Johnny Lee

by Brandon D. Ray
publius@avalon.net


BEGUN:  July 11, 2001
FINISHED:  August 19, 2001

==========

DISTRIBUTION:  Do not archive at gossamer.  I'll send them a
copy directly.  Anywhere else is fine, as long as these
headers remain intact and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  I live for it.  But you already knew that,
right??

==========

SUMMARY:  A meditation on love and dragons.

CATEGORIES: X-File (MOTW), Romance

KEYWORDS:  MSR.   Is Vacationfic a category?  If it isn't,
it should be.

SPOILER STATEMENT:  FTF & The Beginning

TIMELINE:  No particular time, although the events of
"Requiem" and "Existence" seem not to have happened.  M&S
are together, and they're pretty content -- at least for the
moment.  Place it where you will.

RATING:  PG-13.  I know.  I can hardly believe it, either.

CONTENT STATEMENT:  Nothing really alarming that I can think
of.  If you're bothered by baseball, or by 17th Century
English literature, you may want to exercise some caution. ;)

==========

THANKS AND CREDITS:  To CindyET, M. E. Cieplinski, Jeylan
and Sharon, for the cool and bodacious beta reading.

==========

DISCLAIMER:  Not mine.  Never will be.  I had a really
witty, biting disclaimer written, and then CC went and gave
us "Existence", and bought me off again.  I am *such* a
sucker.

==========END HEADERS AND NOTES==========

===========
Wednesday
===========

It is huge and dark and powerful.  It is also very, very
beautiful.

It breaks the surface of the water just as the moon is
rising above the river bank.  The night is cloudless, and
the air is clear as crystal, warm and soft and vibrant.  A
light wind brushes the trees, as a lover's hand might caress
a lock of hair.  The firmament is velvety black; the stars
an infinite, disorderly array of gems, winking down at the
sleeping countryside.

The creature hovers over the river for a moment, surveying
its surroundings.  There is no one here, of course.  No
humans.  It knew that before it emerged.  But still there is
much to see, much to consider.  The water flowing quietly
between its banks.  The small nocturnal animals creeping
through the tall grass.  The scattering of trees, and the
undergrowth, vying with glacial slowness for a niche.  Even
the soil, the simple earth, rich and brown and fecund, calls
out with a song of its very own.

It spins about, more quickly than a human eye could follow,
and launches itself up with a creak of leathery wings -- up,
up, up into the sky.  Its motions are free and easy, and the
wind whistles past and around it, making way before the
irresistible bulk.  Five hundred feet ... a thousand ... two
thousand ... in a matter of seconds it has gained more than
a mile in altitude.  And then it levels off.  Not because it
has to; not because there is any plan or because it is
compelled.  But simply because it chooses to do so.

Just as it chooses everything it does.

The land below is familiar, and yet always new.  The
creature watches avidly as it flies, admiring the hardiness
of the corn and soybeans, wrinkling its nostrils in
appreciation of the pungency of the hogs and horses and
cattle.  A small spark of light reveals the location of a
home, and then another, and another.  Moving lights signal
the presence of cars and trucks, and high, high overhead a
jet plane passes, oblivious to the presence of the strange,
powerful flyer.  And then the creature soars over a cluster
of lights that marks a town.

Everywhere there are familiar landmarks, and everywhere
there are changes.  Here a farmer has dug a pond; there the
land has been cleared to make way for new construction.  In
yet a third place a stand of trees remains untouched, with
only the slow, steady growth of wood and leaf to indicate
the passage of time.  The creature sees everything,
cataloguing and storing the smallest detail.  And it flies
on.

After a time, neither short nor long, it comes to another
river, wide and flat and flowing steadily towards the sea,
more than a thousand miles away.  The flow is interrupted at
regular intervals by the tinkerings of men -- dams and
bridges and flood walls, and countless other creations of
those who deem themselves the rulers of the planet.  But in
the end, it makes no difference.  In the end, the river goes
where it will go.

The creature pauses in its flight to admire the water, as it
ripples and sparkles in the pale moonlight.  For a moment it
considers plunging downwards, into the water, there to plumb
its depths and explore the mysteries to be found in the dark
and quiet of the river bottom.  It is poised and ready.  The
barest wingbeat will turn the vision into reality --

And on the far side of the river, something draws its
attention.  The creature's eyes glitter, its nostrils
twitch, and its ears quiver with excitement.  It rolls onto
its back, twisting and frolicking in the air and once more
gaining speed.  The water flashes by underneath, now
forgotten, a casualty of this new obsession.  It's here,
it's here, on the far side of the river, somewhere,
somewhere ....

Yes!  One of the moving lights, far, far below.  An
automobile, maneuvering along one of the many roads that
crisscross this land.  The creature's mighty tail whips in
excitement as it swoops downwards, seeking, searching,
pursuing, approaching the ground at reckless speed and then
leveling off and shooting across the land, skimming over
fences, evading haystacks and houses and outbuildings.  It
detects a pair of startled humans, but then they're gone,
fading into the distance before they have time to realize
what they've seen.

And there's the car, just ahead, its headlights washing
across the scenery as it travels along the highway.  The
creature pops back up into the air, arching up a couple of
hundred feet, then changing course so that once more it
parallels the ground.

The car, a dark green Taurus, is right below it.

It beats its wings languidly, almost lazily, as it matches
speed with the vehicle below, its neck craning and dipping
as it examines the two occupants.  Not just with its hard,
obsidian eyes, of course; that is one of the creature's
least important senses.  It can also feel their presence, it
can detect the disturbance their existence creates in the
rest of the universe.  It feels out their shapes, explores
their beings, examines their souls.  And yes, yes, they are
everything they seemed to be, and everything it hoped they
were.

These two humans, this man and this woman, will require
closer examination.  The conclusion is immediate and
matter-of-fact.  Opportunities like this do not arise very
often, and when they do, the creature always takes full
advantage.  And so, with casual indifference to the privacy
of the people in the car, it reaches out and samples their
thoughts, examining their intentions and then planting the
barest trace of a suggestion in the woman's mind.  

The tiniest nudge is all it takes.  More than that would
taint the outcome, spoil the game.  Of course, it would be
best if no intervention were required at all, but the world
is not a perfect place, and the creature has known that for
millennia.  

A quick reexamination of the people in the car, a careful
measuring of their resonance, and it is satisfied.  The plan
has been set in motion, and soon they will come -- the
better to be studied and evaluated.

Soon they will come.

Soon.


===========
Thursday
===========

"Seventeen," Mulder said at last, taking a quick glance at
his partner before turning his attention back to the
highway.  Morning sunlight glinted off the dark green hood
of their Taurus, and he had to squint a little to see where
he was going.  He repeated, "Seventeen.  And a half."

Scully snorted.  "You're not serious," she said.

"Yes I am!" he insisted.  She rolled her eyes, and he went
on, "Really, Scully.  That's my guess.  High or low?"

"I think I'm insulted," she replied, an amused tone in her
voice.  "And if that really is your guess, then it's high.
*Very* high.  So high I think you owe me another Dove bar."

"No way," he said.  Scully remained silent, while a quarter
of a mile sped by beneath the tires.  At last, Mulder
decided to come clean.  "Okay," he added.  "That wasn't
really my guess.  I mean, it was ... but it wasn't.  You
know what I mean?"

"Mulder, you have a real gift for twisting things up, you
know that?  Would you care to repeat what you just said --
in English, this time?"

"Actually," he said, "seventeen was *me*.  I just ... uh ...
didn't want you to be lower than me."

"What?"  Scully whooped with laughter.  Mulder couldn't help
but laugh along with her, albeit his was a little rueful.
"Mulder, you're *not* serious.  You're not.  You can't be.
You were *seventeen* when you had your first French kiss?"

"Yeah," he replied.  "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," she said, stifling the remnants of her mirth.  "No,
there's not.  It's really ... it's really very sweet,
Mulder.  I'm touched."  Her shoulders shook, and another
little cluster of giggles escaped.  "Oh, Mulder ...
seventeen?"

"Yeah," Mulder repeated.  He shifted in his seat, and hoped
he didn't sound as defensive as he felt.

He shot another look at Scully.  Despite his own minor
embarrassment, he was enchanted all over again at how free
and open she'd been ever since they began this trip.  Six
days they'd been on the road now.  Six days since they
loaded up his car and left D.C.  Not in pursuit of a
poltergeist or a vampire or reports of alien abduction, but
just ... driving.  Going nowhere in particular.  Because
they wanted to.

A vacation, he thought.  That's what people call this.  A
vacation.

"It could have been a real disaster," he continued.
"Fortunately, Amber was more, uh, experienced than I was.
She was only sixteen, but I wasn't her first boyfriend, or
even her second.  She showed me the ropes."

"I'll just bet she did," Scully replied, amusement still
evident in her voice.  "Lucky girl."  She reached out and
gave his hand a squeeze where it gripped the steering wheel.
 "And lucky me.  I've got the benefit of the training she
gave you."

"Well, I did work *some* of it out on my own," Mulder said,
trying not to sound defensive.  "That swizzle stick
maneuver, for example -- she didn't teach me that."

"Whoever did is a saint," Scully said, giving another little
snort.  "And an idiot, for letting such a talented pupil get
away."

Mulder felt himself blushing at her frank compliment, but he
didn't demur.  He liked hearing things like that from
Scully.  The idea that he could make her happy was something
he was still getting used to, even after several months of
being together.  Fortunately, she never seemed to tire of
reminding him.

"Anyway," he said, "we've drifted away from the subject.  We
weren't talking about *my* first kiss -- we were talking
about *yours*.  So fess up.  When was it?"

"Well, there was my father, of course," she replied, and now
there was a teasing note in her voice.  "And my mother.  And
Missy and Bill --"

"*French* kiss, Scully," he interrupted.  "You know --
tongue, tonsils, hands under your shirt.  The whole ball of
wax."

"You make it sound so romantic," she said, laughing once
again.  "And okay, okay.  If you must know, I was fourteen.
And before you ask, it was pretty good.  Very good, in
fact."

"Fourteen, huh?"  

Mulder thought about that for a moment, and tried to imagine
a fourteen year old Scully, her breasts still swelling, her
hips only beginning to take shape.  She was wearing one of
those Catholic school uniforms, he decided, with the skirt
falling just below her knee --

"Mulder, look!"

Mulder pulled himself out of his fantasy, to see that his
partner was staring out the window, pointing at something in
the distance.  Ahead and to the right, poking up over a
small stand of trees, was some sort of tower or steeple.

