?"

He held her gaze, refusing to glance at his watch.
Of course, Scully should have been back by now.  It
wouldn't be professional for him to show concern.  More
importantly, he couldn't afford to look weak in what had
become a mental tug-of-war.

"Why don't you want me to see what you're painting,
Katherine?" he asked.

The young woman dropped her eyes."Because, it's not
ready," she confided.  "And, it may be the most important
work I've ever done."

Hoping to gain her trust, Mulder didn't force the issue.
He nodded and returned to his chair.  "Inspiration comes
from the oddest places, doesn't it?" he commented.  "If
only we could understand the how and why."

"I'll make you a deal, Agent Mulder," posed Katherine.
"Tomorrow, if I let your hypnotist figure out the how and
why, will you leave and allow me to finish my painting?"

Mulder agreed, only because he was worried about Scully.
 

********************
 

"Mr. Dante, are you there?"  Scully called up the stairs
to his studio.  "It's Agent Scully.  I have a few more
questions."

"Just a moment, Dana."  She heard the rustling of clothes
and was relieved.  She was there for answers not a
full-frontal disclosure.  A moment later, she saw him
at the top of the stairs.  He was wearing his silk robe.
"Come... come... " he beckoned.

Scully got to the point as she climbed the stairs.
"Something has happened that I'm hoping you can explain."

"I'll do the best I can," he offered, leading her into
the studio.  Once inside, he directed her to a chair by
the window.   She sat down, straining to see past him to
the canvas on the easel.  "Another portrait?" she asked.

"You look tired," Dante observed.  He turned back to the
canvas so fast that all she could see was the ripple of
black silk.   She heard the scraping sound of the easel
being moved from her sight.

"Katherine has been returned," she announced.

"Returned?" Dante asked.  She watched him pour a cup of
espresso from a silver decanter.  He remembered to add
sugar before bringing the cup to her. "That is good
news, no?"

"It depends on who's asking," replied Scully, taking
a sip of the strong, sweet coffee.  "In Katherine's case,
yes...  it is very good news.  In your case, however, I'm
not so sure."

Dante returned to his canvas and smiled to himself. "Ah,
so I am a suspect again?"

"Mr. Dante, you have alluded to a belief in reincarnation,
even going so far as to suggest this belief in your
portraits," she said candidly. " I saw the portrait
beneath the one you painted of Katherine.  Today,
Katherine saw that woman... in me."

"You see a great deal, Dana," he admitted, leaning to the
side of the canvas to look at her. "Yet, fear still blinds
you from the truth."

Scully wasn't impressed by his accusation.  She had heard
these words... lived these words...  secretly believed that
on her tombstone, Mulder would inscribe these words...

"It doesn't take an artist's eye to recognize another
woman's jealousy," she noted.  "What does Katherine have to
be jealous of?"

Dante stared intently at her.  "You don't have enough time
left to understand."

"But you can paint eternal life."  Scully couldn't contain
her sarcasm as she got up from her chair and confronted him.
"Doesn't that mean I have plenty of time?"