"Yeah?" he said.  "What about it?"

"It looks interesting," she replied.  "It looks old.  I want
to stop and take a closer look."

"Scully, this is Iowa.  How old can it be?"

"I don't care," she said.  "I'm the passenger, and that
means it's my day to decide when we stop and look at things.
 That's in the rules."

"Rules," he said, shaking his head with mock solemnity.
"Only you could make up rules for a vacation."  

But he was already slowing the car, because up ahead he
could see an intersection.  A few seconds later they were
there, and he turned right, towards the steeple.

They drove in silence for a short while.  The road they'd
been on was a state highway -- another of Scully's rules was
'No Interstates, unless absolutely necessary' -- and the one
they'd turned off on was a two lane blacktop that twisted
and turned as it made its way through the trees.  It was in
good repair, and the ride was very smooth.  At last they
broke out into more open terrain, and they saw the town.

"Wanmei, Iowa," Mulder said, reading the sign as it flashed
by.  "Population 1,638.  Doesn't exactly sound like a
thriving metropolis, Scully.  I don't think we're going to
find any Dove bars here."

"I don't care," she replied.  "I just want to see that
steeple."  She pointed again, off to the right.  "There it
is.  I bet that's the center of town."

They were now driving through the streets of the village.
The homes looked sturdy and were in good condition;  the
yards were neat and well cared for.  A couple of times they
saw children playing, and once they passed an elderly man,
sitting on a rocking chair on his front porch.

"Norman Rockwell would love this," Mulder commented, as they
approached a bridge that crossed a small river.  The sides
of the bridge were about three feet high, made of fitted
fieldstone, and it was floored with wooden planks.  It
looked like it had been there forever.  In his mind's eye
Mulder could see men driving wagons and riding horses across
it.  Like everything else they'd seen in the town, it was
well maintained.

A few blocks later they found the steeple.  As Scully had
guessed, it was at the center of town, rising up out of a
building that looked to be at least a hundred years old.  It
stood on one corner of the town square, with a park in the
middle, perhaps a hundred feet on each side.  A few trees
were scattered strategically about the green space, with
benches beneath them.  There was a bandstand in one corner
of the park, and a fountain in the center.  There was a
sculpture of some sort in the middle of the fountain, but
Mulder couldn't make out what it was, due to the intervening
trees.

The square was surrounded by storefronts and offices.  Most
of the buildings were older, and the architecture varied
from one structure to the next, but the overall effect was
pleasing to the eye.  A few pedestrians wandered in and out
of various doorways.  None of them seemed to be in much of a
hurry.

The building with the steeple was on the corner of the
square opposite the bandstand.  It was three stories high
and, like the bridge, it was made of fitted fieldstone.  The
steeple rose another fifty feet or so above the third story,
and was topped by a carving of ... Mulder shaded his eyes
and craned his neck as he stepped out of the car.  A dragon?

"Mulder, come on!"

Scully was already on the sidewalk, striding briskly towards
the building, and Mulder had to run a few steps to catch up.
 He fell in step with his partner and grabbed her hand, just
as she reached the front steps.  She looked up at him in
surprise -- they were both still getting used to this whole
'couple' concept -- then smiled, gave his hand a return
squeeze, and looked back to the building.  Mulder allowed
his own gaze to follow hers.

The building was impressive; there was no denying that.
They stood at the foot of wide, stone steps, leading up to
an equally wide set of heavy oaken doors.  Above the doors
was a motto, carved into the stone of the building.

"'My mouth shall speak of wisdom,'" Scully said, reading
aloud.  "'and the meditation of my heart shall be of
understanding.'"  She shook her head.  "That's from Psalms,
I think, but I don't remember which one."

She continued looking up at the building, and began to mount
the stairs, letting go of his hand as she moved upwards.
Mulder followed, a step or two behind.  But just as she
reached the top, one of the doors started to open --

Suddenly everything seemed to be happening in slow motion,
and there was absolutely nothing Mulder could do but watch.
He was three of those broad stone steps below her, several
feet off to the left, well out of reach.  He saw the door
begin to move, and he saw Scully react, jumping back to
avoid being hit.  She took two steps, and a little hop, then
her heel slipped off the edge and she was falling,
windmilling her arms frantically to regain her balance, even
as Mulder prepared to launch himself forward, in a desperate
attempt to catch her, or at least break her fall, but it was
too late, too late, she was falling --

And all in an instant she was standing upright, one step
below the top, breathing hard.  Her arms were stretched out
on either side, a stunned look on her face.  Mulder blinked.
 What the hell just happened?

"I'm terribly sorry!  Are you all right, my dear?"

Mulder looked up at the open doorway, to see a middle aged
man hurrying forward.  He was wearing a three piece suit and
wire rimmed glasses, and had thinning, jet black hair.  He
was of average height, or perhaps a little less, and an
expression of concern painted his features.  When he spoke,
there was an odd lilt to his voice, an accent that Mulder
couldn't quite place.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" the stranger said.

He was now standing in front of Scully, who had lowered her
arms, looking her over anxiously.  She looked dazed -- and
come to think of it, Mulder felt a little foggy, himself.
He shook himself, moving on up the steps to stand next to
her.

"Scully?  You okay?"

"Y-yeah."  She glanced at Mulder, and gave a rueful smile.
"Just slipped, I guess."  She turned back to the other man,
who still stood in front of her, clucking worriedly.  "I'm
fine.  I ... I was just admiring this lovely building, and I
guess I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?"  The man in the three piece
suit nodded, his features relaxing as it became clear that
Scully was okay.  "It was built in 1871, using only hand
tools.  A remarkable achievement."  He beamed with a pride
that seemed almost paternal.  "It was the original county
courthouse.  Of course, that was before they moved the
county seat.  Now it's the library and community center."

"It seems a bit big for that, for a town this size," Mulder
commented.

"Oh, yes."  The reply was cheerful, and accompanied by a
friendly smile.  "But we have an active community life, and
a lot of avid readers."  He ducked his head to Mulder, then
bowed slightly to Scully.  "But here I am taking up your
time, when all I wanted to do was make sure that my
clumsiness had not caused the lady any discomfort.  Since
everything seems to be fine, I'll be on my way.  A good day
to you both."  

With a final nod, he moved past them, trotting down the
steps at a brisk pace.  Mulder watched as he paused to check
for traffic, then jaywalked across the street and
disappeared into the park.  Mulder kept looking in the
direction the man had gone for another few seconds; at last,
Scully touched his elbow, and he turned, following her into
the building.

#          #          #

An hour or so later, Scully found herself up to her ears in
books.  

She and Mulder had skipped the signs directing them to the
community center on the upper floors, and gone straight to
the library.  Scully had started out just browsing the
stacks, and had quickly become impressed by the size and
depth of the collection.  Even more noteworthy was the
apparent fact that many of the books had been checked out
fairly recently, and all were in very good condition.  There
didn't seem to be any that were languishing on the shelves
collecting dust.  Scully had seen private libraries
belonging to self-proclaimed bibliophiles that were less
well cared for.

Nor were the books all recent best sellers and movie
novelizations, although such volumes certainly were
represented.  But there was also a wide selection of
literature, ranging from Homer and Sophocles, to Bacon,
Shakespeare, and even classic scientific treatises by the
likes of Isaac Newton and William Harvey, in expensive --
and sometimes antique -- leather bound editions.  Scully
eventually settled down in a big, comfortable easy chair in
one of the many reading nooks, and started to work her way
through Darwin's 'Voyage of the Beagle'.

A couple of times Mulder wandered by, once to tell her that
he'd found a complete, unexpurgated edition of Richard
Burton's translation of 'A Thousand Nights and a Night', and
the second time to report that the library had an
unbelievably comprehensive collection of early 20th Century
jazz, almost all of which was on vinyl rather than CD.

Then he disappeared again, and Scully let herself get lost
in her book.  It had been years since she'd had a chance
like this -- not since before med school, really.  The
Falkland Islands.  The Straits of Magellan and Tierra del
Fuego.  Galapagos.  Giant tortoises.  Other patrons
occasionally passed by, and once someone stopped to ask her
the time, but she barely noticed.

At last she sighed, put the book down and checked her watch.
 More than two hours had passed since the last time she'd
seen Mulder.  It was probably about time she checked on him.
 Not that she actually thought he could be in any real
trouble, not in a small town library on a lazy summer
afternoon in Iowa.  But this *was* Mulder, after all, and
all those years of watching his back had instilled some
habits in her that were hard to break.  Besides, it was
pushing two o'clock, and she was getting pretty hungry.

She found him in the A-V department, wearing headphones and
listening to some old vinyl records.  It took surprisingly
little effort to pry him loose -- he was hungry, too, as it
turned out -- and a moment or two later they were heading
for the exit.

"Hey, lookie here, Scully!"

Mulder swerved away from her, grabbing her hand and dragging
her after him.  They came to a stop in front of a bookcase
situated directly across from the checkout desk.  A sign
above the bookcase read, 'Friends of Wanmei Library -- Book
Sale -- $1 each'.

"C'mon, Scully.  Let's see if we can find something to buy."
 
He glanced at her, a hopeful expression on his face, and she
remembered that she was the passenger today, and therefore
in charge of the itinerary.  She was also *very* hungry, but
he looked so happy and childlike that she couldn't say no.
Besides, it wouldn't take very long, and it would help out
this wonderful library.

Much to Scully's surprise, the books being offered for sale
were every bit as interesting and well cared for as the ones
in the stacks.  Usually sales like this were books that had
fallen from favor with a library's borrowers, or that had
been donated.  All of which meant that the quality was
uneven, although the sale committee would presumably cull
out any that were in really bad condition.

But these books -- she picked one up at random and examined
it.  These were all of high quality, and the ones that had
been damaged had been painstakingly repaired.  And the
titles were just as eclectic as what they'd found in the
main stacks:  Toynbee, Jung ... dear God, was that a *first
edition* of Mahan?  It was.  'The Influence of Sea Power
Upon History.'  Her father would have killed someone for
that book.

She took it off the shelf and leafed through it, verifying
that it really was what it seemed to be, and that the pages
were all intact, then she tucked it under her arm.  She
wasn't sure what she was going to do with it, but she'd
figure something out.  Maybe her mother would want it, as a
tribute.  Or maybe Bill or Charlie would be interested.

"Ready?" Mulder asked.