"No," he said mournfully.  "It only means that I do."

~~~

Scully's confrontation of the artist wasn't going
as well as she expected.  Her cynicism had backfired.
Dante couldn't paint eternal life.  He was only
eternally doomed to try.   Only...  She sank slowly
back into her chair.  As ridiculous as it sounded,
she believed him.  In the darkness of his eyes, she
recognized a knowing look in a universe of unknowns,
a melancholy that spanned the ages.

"Do you know what it is like to lose someone you
have only just found?" Dante asked from behind his
easel.

The question should have put Scully on guard.  It
didn't.  She couldn't help but identify with the
yearning in his voice.  "Tell me," she urged.

Dante picked up his paintbrush and dipped it into
the paint on his palette.  He studied Scully's face
and began.  "You asked me during our first meeting
why I never signed my portraits."

Scully remembered, although she wasn't sure how it
was relevant.  "Yes?"

"My first portrait was completed during the Italian
Renaissance," Dante explained.  After a few paint
strokes on the canvas, he continued.  "Over the
centuries, I learned to adapt my style with each
art movement..."

"But, not your signature," she interrupted.

Dante nodded.  "Such a small thing, yet importante.
You see, while Titian and Botticelli were trying
to capture the ideal human form, I was trying to
capture the woman I loved."

"By painting her?"

He ignored her question and continued his tale.
"The gods had bestowed immortality upon the two of
us.  To me, it was an incredible gift.  Al mio
amore, era un curse terribile."

Dante had lapsed into Italian, not that it mattered.
Scully understood him perfectly.  "She felt cursed
by this gift."

The artist looked up from his canvas.  "Yes, yes...
but the true curse was her human frailty of free
will.  You see, the gods also gave us a choice."

"Between what?" she asked.

"To live eternally or to die as a mortal."

"And, she chose death," Scully concluded.

"You do not sound surprised," Dante noted.

"Not at all," she said.  "I would have done the
same thing."

"Yes," the artist murmured sorrowfully.  "I know...."

A tingle ran down Scully's spine.  "You think that
I'm this woman?"

Dante glanced down at his palette and said nothing.
Scully realized then that he never would.  The
conclusion could only be made by her.

"What you're saying is that you have the power to
paint, but I have the power to decide." she said,
getting up from the chair.

He lifted his gaze in hope.  "It must be of your
own free will."

She reached for her gun.

"Not in this lifetime, Mr. Dante."

He wasn't intimidated by the weapon in her hand.
"I understand," he said patiently.  He picked up
his brush and continued to paint. "Forse dopo tempo,
Dana..."

The "perhaps, next time" chased her down the stairs
and out to her car.

By the time Scully arrived home, it was pouring
rain and she couldn't find parking.  She ended up
walking from a block away, too weak to run and
too upset to care.  If she was to understand Dante
correctly, then eternal life was only a portrait
away. Her logic told her that the artist's claims
were simply not possible.  Her fear of dying begged
her not to entirely rule them out.

It was dark inside her apartment.  Soaked, she
trailed water over to the lamp by the sofa
and nearly shocked herself to death by turning
it on.  But, it wasn't electricity that threatened
ventricular fibrillation to her heart.  It was
Mulder sitting on the sofa, his eyes sparking with
anger.  "You said that you'd be right back," he
accused.  "That was hours ago."

Scully presented her get-out-a-jail card. "I picked
this up at the Bureau."

"A security wand?" he asked.

"Since Katherine refuses to let me examine her, you
can run the wand over the back of her neck," she
explained.  "If there is a chip embedded in her soft
tissue, the metal will set the wand off."

"God, I love how you think, Scully."

"You wouldn't have about an hour ago," she mumbled
to herself.

Mulder got up from the sofa and gently steered her
towards her bedroom.  "You look like a drowned
rat," he teased.  "Let's get these wet things off
of you."

Under normal circumstances,  Scully would have
laughed at his impudence.  But, she felt like a
rat drowning in her own deceit.  Inside her bathroom,
she acknowledged her beady little eyes in the mirror
while Mulder reached for a towel. "Okay, then," he
said, rubbing his hands together as he backed up to
the door.  "I'll just wait outside why you..."

She burst into tears.

"Scully, what is it?"

She turned around, gripping the back of the sink
with her hands.  "Mulder," she cried,   "Do you
know what it's like to lose someone you've just
found?"
 
 

*****************
 
 

Mulder's hand was numb.  It had been a long time
since a woman slept in his arms and he'd forgotten
how good that numbness felt.  He glanced over
Scully's hair at his useless hand.  He flexed
his fingers, one by one, before resting them on the
curve of her waist.  For a while, he contented
himself to the sound of her steady breathing against
his chest.  Once assured that she was deeply asleep,
he replayed their conversation in an attempt to figure
her out.

Not that there was much talk.  Of course, there wasn't
sex, either.  But, somewhere in the steamy bathroom,
intimacy lost its awkward feel.   He undressed her with
an expertise only imagined in his fantasies.  Wrapped
in a towel, she looked so tiny and wasted that he almost
cried with her.  Instead, he whispered all of the sweet
nothings that he could think of while he slipped a
flannel nightshirt over her head.   She didn't respond
to any of them.  She only stared.

Her eyes haunted him.  They looked like the sapphires
of the ancients, reflecting the dismay of a thousand
lifetimes.

Mulder now tightened his arms around her.  Oh God....
He could no longer hide from a truth that she recognized
so clearly.   She was dying.  There was to be no cure or
last minute miracle.  This sudden awareness was more
painful than even he could imagine.  His throat tightened
and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

He was suffocating under the weight of his dying beloved.

Scully must have felt his unrest because she woke up.
"You okay?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"Yeah."

"You don't look okay,"  she observed, raising herself
up on one elbow and peering down at him.

His lungs gave an involuntary spasm and filled with
air.  "I'll live," he grunted, rubbing his eyes with
the back of his hand.  "Unfortunately..."

She played connect the dots with the buttons on his
dress shirt.   "Mulder, there's something I need to
tell you."

The guilt in her voice revived him better than
mouth-to-mouth.  He sat up, instantly alert. "What
is it?" he asked.

"On my way back from the Bureau, I stopped by Dante's
studio."

"What the hell for?"

Her excuse was as feeble as the gesture she made
with her hands.  "It may sound silly, but Katherine
hates me."

"She doesn't even know you."

"I thought Dante might be able to explain her odd
behavior towards me."

"Don't bother accepting my explanation."  Mulder
swung his legs over to the opposite side of the
bed.   "After all, he's a portrait artist.  I'm
only a behavioral psychologist."

"Who wants to blame post-traumatic stress disorder
on little green men," Scully reminded him. "Mulder,
what if it's simpler than that?  What if Katherine
recognized me from a past lifetime?"

"That's simpler?" he scoffed.

"Hear me out."  Scully rose from the bed and began
pacing the room.  Her surge of energy surprised him.
Her theory utterly flabbergasted him.  "If
reincarnation does exist, why can't immortality?"

Was she serious?  He considered a rational answer
but sarcasm sounded so much better. "Um... because
that religion of yours only allows for one God?"

Scully headed for the living room.  Over her shoulder,
she called back to him, "Don't you find it odd that
her portrait was painted over mine?"

Mulder followed her.  "What's damn scary is that
you really believe that you're the woman in the
portrait."

Scully turned to point at the portrait above
the mantle.  "But, if I do believe, there might
be a chance..."

She stopped suddenly.  They both stared at the
vacant wall and then each other.

The portrait was gone.

Mulder went for his gun while Scully retrieved
a bathrobe from her bedroom closet.  "Any sign of
a break-in?" she asked, joining him at the front
door.

The lock and chain were still in place.  "Not
through the door," he said.  "Check the windows,
Scully."

Mulder stood guard as she checked each window.
When she reported that the windows had not been
tampered with, he lowered his gun. "The portrait
may have already been gone when I got here," he
admitted.

"You didn't notice?"

"It was dark..." he replied.  "Besides, I wasn't
worried about the portrait's whereabouts.  I was
worried about my partner's whereabouts."

Scully drew the bathrobe tighter around her body.
"Do you think Dante stole the painting?"

"Maybe," he considered.  "How did he know that
you had it?"

"I told him," she said, grimacing. "But, I came
straight home after I left his studio. That
would have left Dante little or no time to steal it."

"I thought immortals have all the time in the
world," Mulder joked.

Judging by the look on her face, Scully didn't
think he was funny.
 