She turned her attention to her partner, and saw that he'd
also made a selection.  She nodded, and they stepped over to
the checkout desk to make their purchases.  The attractive
young woman at the desk was warm and friendly, and Scully
couldn't resist the urge to ask a few questions.

"Are these books really only a dollar each?" she inquired,
opening her purse.  "They're so nice, it seems like you
could get more for them than that."

"Well, most people actually pay more than that," the woman
said with a smile and a nod.  "Mr. Lee insists that we offer
them for that price.  But somehow, we always take in enough
money."

"Mr. Lee?" Scully asked.  She dug in her wallet and
hesitated, then pulled out a twenty and handed it over.  The
clerk's smile broadened.

"Mr. Lee is the one who donates the books," she replied.
"Most of them, anyway.  They come from his personal
collection.  He also loaned us a lot of the books you see in
the stacks."  She picked up the book by Mahan and riffled
through the pages.  "I think this one was in the box he
brought over last week.  I hadn't gotten around to reading
it, but I believe we've got another copy in the stacks."
She handed the book back to Scully.

"He must be very generous," Scully commented.  Mulder
shifted his weight, and she knew he was getting impatient.
"Still, it's hard to see how this entire library can be
supported just on the sale of books.  The town isn't that
big."

"Well, no," the other woman agreed, nodding.  "But everyone
in town loves to read, and we also get customers from all
over the area.  Sometimes from as far away as Des Moines.
The real book lovers all know about the Wanmei Library, and
when they're looking for something in particular, if they
can't find it through their regular dealers, or on
Bookfinder or eBay, they come here."  Another broad smile.
"They almost always find what they're looking for.  Did you
want any change, ma'am?"

Scully smiled and shook her head, then stepped aside and
waited while Mulder paid for his book.  Peeking over his
shoulder, she saw that he'd picked up something called 'The
Country Wife', by William Wycherly.

"So what did you get, Mulder?" Scully asked, as they made
their way down the front steps and headed for the car.

"It's a 17th Century play," he answered.  He gave her an odd
smile.  "And actually, I got it for you."  He stopped and
turned to face her, holding out the book.

"For me?"

"Yeah.  It's kind of special to me, and I was hoping I could
get you to read it."

"What's special about it?"  She smirked.  "Is it a ghost
story?"

She turned it over in her hands.  Like most of the books at
the Wanmei Library, it was old, but in excellent condition.
It was bound in brown leather, with the title and author's
name inscribed in gold leaf.  Opening it to a random page,
she saw that the binding had been sewn by hand.

"I don't want to tell you," her partner replied, the odd
smile still on his face.  "Not yet.  Just read it, okay?
I'll tell you why it's special when you're done."

"Okay," she said.  It wasn't really much to ask, considering
everything they'd done for each other over the years of
their partnership.  Just then, her stomach rumbled.  "But
right now, I need something to eat."

"I think I see just the place."

Mulder led her down the block to a diner named 'Winga's',
where Scully allowed herself to be talked into chili dogs
and cheese fries.  Which was fine; she hadn't expected to
stay on her diet on this trip, anyway.  The man behind the
counter, middle aged and very overweight, was friendly and
talkative.  He kept up a running commentary on sports, the
weather and various bits of trivia from the news.  Just the
sort of thing that normally had her grinding her teeth
inside of thirty seconds -- but today, in this place, it
seemed just right.

After lunch, they went for a walk.  Scully wasn't sure who
suggested it, but again, it was the perfect choice.  They
strolled slowly up one street and down the next, admiring
the houses and making idle conversation.  Mulder had taken
her hand as they set out, and he never let go of it the
entire time.  It gave her a warm, comfortable feeling, to be
doing something so simple and normal with him.  She no
longer wanted to 'get out of the car'; she wasn't sure she
ever really had.  But the occasional rest stop wasn't a bad
thing.  Not at all.

Eventually they wound up back at the town square, crossed
the street, and stood at the edge of the park.  Mulder was
still full of energy, but Scully was feeling languid after
the heavy lunch and the long, soothing walk.

"Why don't you go ahead and explore a little more," she
suggested.  "I think I'm going to find a bench and just sit
down."  Let the world come to *her* for a change.  What a
heavenly idea.

"You sure that's okay?"

"Yes."  Scully almost laughed, and she couldn't keep herself
from smiling, at the expression on her partner's face.  He
looked just like a little boy who wasn't sure his mother
really meant it when she said that he could play a while
longer on the swing set.  "I'm just going to sit and relax.
You come back when you're ready."  But because this was
Mulder she was talking to, she added, "Within reason."

Mulder chuckled, gave her a quick kiss, then released her
hand and wandered off into the park.  Scully smiled at his
retreating form, sinking down on the bench with a happy
sigh.

This really was a lovely town.  Somehow she'd known, as soon
as she saw the steeple, that it would be.  It would never do
to tell that to Mulder, of course.  He'd be talking about
premonitions and telepathy and God knows what inside of
thirty seconds.  But to herself, at least, she could admit
it.  She'd had a hunch.  A feeling.

She picked up the shopping bag that the librarian had given
her and opened it, looking at the two books residing within.
 For a moment her hand hesitated, as she tried to decide
which one to take out.  This was a perfect day for sitting
on a park bench and doing a little reading.  The time they'd
spent in the library had whetted her appetite.  At last she
settled on 'The Country Wife', took it out, and opened it.

It took a few minutes for Scully to get into the flow of the
language, but once she did, it became apparent that the play
was a comedy -- or at least, that it was supposed to be.
She wasn't sure how funny she thought some of the jokes
were.

"'Mistresses are like books,'" she read, murmuring the words
aloud.  It was a little easier to deal with Elizabethan
English that way.  "'If you pore upon them too much, they
doze you and make you unfit for company, but only for a
night and away, to taste the town better when a man
returns.'"  Whatever.  But there must be something worth
looking at here, or Mulder wouldn't have given it to her.
At least, she didn't *think* he would have --

A shadow fell across the page, and Scully looked up,
expecting to see Mulder standing over her.  But it was the
stranger, the man she had almost collided with on the
library steps when they first arrived.  He was still in his
suit and tie, and there was a whimsical smile on his face.

"I see you bought one of my books," he said, in that oddly
accented speech of his.

"This is yours?" she asked.  She looked down at the book,
then up again at the man, squinting a bit against the bright
sunshine.  She remembered what the clerk at the library had
said, and added, "So you must be Mr. ... Mr. Lee?"

"Yes, I'm Johnny Lee," he replied, nodding.  "And I must
apologize for disturbing you a second time, but it always
pleases me to see someone taking an interest in one of my
books.  Are you enjoying it?  May I ask?"

"Uh, yes you may," Scully said, feeling unaccountably
flustered.  "And, uh, I'm not sure, to be honest.  My friend
bought it for me and asked me to read it, but I've only just
started it."

"Ah.  Well, I'll not spoil it for you, then."  His eyes
crinkled, and he added, "I will say that your friend has
excellent taste, however."  He leaned closer, until his
mouth was right next to her ear, as he whispered, "But that
was obvious from the moment I met the two of you."

Scully blushed, and turning her gaze upwards, she found
herself looking into Johnny Lee's eyes from only a few
inches away.  They were a deep, deep green, with little
flecks of gold in them, and they seemed to be laughing --
but they were laughing *with* her, not *at* her.  She
couldn't keep herself from smiling in response.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"You're quite welcome," he replied, his words tinged with
mirth.  His gaze flicked over her shoulder, and he
straightened up again.  "But I see your friend approaching,
so I should take my leave.  Are we likely to see each other
again?"

"I, uh ... I doubt it," Scully said.  "We'll probably be
going as soon as he gets back.  We're on vacation."

"I understand," Mr. Lee responded.  "Still, it's a pity.  I
would have enjoyed discussing that book with you, once you
were finished with it."  He touched the brim of a
non-existent hat.  "Good day, and fare ye well on your
travels."  And he turned and walked away, with a bounce in
his step.

"Hey, Scully, who was that?  And what did he want?"

Scully looked around, to see that Mulder was standing just a
couple of feet away, a small frown on his face.

"That was Johnny Lee," she said.

"Johnny Lee?" her partner repeated.  "As in Mr. Lee, the man
who helps the library?"

"Yes."  She turned and looked in the direction Mr. Lee had
taken, but he was already on the far side of the park.  A
moment later he had crossed the street and disappeared
around a corner.  "He was also the man I almost bumped into
this morning."

"Oh, yeah," Mulder said.  He was following her gaze with his
own.  After a moment, he looked back down at her, apparently
dismissing the matter.  "You'll never guess what I found,"
he said, a happy glint in his eye.  "A dragon!"

"A dragon?"  Scully braced herself.  She didn't suppose that
he meant a *real* dragon.  Not even Mulder could find an
X-file *that* quickly.  But still --

"Yeah.  It's over in the fountain, carved out of stone.  It
looks like a match to the one on top of the library
steeple."

"Apparently somebody around here liked dragons back in the
18th Century," she said.  She stretched, slipped her book
back in her purse and stood up, then looked at her watch,
and saw that it was pushing five o'clock.  A sudden thought
struck her.  Before she had a chance to second guess
herself, she went on, "I wonder if we could find someplace
to stay here in town?  This is about the most peaceful place
we've ever seen."

"You want to stay here?"  Mulder's eyebrows shot up in
apparent surprise, but in the next instant he was nodding
his agreement.  "Sure.  I could get into that.  Didn't we
pass a couple of places that said they had rooms for rent
when we were out on our walk?"  He nodded again, and Scully
barely suppressed a giggle at the air of decisiveness he
projected.  "Sure we did.  Come on."  He grabbed her hand,
pulling her back towards the edge of the park, and their
car.  "Your wish is my command."


===========
Friday
===========

The sun had not yet risen when Mulder stepped out onto Mrs.
Ferguson's porch for his morning run.  He and Scully had
found a room here the day before, in a rambling three story
house a few blocks from the town square.  The friendly,
middle aged woman who lived there had laughed as she took
their money -- twenty dollars for the two of them, including
breakfast and "scrounging rights".

"I just put the sign out this morning," she said.  "It's
something I'd been meaning to do, and just never got around
to it.  But last night, I just decided to finish cleaning
the room, put some fresh sheets on the bed, and see what
happened.  So you're my first customers!"

The room had turned out to be on the second floor, and was
clean and comfortable.  Mrs. Ferguson told them that it had
been her eldest son's room, before he got married, and a few
traces of his occupancy remained:  a shelf of well-read
science fiction novels; an autographed picture of Mark
McGwire resting on the study desk that stood in one corner
of the room; a pair of model airplanes, hanging from the
ceiling by fishing line.  Just enough to tell them that this
wasn't another soulless motel room, but not enough to make
them feel as if they were intruding.

Mulder trotted down the steps to the sidewalk, and began his
stretching exercises.  Overhead, the sky was no longer
black, but a dark, dark blue, the stars beginning to fade.
A few wisps of fog drifted through the neighborhood, and in
the distance he heard geese honking.  Nothing moved.  If it
weren't for the sound of the geese, it would have been
possible to believe that he was the only living thing in the
world.

Mulder loved this time of day.  There was a pleasant tension
to everything, as if the world were waiting in breathless
anticipation for the start of the new day.  Human activity
was at its ebb, and the few people he encountered at this
hour almost seemed to be part of a conspiracy:  an alliance
of early risers and night owls, bound together by the hushed
solitude of the small hours of the morning.

His warm up finished, Mulder set out on his run.  His feet
slapped the sidewalk in a steady, comforting rhythm, his
breathing regular and easy.  The muscles of his legs and
back, already loosened by the stretching he'd done, became
looser still, and he felt warmth and well-being suffusing
his body.  

He passed houses, each one snug and dark, havens against the
outside world.  His own house -- his parents' house -- had
been like that once, decades before, but after Samantha was
gone, although he still had a physical roof over his head,
he'd felt homeless.  The feeling of being lost and adrift
had persisted and deepened over the years -- until now.
Now, at last, he had a home again.  Now he had Scully.

Turning the corner onto the main street, he headed in the
direction of the town square.  The steeple over the old
courthouse was just visible above the houses and trees, a
black shadow against the dark blue sky.  Mulder's stride
lengthened as his body continued to adjust to the exercise,
and a trickle of sweat made its way down his spine.  

This morning's run was going very well indeed.  Perhaps he
could do five miles today, instead of just four.  He'd been
working towards that goal, ever since he started finding
gray hairs on his chest.  His body might be aging, but he
refused to give in and let himself go, the way so many men
seemed to do when they hit their forties.  Especially not
now, when he finally had something positive to live for.

He was approaching the bridge that he and Scully had driven
over the day before.  Once again, he could see in his mind's
eye the wagons loaded with corn and soybeans, pulled by
patient, sturdy horses, driven by strong, quiet men wearing
homespun shirts and wide-brimmed straw hats.  The sound of
his footfalls changed as he passed over the wooden planks,
making a dull thunking noise as he crossed the bridge.

Mulder was so absorbed in his fantasy that he almost missed
the footpath on the other side, leading down to the water.
He swerved onto it, shortening his stride as he negotiated
the steep incline, then broke into a steady run once again
as the path leveled out and turned to follow the river.

The fog was much thicker down here by the water.  It swirled
and drifted, enfolding him as he moved, making him feel as
if he were running through a cloud.  The houses he passed,
up at the top of the slope on either side of the river, were
nothing but dark shadows, bulky and indistinct in the
pre-dawn mist -- and once again he was reminded of his
boyhood on the Vineyard, and the way the fog would roll in
off the ocean.  It had transformed the world into a safe
place, a magical place, and now he was getting those
feelings again.

Before too long the houses thinned out, and then Mulder was
running in the open countryside, still following the
footpath.  It was firm and dry beneath his feet, so that he
had no trouble maintaining his pace.  Once or twice he saw
the headlights of a car, telling him that a road also
followed this route.  A few minutes later he heard the geese
again, still in the distance.

He rounded a bend, and came to a sudden halt.  The path in
front of him dipped down sharply, and there the path had
flooded.  Through the fog, he could just see the path
emerging again on the far side, twenty or thirty feet
farther along.  There was no way to tell how deep the water
got.  The slope down from higher ground was so steep as to
be almost vertical, so there was no easy way around the
obstacle.  

He supposed he could climb up to the top, then down the
other side, but it seemed like more trouble than it was
worth.  It was about time to head back, in any case.  He'd
done at least two miles, which meant he'd do two more on the
way back, and Scully was probably awake by now.

He was about to turn away, when he noticed something ahead
of him on the path, right at the water's edge.  He moved
forward, easing his way down the little incline, and knelt
down for a closer look.

It was an animal track -- a footprint.  But it was no
ordinary footprint.  It was about three feet across, and had
sunk several inches into the soil -- farther than that at
the tips of the toes.  No, not toes -- claws, Mulder amended
in his mind, bending over for a better look.  Those were
definitely claw marks, and the animal seemed to have only
three of them.

A vision flashed through his mind, a memory of the large
stone dragon he'd seen in the fountain the previous day.
That creature's paw would just about fit in this footprint.
Could it be?  He mentally riffled through the X-files,
reviewing all the cases he could remember of inanimate
objects coming to life.  Usually there was some sort of
spell involved, but there'd also been a few cases of
possession.

It didn't have to be the dragon in the fountain that left
this track, he realized, his heart beating a little faster
as he considered the possibilities.  That dragon might be
just what it appeared to be -- a stone rendering -- while
the *real* dragon roamed the countryside, leaving occasional
signs of its passing, like this one.  The stone dragon --
and the one on top of the courthouse steeple -- might be
based on sightings of the actual creature.  If so, then the
dragon had been here for decades, maybe more than a century,
since the carvings he'd seen in town were at least that old.

Mulder was jerked from his musings by a sudden noise,
somewhere between a snort and a hiss.  It sounded like the
boiler on an old style steam engine.  He rose to his feet
and turned in the direction of the noise, peering out across
the river.  There was something there, but he couldn't quite
make it out because of the fog.  A huge, dark shadow moving
across the water, sinewy and serpentine and clearly *alive*.
 And then there was an odd creaking sound, and another hiss
--

And it was gone.  Mulder blinked and shook his head.  Had
there really been something there?  Yes, he was sure of it.
He inhaled deeply, and detected a sharp, tangy odor ... and
then that was gone, too, dissipated into the fog.

But it had been real; the footprint proved it.  And Mulder
knew what that shadow had been, and what he had heard and
smelled -- although once again he was going to have a hard
time convincing his partner, since for perhaps the
thousandth time in their partnership he had no concrete
proof to show her.

But all that meant was that they would have to dig a little,
until they found the evidence.

Mulder stood there at the water's edge for a few minutes
longer, staring out across the river, waiting to see if the
creature would return.  But the smell was gone, and the
hissing had stopped.  Nothing was moving now, except for the
slow, erratic swirling of the mist.  The creature -- the
dragon -- had gone, and somehow he knew that it would not be
back.  Not this morning, anyway.

At last he turned away, and started running back towards the
town.

#          #          #

Scully had long since adjusted to waking up alone.  In fact,
except for a few months when she was seeing Jack Willis,
occasional stolen nights with Daniel, and with a couple of
earlier boyfriends, she had slept by herself her entire
life.

But she'd never really liked it, and now that she was with
Mulder, she liked it even less.  She'd had to discipline
herself on a number of occasions, drawing on all her
internal reserves, or she would've been spending every night
at his apartment.  As it was, she woke up at his place an
average of about one morning a week -- usually, but not
always, on weekends.  On work days, this resulted in a mad
drive across Washington in the early morning to get a change
of clothes.  Despite the inconvenience, she'd refused to
create even more temptation for herself by moving any of her
suits to his closet, although he'd offered to clear space
for her.

She was a little bemused at her dependency on Mulder.  She'd
never been a cuddly person; at least, not in any of her
previous relationships.  But it seemed that when the walls
between her and Mulder finally came down, they'd fallen
completely, leaving nothing at all to keep the two of them
apart.  It was a unique experience in Scully's life -- and
when she let herself think about it, it was a little
frightening.  So she tried not to let herself think about
it.

The only thing that made this unprecedented intimacy
bearable was that Mulder was obviously just as dependent on
her as she was on him.  Of course, she was aware of the
purported dangers of codependence, but it didn't seem to her
that those warnings applied to this relationship.  She and
Mulder were both mature people who were quite capable of
functioning on their own.  They'd done so for years, after
all.  It was just that now, they no longer had to.

Thank God.

Scully sighed, and turned over in bed.  Mulder had tried to
be quiet when he got out of bed, more than an hour earlier,
but she'd awakened anyway.  She'd lain still, with her eyes
slitted open as she watched him dress, hoping that he
wouldn't notice.  He needed time to himself, and running
gave him that opportunity.  But if he'd noticed that she was
awake he either wouldn't have gone, or he would've felt
obligated to invite her to join him.  She'd have enjoyed
either alternative, but Mulder would've been cheated out of
his time alone.

She'd lain in bed after he left, trying to get back to
sleep, knowing that it wasn't going to work.  Once she was
awake, she was awake; she'd been that way since she was a
girl.  If she'd been at home, or at Mulder's place, she
would have gotten up and puttered around, maybe tried to
find something to fix for breakfast.  But she was in a
stranger's house, and although Mrs. Ferguson had been very
friendly the night before, Scully felt self-conscious about
going downstairs alone.   So she tried to fight her
wakefulness, lying there by herself, staring out the window
as the sky faded from black to blue.  And failing.

At last she heard the front door open and close.  A few
seconds later there were footsteps on the stairs.  Mulder's
footsteps.  

"Scully, you'll never guess what I just saw!"

Her partner was flushed, sweaty, and out of breath as he
burst into the room.  Just the way she liked him best.
Unfortunately, from the look in his eyes he had something in
mind other than coming back to bed.  Well, she'd have to see
about that.

"I don't know what you just saw, Mulder, but I know what I
see now," she said, raising her eyebrows a little, in what
she hoped was a suggestive manner.  She'd always felt a bit
silly in the role of seductress; it wasn't something that
came naturally to her.  But Mulder seemed to like the
attention, and he liked it when she was aggressive.  His
innocent joy at the thought that a woman he wanted might
actually want *him*, without any strings attached or hidden
agendas, made it worth the slight embarrassment.

"It was a dragon, Scully.  A real, live dragon!"  He took a
couple of steps forward, until he was standing next to the
bed.

"A dragon, huh?"  

Scully wasn't paying too much attention to Mulder's words.
The specifics didn't matter.  There was a principle involved
here.  She threw back the covers, letting him see that she
was wearing only one of his t-shirts, and stretched out one
foot to touch his crotch with her toes.