~~~
 

Part 11 of 11
 
 

The next morning, Scully watched Dr. Werber
attempt to hypnotize a very unwilling Katherine
Wingate.  Standing in the shadows of the
young woman's studio, Scully folded her arms
and frowned.   Her skepticism wasn't directed
at the method or even the madness of Mulder's
idea.   Katherine was going to require more
than the power of suggestion to cooperate.
Scully wasn't sure if there was a force strong
enough to penetrate the icy hatred reflected
in the woman's eyes.

Despite the obscurity of Scully's location,
Katherine had sought her out as a focal point.
Her fixed and dilated animosity seemed to go
unnoticed by Mulder, who was, as usual, intent
on seeing only what he wanted to see.  Scully
could tell that her partner was already
visualizing his success, a woman abducted
and returned, with her story soon-to-be caught
on tape.

What Mulder didn't envision was the location of
her missing portrait. He had already moved on
without a single glance over his shoulder, other
than to check that Scully was dutifully following
behind him.  She was annoyed that he'd stuck her
in a corner like a recalcitrant child, to be
neither seen nor heard.  It was unprofessional.
It was embarrassing.

Yet, she realized how easy it would be to escape
her babysitter's notice now that his focus
wasn't on her.

As Scully quietly backed towards the door,
Katherine's sneer lifted to a victorious smile.
Once again, the artist had successfully driven
the agent out of her studio.  This time Scully
didn't care.  She had other things on her mind.

Although Scully had no proof, she suspected that
Dante had taken the painting. It was a remarkable
accusation considering the fact that the laws of
time and space would not have given him the
opportunity. But, Dante was a God.  As Mulder
had so sarcastically reminded her, he had all
the time in the world.

She, unfortunately, did not.

Perhaps, he took the portrait back as a punishment.
Dante had offered her eternal life and she threw
it back into his face. Actually, she had waved
her gun in his face before fleeing for her life...
or for what was left of it.

It was ridiculous to fear Dante, anyway.  He had
clearly said the choice was hers.  Not even a God
could take back the gift of free will.

By the time she reached Dante's studio, she
decided that maybe he'd taken the portrait to
lure her back for a second chance. Deep down
she was grateful.  At this point, her only other
option was to die an undignified death.