"You know what that sounds like to me, Mulder?"  She waited,
while he looked down at her foot in surprise, then back up
at her face.  She went on, "That sounds like an X-file.  And
you remember what we said about X-files on this trip,
right?"  She gave him another stroke with her toes.

"Uh ... I believe that was Scully Rule Number One," he
replied, an off-center smile on his face.  "'No X-files.'
But Scully --"

"'No X-files', Mulder," she repeated, pressing her foot
against his crotch a little harder.  The bulge she found
there was starting to grow.  Good.  "None.  This is a
vacation, and we are *not* taking a busman's holiday.  Got
it?"  

She sat up and reached forward, yanking on the waistband of
his running shorts so that he fell forward onto the bed --
and onto her.  She settled back into the bedclothes again,
wrapping her legs around his hips.

"Scully!" he said, looking down at her with a startled
expression on his face.  "Scully, the dragon --"

She reached up, grabbed his head between her hands and
kissed him, long and slow and deep.  After a moment he began
to respond to the kiss, and Scully relaxed her grip, letting
her fingers sift through his hair.  At last he pulled back a
little and looked down at her again, breathing heavily.

"Scully," he said again.  "The dragon -- there was this
track in the mud --"

"No way, Mulder," she interrupted, pressing her fingertips
against his lips.  "No dragons, and no X-files.  I spent two
days in Memphis with you, touring Graceland.  Remember that?
 Now it's *my* turn.  Besides, it was probably just an
animal track.  Or a hoax by some kids."  He started to
object, but she pressed on, "If you really want to pursue
it, then when we get back to D.C. -- *next week*, Mulder --
you can submit a 302 to Skinner and see what he says."  Then
she kissed him again.  And again.

And again.

#          #          #

A couple of hours later, having showered and breakfasted,
Scully and her partner set out for another walk around town.
 Scully was unsurprised when, without checking with her
first, Mulder told Mrs. Ferguson they'd be staying over
another night.  She hadn't really expected him to give up on
his dragon hunt so easily.

"Did you consider running those plans by me before you made
them, Mulder?" she said, once they were alone, strolling
along the sidewalk.  She allowed a smile to trace her lips.
No point in pretending she was really annoyed with him.  He
knew her far too well for that.

"Why, Agent Scully," her partner replied, his voice tinged
with amusement, "I'm surprised at you.  I'm the passenger
today; it's my turn to set the itinerary."  He bumped her
with his shoulder.  "That's Scully Rule Number Three."

"Passenger, Mulder?" she asked, rolling her eyes and bumping
him back.  She tucked her copy of 'The Country Wife' a
little more securely under her arm.  "I believe both of us
are pedestrians at the moment."

"Whatever, Scully," he replied.  "But that's not the
position you took in that Baskin-Robbins in Roswell.  As I
recall, you couldn't get me back to the car fast enough, and
my argument that you were not a passenger at the time --"

"That was Roswell, *Georgia*," she reminded him.  "A nice,
safe, plastic suburb of Atlanta.  You said you just wanted
to count coup, and we'd done that.  If it had been the
*real* Roswell --"

"Scully!"  Now there was a tone of genuine delight in his
voice.  Glancing up, she saw that he was smiling down at
her.  "Are you finally admitting to the possible existence
of extraterrestrial biological entities?  Right here in this
bucolic paradise of Wanmei, Iowa?"

"Mulder, I have *always* admitted to the *possibility*," she
said, doing her best to maintain a poker face.

Mulder chuckled and slung his arm around her shoulders as
they walked.  "I love you, Scully," he said.

Scully ducked her head, as a warm glow spread through her.
This was not the first time a man had spoken those words to
her -- not by a long shot.  It wasn't even the first time
*Mulder* had said them.  But it *was* Mulder saying them,
and somehow, that made it different.  As was so often the
case when the two of them talked about things that really
mattered, there was a subtext involved, and a month or so
ago, Scully had figured out what it was.

When Mulder said, 'I love you', he was also saying
'forever'.

She'd been examining that thought, off and on, ever since it
first came to her.  Forever.  I love you.  Forever.  I love
you (forever).  The words seemed to echo inside her mind,
whenever she allowed her thoughts to drift that way.  I love
you.  Forever.

Forever.

It was scary, just as her dependence on Mulder was scary,
but it also seemed right.  She could do forever, she'd
decided at last.  It had been a surprisingly easy decision.
Almost as if it had been buried deep inside her, fully
formed, just waiting to be recognized.

She sighed in contentment, and slipped her arm around her
partner's waist.

Their walk was long and meandering, like the one the day
before, but Scully suspected she knew where they would wind
up, and in the end, she was right.  The library.  They stood
at the foot of the steps, looking up at the massive doors,
his arm still around her shoulders, her arm still around his
waist.

"You know, Scully, I was just thinking.  It was a lot of fun
browsing yesterday, and since we happen to be here anyway
--"

"Would it make any difference if I said no?" she asked,
laughing.  She let go of him and gave him a little shove
towards the stairs.  "Go see what you can find out about
dragons.  Maybe they've got a guide book on how to identify
the fumets of mythical beasts.  Something by T.H. White,
perhaps?"

Mulder was halfway up the steps; he paused and looked back
over his shoulder, a broad grin on his face.  "Scully -- are
you saying I'm full of shit?"

"If the shit fits, Mulder."  He gave a snort, and started up
the steps again.  She called after him, "Just don't track
any into the house.  I don't think Mrs. Ferguson would like
it."

Chuckling to herself, she turned away, crossed the street
and headed into the park.  The sun was still low in the
east, but already there were other people out and about.
Mothers with their children, a trio of teenagers playing
with a Frisbee, a young man and woman out for a stroll of
their own, hand in hand.

She stopped for a moment when she came to the fountain in
the middle of the park, and looked up at the large stone
dragon in its center.  It was long and sinewy, like a snake,
and was painted in colors so bright that they were almost
garish.  Red and green and blue, all flashing in the
sunlight, competing for the eye of the passerby.  The spray
of water added to the scene, the droplets sparkling like
tiny, multicolored gems as they ran down the sides of the
sculpture.

The most remarkable thing about the carving, though, was its
face.  It was long and narrow, and rather than being
ferocious, the expression was solemn and thoughtful -- even
wise.  Its eyes were large and round, and seemed to follow
her when she moved, almost as if it were a living creature.
It was a little unnerving.  Scully had to remind herself
that this was simply an inanimate piece of stone.

At last she turned and walked away, further into the park.
Finding an unoccupied bench, she sank down on it, opened her
book and resumed reading.

The play was definitely starting to grow on her.  At first
she hadn't been sure she was going to like it at all, to the
point where she was wondering what had possessed Mulder to
ask her to read it.  There didn't seem to be any characters
she could like or identify with.  

But that was turning out to be okay, because she was coming
to realize that the play was a satire -- and a very well
done satire, at that.  She recognized *all* the character
types:  Horner, the conniving womanizer.  Pinchwife, the
jealous husband.  Margery, the naive country wife of the
title, who seemed to have more on the ball than any of the
men.  Yes, Scully had met people like this.

Best of all, it was funny.  It was full of puns and ironies.
 Scully was sure she was missing some of them, because of
the archaic language, but she picked up on enough to keep
her in a constant state of amusement.

A couple of hours passed, as Scully worked her way through
the book.  For once in her life, she was in no particular
hurry to be anywhere or do anything, so she took her time,
stopping occasionally to get up, stretch her legs and walk
around the park.  The group of kids with the Frisbee had now
grown to a dozen or so, and they'd organized themselves into
teams for a game of Ultimate.  Rather than being a
distraction, their good-natured raucousness was providing
the perfect backdrop to her musings.

She wondered anew why Mulder had wanted her to read this
book.  It didn't seem to fit his usual taste in recreational
reading.  His preferences ran to classic science fiction,
plus a scattering of works that her father would have called
"hippie books".  Carlos Castenada, Timothy Leary, and one
massive volume entitled 'Illumatus!', that he reread at
least once a year.  Scully had sampled it once, and found it
disjointed, hard to read, and awash in conspiracy theories
that would make the Gunmen blush.

But this book -- this play -- didn't fit at all.

Could he have performed in it, maybe when he was in high
school or college? She tried to imagine Mulder up on a
stage, and failed.  He'd never mentioned any experience with
drama -- but there was so much about his early years that
she knew nothing about.  He'd told her once, not long before
they became lovers, that his life was now divided into three
periods, and that the part with her in it was the only one
he cared about now.  Still, it would be nice to know more
about his life before she met him.

"Good morning!"

Scully looked up from her reading, to see Johnny Lee
standing a few feet in front of her, a friendly smile on his
face.  He was wearing a three piece suit and tie, just as he
had been the day before.  Automatically, she returned the
smile, and he gave a little bow of acknowledgement.

"I see you decided to stay over," he continued.  "I'm so
glad.  I trust you found acceptable accommodations?"

"Yes," Scully replied.  "We're staying with Mrs. Ferguson."

"Ah, yes," he said, nodding.  "A charming lady.  I'm sure
she made you feel most welcome."

"She did."

"Excellent."  He nodded again, as if her response were no
more than he expected, then went on, "I see you've been
reading my book.  How are you finding it?"

"Uh, quite good, actually.  Entertaining.  Funny.  I like
it."  Scully had an odd feeling as she tried to answer his
question, as if she were being called on to give a book
report when she wasn't prepared.

"Yes, it does amuse," Mr. Lee replied, his smile broadening.
 "Wycherly had a real way with words, didn't he?  But I
imagine -- I hope -- that you'll have more to say once
you've finished it."  His eyebrows rose, as if he'd just
thought of something.  "Perhaps you would do me the honor of
joining me for dinner tonight?  It would give us a better
chance to discuss the book."  A quick glance past her
shoulder, than back to her.  "Fox is also invited, of
course.  I'm sure he has some valuable insights to
contribute."

Scully looked over her shoulder, and saw Mulder standing
behind her, a neutral look on his face.  She returned her
gaze to Mr. Lee.

"I don't know," she said, starting to frame a polite
refusal.  "I'm not sure if we're --"

"I think it sounds great."  Mulder moved up behind her and
rested one hand on her shoulder.  "What time?"

"Mulder?"

"C'mon, Scully," her partner replied, moving around to sit
down next to her.  Now there was an amused expression on his
face.  Scully doubted that anyone other than her would be
able to detect the glint of determination in his eye.  "It's
free food.  We turn that down, and anyone finds out, they'll
throw us out of the Bureau."  He turned his attention on Mr.
Lee.  "So what time?"

"Eight o'clock would be fine," the man replied.  He gave
another bow.  "My board may not be as excellent as Mrs.
Ferguson's, but I promise you an entertaining evening."  He
gave them directions to his home, took one more bow, then
turned and walked away at a brisk pace, humming under his
breath.

"Well that was ...."  Scully let her voice trail off, unable
to find the words to finish her sentence.  She looked at her
partner.  "Mulder?  Why did you accept that invitation?"

"It was the polite thing to do, Scully," he replied.  He was
still smiling, but now it was more of a
cat-that-ate-the-canary sort of look.  "You wouldn't want to
snub the most philanthropic citizen of Wanmei, Iowa, would
you?"

"What do you mean?"

Mulder leaned back and put an arm around her shoulders.  "I
mean that I've been doing some research," he replied.  "And
Mr. Johnny Lee is beyond doubt the wealthiest man in Wanmei.
 I grant you, that's not saying much, but he does seem to
make good use of his money.  In addition to subsidizing the
book sale, he also makes large cash contributions on a
regular basis, both to the library and to other community
needs."

"How do you know?"

"That same woman was working the checkout desk," he said.
"I didn't even have to ask very many questions; once I got
her started talking, it was almost impossible to get her to
stop.  Mr. Lee this, Mr. Lee that.  Hell, Scully -- that man
*founded* the Wanmei Public Library."

"Mulder, that's impossible," she replied, shaking her head.
"You heard what she said yesterday.  That building's more
than a hundred years old.  Unless the library is a recent
addition?"

"Nope," he said.  "The library was actually founded in 1868
-- three years *before* the courthouse was built.  Paid for
by a gift from Johnny Lee."

"It can't be the same man," Scully objected.  "Maybe it was
his great grandfather, or something."

"Maybe."  He rose from the bench, taking her hand and
pulling her up after him.  Together, they began to walk in
the direction of the diner where they'd had lunch the day
before.  

"But if so," he went on, "I couldn't find any evidence of it
in the local newspaper archives.  Which are online, by the
way, courtesy of contributions from Mr. Lee.  The paper was
started in the mid 1860s, and there are stories about him
right from the start.  'Mr. Lee Dedicates New Baseball
Diamond.'  'Mr. Lee Sends Boy to State Music Camp.'  But no
obituaries.  No birth announcements.  No marriage
announcements.  Nothing to indicate that his fortune or his
philanthropic habits were being passed down from father to
son.  Based on reading the local paper, it looks as if Mr.
Lee has just always been here."

"Maybe his family asked them not to publish their personal
information," she suggested.  "It sounds like he has a lot
of influence."  She shook her head.  "Why were you looking
up things about Mr. Lee?  I thought you were going to be
researching dragons."

"I was."  They reached the door to the diner, and Mulder
stopped, his hand resting on the knob.  "But they don't have
much.  A few standards books on mythology and the like."  He
smirked.  "They do have a complete set of the 'Dungeons and
Dragons' rule books.  Looks like they get a lot of use, too.
 But not much about dragons, per se.  So I struck up a
conversation with the clerk, and stuff just started pouring
out.  You know what else I found out?"

"What?"

"As near as I can determine from the newspaper archives,
this town has never had a fire.  Never had a flood, even
though it's located on a river.  Never had a tornado, or a
hail storm, or any other natural disaster.  They've never
even had a bad crop.  Record harvests right along, even
during the drought in the 1930s."

"Really."  Scully raised an eyebrow.  "Sounds like you've
had an awfully busy morning."

"I have," he agreed.

"So that's why you accepted Mr. Lee's invitation?  So you
can spy on him?"

"Scully, I saw a dragon this morning, and he knows something
about it.  I'm convinced of that," Mulder said.  He leaned
down over her, lowering his voice.  "Dragons are very
powerful creatures.  They're also very magical.  They're not
just the horrible, destructive monsters you see in movies or
in European mythology.  They have their own motives for the
things they do.  They may be hard to understand from the
human viewpoint, but they do have motives."

"Uh huh."  Another eyebrow.  "And you base these assertions
on what, Mulder?  Personal experience?"

Mulder laughed, then he straightened up and opened the door
to the diner.  "You'll see, Scully.  You'll see."

#          #          #

Johnny Lee's home was easy to find.

Mulder hadn't really been listening when the man gave
directions.  Fortunately, Scully had.  Which was as it
should be, he reflected.  After all, it *was* her day to
drive.  And that left him free to think about dragons.  Just
as he had been for most of the day.

After lunch, they'd spent the afternoon and early evening
kicking around town, finally ending up in the town square
once again.  The game of Ultimate had broken up, but there
were still plenty of people around, providing a nice normal
ambience to the day.  Time had drifted by, as if for once
the whole world was in no particular hurry, and the two of
them sat in the grass together, leaning against a tree.
Occasionally one of them spoke, but for the most part, they
were quiet.

And Mulder thought about dragons.  

Specifically, he thought about the dragon he'd seen that
morning.  For as time went by, his certainty that it had
been a dragon solidified.  Scully was skeptical, of course,
but that was just her way.  Mulder wasn't sure what he'd do
if she ever began to take his theories at face value.  Start
looking for evidence that she'd been replaced by a
shapeshifter or a clone, maybe.

Mr. Lee's house was located just south of town, off an old
blacktop that meandered through and around fields of corn
and soybeans.  The road also followed the river, and it
didn't take long for Mulder to realize that this was the
same road he'd seen on his morning run.  Interesting.  Still
more circumstantial evidence that the odd little man was
somehow involved with the dragon.

The sun was just touching the horizon as they turned off
onto a narrow dirt road leading down a steep incline towards
the river.  After a short distance the road leveled off
again.  Then they went around a bend and came to the house.

It was an old rambling farmhouse, two stories high, painted
bright yellow, with eggshell-colored trim.  Like most older
structures in this part of the country, it had a peaked
roof, and as far as Mulder could tell it was in good repair.
 A long, wide porch ran along two sides of the house, one on
the side fronting on the river, the other facing downstream,
away from the town.  An old fashioned red water pump stood
in the front yard.

A footpath went past the house, a few feet from the river.
It looked very much like the one he'd taken on his run.
Looking back upstream .... Yes, there it was, only a couple
of hundred yards away.  The low spot that had been flooded
this morning.  It was dry now, but obviously the same little
depression.  He was out of the car and striding towards it
before Scully even had time to switch off the engine.

"Mulder?  Where are you going?" she called after him.  He
heard the car door slam.  "Mulder?"

"This is where I saw the track, Scully," he replied, casting
the words back over his shoulder.  He didn't slow his pace.
A moment later, he heard Scully's footsteps hurrying after
him.

"You're joking," she said as she fell in step, slightly out
of breath.  "It was *here*?"

"Yeah."  

The ground where the river had flooded was soft and muddy,
but there were a couple of large rocks, and he was able to
hop across without getting too much of it on his shoes.  He
came to a stop approximately where the track had been and
looked around.  There was no sign of it -- although it was
getting hard to see in the growing darkness.  Clouds were
gathering in the west, suggesting the possibility of rain
and adding to the general gloom.

"Well?"  Scully asked.

Mulder glanced up at his partner, and saw that she was
watching him from the other side of the muddy depression,
arms folded across her chest.  A slight quirk at the corner
of her mouth told him she wasn't really annoyed with him --
but he'd already known that.  This was Scully, after all.

"I don't see it," he admitted.  "But it was here."

He knelt down and prodded the turf with his fingertips.  It
was still soggy from the morning flood -- in fact, it looked
as if the water had risen further after he left.  Well, that
explained what had happened to the track, dammit.

"The flood seems to have washed it out," he said at last,
straightening up and turning to face his partner.  "But the
track was here.  And the dragon was out there, over the
water," he continued, pointing across the river.  "I could
see it moving, and I could hear it hissing."  He frowned as
his gaze fell on Johnny Lee's home.  "But I don't remember
seeing the house," he added.

"Well, it was a foggy morning," Scully suggested.  "Maybe it
was too far away."  She hesitated, seemed to think for a
moment, then added, "Or maybe the shadow of the house is
what you saw --"

"No," he interrupted, shaking his head and looking back out
over the river.  "I know what I saw, and I know where it
was.  I --"

"Good evening!"

Mulder looked once more in Scully's direction, to see Johnny
Lee striding rapidly towards them, a friendly smile on his
face.  He'd dispensed with his suit jacket, but he still
wore the vest and tie of his three piece suit.  He halted in
front of Scully and gave one of those funny little bows of
his.

"So gentle of you to come, my dear," he said.  He nodded in
Mulder's direction and smiled.  "And you, as well, sir.  I
would have been out to greet you sooner, but I was busy in
the kitchen when I saw your car pull up.  Won't you come
inside?"

With some reluctance, Mulder allowed himself to be led away
from the site.  There was nothing to be gained by staying
here, he reminded himself.  The track was gone, and nothing
he could do would bring it back.  His best chance was to go
along with Mr. Lee, and hope that more evidence would
present itself in the course of the evening.

The inside of the house was pretty much what Mulder had
expected, based on what the outside looked like.  High
ceilings with exposed beams; hardwood floors; simple
furniture that looked as if it had been made by hand.  Heavy
rugs -- not wall-to-wall carpet -- covered the floors, and
matching drapes framed the windows.

The most impressive room in the house -- at least on the
ground floor -- was the library.  An entire room had been
given over to books, with shelves lining the walls, floor to
ceiling, all of them full of old, leatherbound volumes.
Obviously, this was the motherload from which the collection
at the Wanmei Public Library was drawn.  An overstuffed
armchair sat in the middle of the room, with a small coffee
table in front of it.  

There was a record player and a small collection of vinyl
albums in one corner.  Thinking back over the tour they'd
been given of the house, Mulder realized that this was the
first non-utilitarian electronic device he'd seen.  No
television, no radio, no CD player.  Just this one vinyl
record player.

"This is not my whole collection, of course," Mr. Lee said,
as they gazed about the room.  "These are just the books I
find myself wanting most often.  Some are on loan to the
library; others are upstairs in the bedrooms.  And a few,
alas, are stored in boxes in a spare room."  He shook his
head, smiling.  "I keep meaning to build an addition, but
between one thing and another ...."  His voice trailed off,
and he shook his head again.