From the bottom of the stairs, she called up.
"Mr. Dante, it's Dana Scully.  May I come up
and speak to you, again?"

When there was no response, she climbed a few
steps and paused.  She reached for her gun and
then decided against it.  Demanding eternal life
at gunpoint didn't seem like such a good idea.

Scully tip-toed up the steps and peeked into the
studio. It was empty with the exception of the
painting that Dante had been working on the day
before.  Curious, she edged towards it, wondering
if her miracle was already in the making, hidden
beneath the tarp.  As she slowly lifted the edge,
she drew in her breath.  The fine hairs on the back
of her neck bristled to sudden danger, a movement
that came up behind her so quickly that she had
no time to react.

The last thing she remembered was a swirl of black
silk enveloping her like a cocoon, not trapping her
but protecting her until she could be reborn.
 
 

**********
 
 
 

Dr. Werber tried again, speaking in a soft,
melodious voice, "Katherine, I'm going to ask
you to close your eyes and take long, deep
breaths..."

Mulder held his own breath, hoping that the young
woman would relax and finally cooperate.  His
reputation was at stake and with it, the ability
to access information that might help Scully.  He
no longer felt the suffocating hopelessness of
the night before.  With the light of morning, his
resilient nature had reawakened.  The search for
his sister had taught him that obsession knew no
defeat. He would find a cure for Scully, even if
he had to use the Senator and her daughter to do
it.

He turned around to check on his partner, only
to find her gone.

Mulder sighed and got up from his chair "Why don't
we take a break?" he suggested.

"Why don't we just end this ridiculous session?"
countered Katherine.

"Because we made a deal, remember?"  he reminded
her.

"Your partner left, you know," the young woman
announced with malicious glee. "Where do you
suppose she went?"

She was testing him, again.  Rather than give
into her, Mulder sat back down on the chair.
"Katherine, why won't you tell us what happened?"
he asked, forcing patience into his voice.

"Because what you think happened, didn't," she
imparted, looking bored, picking flecks of dried
paint off her fingers.

"Your abduction," he clarified.

She nodded.

Dr. Werber interceded, "Perhaps then, Katherine,
you might describe to us what did happen."

The young woman snorted and gazed down at her
hands. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Mulder snapped.  He wasn't able to
remain calm any longer.  One of them was avoiding
the truth about her abduction.  He prayed it
wasn't him.

Katherine gave him a haughty look.  Not only was
she enjoying the game, she was winning. It was
time for him to up the ante. Mulder got up from
his chair again.

"Maybe you would be more comfortable discussing
this with your mother," he announced.

Mulder knew the Senator was his trump card.
By the time he reached the door, Katherine was
ready to fold. She spoke in a flurry of panic
and anger. Unfortunately, neither he nor Dr. Werber
understood a single word of it.

She was speaking in Italian.
 

**********
 
 

....she was wearing a white lace dress that skimmed
her shoulders.  Her feet were bare against the warm,
mosaic tile.  There was no illness or impending
death, only a sense of renewed health and
contentment....

Scully woke in an easy chair, her fingers slowly
tracing the lace of her dress.  She felt remarkably
alive and energetic.  Only her illness had died upon
waking.  The rest of the dream had become her reality.

She tried to rise from the chair, but Dante stopped
her with a wave of his hand.  "Not yet, Dana," he
said softly as he kneeled down in front of her.

Scully felt the energy drain from her legs and
glanced up helplessly at the artist.  "I don't
understand," she said.

"Your portrait is not complete," he explained.
"That is why you are here, to sit for me so
I may finish it."

Confused, she glanced over his shoulder to the
easel where the portrait was still covered with a
tarp. "I still don't understand," she faltered.
"I feel so...."

"Vivo?" he asked.

"Alive, yes," Scully whispered.  "I thought that
you said that when I awoke, it would be forever."

"And, you shall," he promised. "What you feel now
is il potere di suggerimento... the power of your
own suggestion, not mine."

The only thing Scully felt at that moment was the
rebirth of cynicism.  "But, I want to move right
now and can't," she remarked.

Dante looked amused. "That would be due to the
power of 'my' suggestion," he said.

Before she could protest, he ran a hand down the
sleeve of her dress.  She felt the tingle of a
timeless energy ripple against her skin.  "Mio
amato," he murmured.  "You remember the dress,
no?"

"No," she stated matter-of-factly.  "No, I do
not."

The artist chuckled and stood up.  "While you
rested, I went to our cafe for espresso," he
said. He walked over to a side board and unscrewed
the lid of the silver decanter.  "Would you care
for a cup before we begin?"

"No, thank you," Scully said crisply.

She was angry.  Dante had tricked her.

Of course, there was a lot of tricking going on.
She had tricked Mulder, ditching him because
he wouldn't take her missing portrait seriously.
She had tricked Dante into believing that she
was the woman he was searching for in a desperate
attempt to save her own life. Worst of all,
she had tricked herself into believing that she
was cured, when clearly she was not.

"What happened to Katherine's portrait?" she
asked.  "Did you take it?"

"Why would I do that?"  He looked confused,
pouring the espresso into a demitasse.

"To lure me back here," Scully said.

"That would have been a waste of both of
our time."  Dante paused to take a sip.

"So would be longing after the wrong
woman,"  Scully said, determined to set the
record straight.  "I am not your beloved,
Dante.  My heart... my soul... belongs to
someone else."

Dante was no longer across the room.  He
was beside her, leaning over so his breath
fanned the side of her face.  She closed her
eyes and inhaled the rich scent of the Tuscan
countryside, the olive trees soon to be
harvested, a clump of fresh basil in her hand.

"How easy it would be to live this tranquility,"
she admitted.  "To surrender to your truth as
if it were inevitable."

Dante moved away from her, allowing her to
open her eyes.  "But, it is inevitable, Dana...
see for yourself."

He walked over to the easel and flung the
tarp to the floor. Scully leaned to the side,
her eyes straining to see the portrait which
he had turned from her view.  But, the only
thing she could see was the disbelief on Dante's
face.

"This cannot be," the artist said to himself.
He took a step back and studied the portrait
with a mixture of shock and fascination.

"What is it?" Scully asked.

Dante ignored her, spellbound by what he saw,
his hand lifting to touch the canvas in front
of him.

"Dante, what is it?" she heard her voice rise
in a warning she didn't understand, but only
felt.

"Lo sguardo della morte," he exclaimed. His
fingertips touched the portrait and came away
smeared with paint.  He stared at them
thoughtfully, before turning his gaze to her.

The look of death...

"I'm sorry, Dana...." His voice was already an
echo.  She watched in horror as he faded and
then completely disappeared in front of her eyes.
 
"No!"  Scully sprang up from the chair and ran
barefoot over to the easel.  "Dante!" she cried
his name over and over as she frantically searched
the studio for him.

"Scully!"  She heard Mulder call from the bottom
of the steps.

"No, no, no! Not yet," Scully pleaded, covering
her ears to drown out her partner's voice.  Her
miracle had yet to happen.  She was still dying.
 
Mulder reached the landing with his gun drawn
and a crazed look in his eyes. The desperation on
his face so closely matched hers that she
flinched and turned away.  In doing so, she faced
the portrait, and the truth about Dante's immortal
beloved.

"Katherine," Scully said, her hands falling
to her sides in defeat. She wanted to cry, but
couldn't.  Her emotions had vanished along with her
last hope.

Mulder stood beside her and stared at the portrait.
"Katherine stole the portrait from your apartment,
Scully.  Over it, she painted what she considered
the most important work of her life."

"A portrait of Dante." She dropped her gaze to her
toes and murmured "... you that the humans in some
situations are likened unto playthings of the gods."
 
Mulder took off his jacket and draped it over
Scully's shoulders.  "Well, in this case, I think
the gods, themselves, were the playthings," he
reasoned.

"But, we're the ones walking away empty handed,"
she said.  "You've lost an opportunity to
legitimize the X-files and I've lost..."

Scully felt her partner's hand slip into hers.
"You've lost nothing, Scully," he insisted.
"Nothing that can't be found another way. "

Only when she saw the yearning in Mulder's eyes did
she actually believe him.
 
 
 

**********
 
 
 

Epilogue
 

"It's well past midnight," the Senator complained
from the doorway to Katherine's studio.  "You know
what the doctor said.  You need to rest."

"Soon I will rest,"  Katherine promised, although
not to her mother. "Soon...."

"What are you working on that has you up all hours
in the night?" her mother asked, clutching the neck
of her robe as she passed the portrait of Alessandro
Dante.  "I do wish that you would get rid of that
thing.  I swear his eyes are following me."

Katherine smiled to herself before turning the
easel towards her mother.  "Come see for yourself,
Senator."

The woman stared critically at the canvas before
smiling with approval.  "How nice," she remarked.
"A self-portrait."
 
 
 

-The End
 
 
 
 
 
 

Author's Notes:  My thanks to all who patiently
waited for each chapter of "Immortal Beloved."
Special thanks to my beta, fellow author and
eternal beloved, David Stoddard-Hunt.