"It's still quite impressive," Scully commented.

Mulder nodded his agreement.  Seeing an opportunity to do a
little investigating, he added, "It must have taken years to
build up a collection like this."

"Indeed," the man said, giving a nod of his own.  His eyes
twinkled, giving Mulder the uncomfortable impression that
he'd seen right through the ploy.  "I've been collecting
books ... well, not my entire life, but as you say, for many
years.  They're a passion of mine."

"I'm fond of books, too," Scully said.  Mulder didn't have
to look at her to know that she'd also spotted his maneuver,
and was chastising him.  She went on, "We both are.  I've
been greatly enjoying your book -- the one Mulder bought me
at the library sale."

"Ah," Mr. Lee replied, cocking his head.  He glanced at
Mulder, then back at Scully.  "He bought it for you?  I'd
assumed -- well, no matter.  The important thing is that you
have it.  Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner."  He looked
at his watch, and smiled once again.  "Which should be just
about ready.  Won't you come with me?"

The meal was served at a large, round table in the kitchen.
Three place settings were already out, confirming what had
previously been implied:  there was no Mrs. Lee.  Or if
there was, Mulder corrected in his mind, she wouldn't be
joining them for dinner.

"I hope you don't mind a bit of informality," their host
said, as he set a basket of hot dinner rolls on the table.
"I do have a dining room -- you saw it, of course.  But I
find it too sparse and formal most of the time.  Not
conducive to good conversation."  He opened the oven door,
crouched down and withdrew a pan of baked chicken.  "This
should cool for a few minutes, and that will give us time to
eat our salads."

They ate at a leisurely pace.  The salads were followed by
the chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on the cob.
 Mulder couldn't find fault with any of it, although Mr. Lee
seemed to feel the corn wasn't quite right.  "A bit early
for it," was his comment.  "August corn is better.  But I
thought it was worth a try."

The conversation soon turned to the book Mulder had given
Scully.  Mulder allowed the other two to carry most of the
discussion.  He still hadn't told his partner why he gave
her that particular book, and was curious to know what she
thought about it.

"Why do people fall in love, do you suppose?" Mr. Lee asked,
leaning forward intently and staring at Scully.  "It can't
just be hormones, or we wouldn't see the sort of emotional
bonding that's so common in human beings.  What do you
suppose Wycherly thought?  What was he trying to tell us?"

"I'm not sure he was addressing that," Scully replied,
shaking her head.  "I haven't quite finished the book, of
course, but it seems to me that he was looking more at how
men and women *fail* to get along.  How they *fail* to
understand each other."

"Yes, yes," the man said, nodding vigorously.  "Of course.
But sometimes we learn best about a subject by studying its
converse.  Don't you agree?"

"Well, sometimes," Scully agreed.  She stared down at her
plate for a moment, then glanced up at Mulder, before
turning her gaze back to their host.  "Quite honestly, I
have my doubts that we can ever completely understand
ourselves.  Using the human mind to examine the human mind
... well, you're using an instrument to study itself, and
there's a limit to how much you can learn that way."

"The act of observation invokes changes in whatever you're
observing," Mr. Lee responded.  "Certainly from that
perspective, you'd be setting yourself up for infinite
recursion.  Like standing between two mirrors, and seeing
one reflected in the other, reflected in the other,
reflected in the other, ad infinitum."  He raised his
eyebrows.  "I take it you were trained in the sciences."

"Yes," she said.  "I have a background in physics and
medicine."  Another glance at Mulder.  "Mulder studied
psychology.  It lets us strike a balance."

"Yin and yang," the man answered, nodding again.  "Opposites
attract.  A truism, but valid nonetheless.  You've no doubt
discovered the strength to be found in such an alliance."

"Yes," Scully repeated.  "Although I wasn't always convinced
of it."  She flashed a smile at Mulder.  "I had to be
persuaded.  And he had to be patient."

Mulder was more than a little surprised at how open Scully
was being, talking to a man who was essentially a stranger.
She was usually much more reserved than this.  Still, he
reminded himself, she had been relaxing in the months since
they'd become lovers.  On top of which was the fact that Mr.
Lee had a very compelling personality.  You *wanted* to talk
to him.  Even Mulder could feel it, -- and he was starting
to get an idea of where that feeling was coming from.

"You make me a whole person, Scully," he heard himself
saying.  He reached out and touched her hand.  "That's worth
waiting for."

"Oh, excellent," Mr. Lee said, clasping his hands together
and smiling.  "How fine.  How perfect."

Mulder suddenly felt uncomfortable, and withdrew his hand
from Scully's.  He'd been drawn into the conversation,
despite his intentions, and allowed himself to be lulled by
Mr. Lee's friendly, open manner.  He'd let his guard down.
Time to rectify that.

"In fact," he said, "Scully and I were just making use of
that 'alliance' when you came out to greet us."  Now it was
his turn to lean forward in his seat.  "Did you know there's
a dragon living around here?"

"Really?"  Their host's eyebrows shot up, giving the
appearance of surprise and delight.  "A dragon?  On my
river?"

"Yes."  Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Scully
stirring in her seat, but he chose to ignore her.  "I saw it
this morning when I was out running."

"How wonderful!"  He reached out and laid a hand on Mulder's
forearm.  "You must tell me about it."  A glance at Scully.
"Did you see it, too, my dear?"

"No."  Her tone was cool, and the expression on her face
told Mulder that he was going to pay for this later.

"What a shame," Mr. Lee replied.  "Moments of wonder are
always better when they're shared, and best of all when
shared with a loved one."

Mulder felt a stab of pain at the man's words.  He had that
much right, at any rate.  He had a vivid memory of the
elation he'd felt in Antarctica, upon seeing the spaceship
rising into the air, knowing that Scully was with him and
seeing it too -- followed by the crushing disappointment, a
few days later, when she made it clear that she had no such
recollection.  The hurt had been bone deep, and it had taken
him a long time to get over it.

A spatter of rain hit one of the windows, pulling Mulder's
attention away from the conversation.  It was followed a few
seconds later by another, longer gout, and then by another.
In less than a minute, it had developed into a steady
downpour.

"Well, well," Mr. Lee said, rising from the table and
walking to the window.  He peered out for a moment into the
darkness, then turned to face them, leaning back against the
sink and smiling.  "Looks like we're in for it," he went on.
 "As the saying goes, if you don't like the weather in Iowa,
just wait a few minutes.  It'll change."  He frowned.  "I'm
afraid it may cause you some problems, however."

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked.

"That access road," the man explained, waving vaguely
towards the front of the house.  "I keep meaning to have it
paved, but there's so little traffic, and I never quite get
around to it.  But whenever it rains, it turns to a
quagmire.  I fear you may have difficulty getting back up to
the main highway."

"Maybe we should go now, then," Scully said.  "Before it
gets any worse."

"It may already be too late," Mr. Lee replied.  "The way
it's coming down, I think it might be.  And I do hate to see
the evening draw to a close so soon.  May I offer you one of
my spare bedrooms for the night?  These storms seldom last
long."  Once more the endearing, compelling smile.  "By
tomorrow morning, the ground will be dry enough for you to
make your escape."  

"I don't know," she answered, rising from the table.  "We
hate to impose.  We should probably at least take a look
outside."

"As you wish."

They made it as far as the front porch, before realizing the
truth of Mr. Lee's words.  The rain was now coming down in
sheets, with frequent flashes of lightning in the distance.
Squinting into the gloom, Mulder could see that the front
yard was already starting to flood.

"Fortunately, I have a very efficient sump pump," Mr. Lee
said, raising his voice so as to be heard over the storm.
"Otherwise, it would be impossible to live here, so close to
the river."  The wind shifted, and suddenly all three of
them were drenched.  "May I suggest a strategic withdrawal?"
he added, with a rueful little laugh.  Then he turned, and
led the way back inside to the remains of their dinner.

After drying themselves off and finishing the meal, they
settled in the living room.  Scully offered to help clean
up, shooting a meaningful look at Mulder, but their host
demurred, commenting with a chuckle that the maid would take
care of it.  Then the power went off, settling the question,
and Mr. Lee went in search of candles, his movements
surprisingly surefooted despite the near-total darkness.  

For a few minutes, Mulder and Scully were left alone
together in the dark.  Neither of them spoke, but a random
jumble of memories flashed through Mulder's mind.  Sitting
in a car together, late at night, during a stakeout.
Listening to Scully sing when they were lost in the woods
down in Florida.  Hell, their very first case, out in
Bellefleur, when she came to his room during the power
failure, terrified by those bumps on her lower back.  God
... they'd come so far since then.  They'd changed so much.
Darkness, it seemed, wasn't always a bad thing.

At last their host returned, bearing not only candles, but a
bottle of fine old brandy and some glasses.  He poured them
each a drink, and the discussion continued.

"I believe we were talking about love," he said.  The low,
flickering light left his face in shadows.  He looked
strange, alien -- but his voice remained easy and friendly.
He continued, "The original question was, what causes people
to fall in love?  How does it happen?  I think we agreed
that it's not simply hormones, yes?  So what is it?"

"Biochemistry obviously does enter into it," Scully replied
from her spot on the floor.  She'd surprised Mulder by
choosing to sit there, but he'd quickly followed suit, and
so had Mr. Lee.  It made their small gathering feel like a
slumber party -- warm and intimate and familiar.  Scully
continued, "Biochemistry is the basis for sexual arousal,
after all, so it must play some role."

"'Love ain't nothing but sex misspelled,'" Mulder quoted,
making no effort to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"You know that's not what I meant," she objected, shaking
her head.  Mr. Lee's eyes, gleaming in the candlelight,
flicked from her, to him, and back to her again.  "But it
does give us a starting place, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps."  

The conversation continued, drifting from psychology to
sociology, from classic literary works such as 'Le Morte
d'Arthur' to modern stories like William Goldman's 'The
Princess Bride'.  No matter where the discussion turned,
their host seemed comfortable and at ease, and whenever
things started to slow down, he would find a new tack.

"Have you ever read 'A Lifelong Passion'?" he asked at one
point.  Mulder and Scully shook their heads, and he nodded.
"The collected love letters of Nicholas and Alexandra," he
continued.  "The last of the Romanovs.  The greatest true
life love story of 19th Century Europe.  Two beautiful young
people, separated by politics, by religion, by countless
things.  Their biographies seldom do them justice, nor do
their photographs."  

He raised an eyebrow and quirked his lip -- and for the
briefest of instants, Mulder had an intimation that the man
was speaking not as a scholar, but from personal knowledge.
But before he could say anything, Mr. Lee went on, "It
should never have worked.  But it did!  Proof positive that
love *does* conquer all."  He sighed, adding, "Of course, it
is far easier to describe the phenomenon than it is to
explain it."  He inclined his head towards Scully.  "No
doubt, as a scientist, you've encountered this problem many
times in the past."

All the while, the storm continued, wind rattling the
shutters, rain drumming ceaselessly against the windowpanes,
occasional flashes of lightning casting brief, eerie shadows
in the darkened living room.  It was a good night to be
indoors.  The house seemed like a refuge not just from the
weather, but from the entire outside world.

At long last, the evening drew to a close.  Mulder had been
struggling with weariness for half an hour or so, and when
Scully openly yawned, Johnny Lee was instantly on his feet.

"What a host I am!" he exclaimed, moving forward and
offering his hand to help her to her feet.  "Here I am,
chattering away, keeping you from your proper rest.  Come
along, then.  I'll show you to your room."

He led them up a narrow flight of stairs to the second
floor.  The room he offered them was large and homey, and
was dominated by an oversized sleigh bed.  Like all the
other furniture they'd seen, it had been made by hand.  The
firm horsehair mattress was covered by a heavy comforter.
Mr. Lee showed them where the bathroom was, put out some
extra towels, gave them a pair of nightshirts, and took his
leave.

"God, that bed is huge," Scully said, crawling up on it and
bouncing a couple of times to check the mattress.  She
laughed.  "You could get lost in it, and no one would miss
you!"

"Don't worry, Scully," Mulder replied.  "I'll send out a
search party if I don't hear from you in a couple of days."

"A few days?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows and
raising her eyebrows.  "I was hoping you might come after me
sooner than that."

Mulder raised his own eyebrows in return, hands on his hips.
 It was perfectly obvious what she wanted.  One thing he'd
discovered these past few months was that, much to his
delight, Dana Scully was not one of those women who had
difficulty articulating her sexual desires.  But he did have
something else in mind for the rest of the evening, tired as
he was --

"Mulder!" she said.  "I know exactly what you're thinking,
and don't even bother to try."  She sat up and scooted to
the edge of the bed, wrapping her legs around his thighs.
"You are *not* going to spy on our host.  He's been a
perfect gentleman, and we are *not* going to repay his
kindness by invading his privacy.  Got it?"

"But Scully ...."

"No, buts, Mulder."

She started to say something else, but at that moment a door
down the hallway opened and closed.  A few seconds later,
footsteps could be heard.  

"Scully!" he whispered.  "It's him."

"I know it's him, Mulder," she replied, rolling her eyes.
"There's no one else in the house.  He's probably going
downstairs to clean up.  You didn't really believe him when
he said the maid would take care of it, did you?"

Mulder was only half listening; most of his attention was
focused on those footsteps -- footsteps that were fading as
Mr. Lee went down the stairs.  He strained his ears against
the noise of the storm -- and then for a moment it was
louder, followed by a hollow thunk.

"Scully, he just went outside.  You still think he's gone to
do the dishes?"

"I still think it's none of our business," she answered.
"And if he wants to get drenched again, that's his problem."
 She looked up at him and batted her eyes.  "Speaking for
myself, I don't have to go outside to get wet."

Mulder blinked in surprise at the innuendo.  Even after all
these months, she was still able to catch him off guard.
Maybe someday he'd get used to it.  But he hoped not.

Even as he was considering her words, Scully reached out and
began unbuckling his belt.  A few seconds later, his pants
were on the floor, bunched around his ankles.  She started
stroking him through the thin material of his boxers, and
Mulder felt a surge of desire.  

It probably wouldn't do any real harm to give her what she
wanted, he decided, crawling up onto the bed next to her and
taking her into his arms.  The dragon had been out there for
decades.  It could wait a few hours longer.


===========
Saturday
===========

Scully woke shortly after dawn, feeling remarkably
refreshed, despite the late hours she and Mulder had kept
the night before.  Sunlight filtered in on the dust motes,
drifting past the curtains to give the room a comfortable,
early morning glow.  The house was completely quiet.

And of course, Mulder was nowhere to be seen.

Scully hadn't expected him to be there when she woke up.
She'd known the night before that seducing him would be only
a temporary expedient.  She was pleased enough that he'd
actually fallen asleep afterwards, taking it as the unspoken
compliment that it was.  She'd never really thought she
could completely derail his pursuit of this hypothetical
dragon.

She flung aside the covers and rolled out of bed, dragging
the sheet after her and wrapping it around herself.  Her
clothes should be around here somewhere.  She'd thrown them
aside in a bit of a hurry the night before, but --

They were sitting on the dresser -- cleaned, pressed and
neatly folded.  Scully blinked in surprise.  She glanced at
the closed door, realizing that their host must have come
into the room in the night to retrieve them, and then a
second time after they'd been washed.  She felt a little
uncomfortable at that knowledge, but not as uncomfortable as
she might have expected.  Well, maybe Mulder had given them
to Mr. Lee when he got up.

She dressed, made the bed, and went downstairs.  A quick
tour of the rooms on the first floor confirmed what she'd
already guessed:  Mulder was not in the house.  Unless he
was snooping around upstairs, and she doubted even he would
be *that* foolhardy.  They didn't know which room their host
slept in, after all.  Plus, she hadn't heard anything when
she stepped out into the hall, and the house was old, with
enough creaking floor boards and such that she didn't think
it likely that Mulder could move around in complete silence.

Besides, he would expect to find his "dragon" outside at
this time of morning.  That's where he'd found it the day
before.

She stepped out onto the front porch.  In contrast to the
storm of the night before, the sky was a perfect, cloudless
blue.  The sun had just cleared the trees on the far side of
the river, and the temperature was still a little brisk.  It
was one of those perfect mornings that you somehow knew was
going to develop into a perfect day.

And the ground was bone dry.

Scully stood at the top of the steps for a moment or two,
staring out at the front yard.  It was impossible.  The yard
had been covered with half an inch of standing water the
night before, when she and Mulder tried to leave, and the
storm had continued for quite a while after that.  In the
back of her mind, she'd been wondering if they were going to
be able to get their car up the access road even now.  But
this --

"Hey, Scully!  Beautiful day, isn't it?"

She turned her head, to see Mulder standing a few yards
away, apparently just having come around the corner of the
house.  He had a small smirk on his face.

"Having any luck, Sir Pellinor?" she asked, allowing her own
lips to quirk.

"Pellinor was a king, Scully, not a knight," Mulder
responded.  "And no.  Nary a fumet to be found."  He
gestured at the front yard.  "However, Mr. Lee does indeed
have an extremely efficient sump pump."

"So I see."  She walked down the steps and crossed to stand
in front of Mulder.  "So what's on the agenda for today?  A
dragon hunt?"

"You tell me, Scully," he replied.  "It's your day to be the
passenger.  I'm just the lowly chauffeur."

She looked at him for a moment, then shook her head.
"Mulder, I guess I don't see the point.  Dragons are
mythical beasts, and --"

"I *saw* the dragon, Scully," Mulder interrupted.  "With my
own two eyes.  I know you didn't, but when has *that* ever
stopped me?"  He gave another little smirk, of the sort that
left her undecided whether she wanted to kiss him or slug
him.  "Plus, this town is unbelievably lucky.  Remember what
I found in the newspaper archives yesterday?  Record
harvests, no natural disasters, and everyone we meet seems
to be completely content with their lot in life.  Do you
know when the last time a house changed hands in this town,
other than by inheritance?  1965!"

"What does that have to do with dragons?"

"Look, Scully," he said, moving a little closer.  "Most
people think of dragons, they think of those fire breathing
monsters you read about in European fairy tales.  St.
George, and all that.  But that's not the only tradition out
there."

"Oh?"

"Oh," he agreed with a nod.  "In the Chinese tradition,
dragons aren't always destructive.  They're wise and
powerful, and they have their own interests, but those
interests don't necessarily include causing trouble for
human beings.  In fact, sometimes they actually *help*
people.  For example, by keeping bad weather away so the
crops will grow better."

"But Mulder, by your account, this has been going on for
more than a hundred years," she objected.

"Chinese dragons are also very long lived," he explained.
"Centuries, millennia -- maybe they're even immortal.  And
did you notice how Mr. Lee was last night, when he was
talking about Nicholas and Alexandra?  He didn't sound as if
he was talking about people he'd read about in a history
book.  He sounded like he was talking about people he'd
*known*, personally."

"Are you saying that Mr. Lee --"

"I think Mr. Lee knows about the dragon, and that it's been
keeping him alive.  I think that's why there's no record of
births, deaths or marriages for him or any of his ancestors.
 I think it's even possible that he *is* the dragon --
dragons are also shapeshifters, you know."

"But what would a Chinese dragon be doing in Iowa?" Scully
asked.  Despite herself, she was getting caught up in the
discussion.  Now Mulder nodded, as he considered his reply.

"That's an excellent question," he said.  "There are a
number of possible explanations.  Maybe it came over on the
land bridge between Alaska and Siberia, twenty thousand
years ago.  Or, you notice this town was founded right
around the time there were a lot of new Chinese immigrants
coming over to build rail lines across the west.  Maybe it
came with them.  Hell, maybe it *flew* over.  That's not
beyond the realm of possibility."

"Mulder, this whole discussion is beyond the realm of
possibility!"  She shook her head, and tried to regain
control of the conversation.  "And even if you're right --
even granting that this mythical creature actually exists --
so what?  By your own account, it's done nothing but good
for the people who live here.  Why not leave it in peace?"

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Scully
caught a glimpse of Mr. Lee, striding along the river bank.
As always, he was wearing an impeccable three piece suit.
He raised his hand and waved, once he realized that he had
their attention.

"Good morning!" he called.  "I was just out for my morning
constitutional.  I trust I didn't disturb you.  I'm afraid
I've always been an early riser."

"No, that's okay," Scully said, as their host came to a stop
a few feet away.  "Mulder gets up early, too -- and so does
anyone who sleeps with him."

The man chuckled and nodded.  "I understand.  Well, I find
you both outside.  I hope that doesn't mean you'll be
leaving before I have a chance to give you breakfast."

"No, that would be very nice," Scully answered.  "Thank
you."  To her partner:  "Mulder?"

"Works for me," he replied, a bland look on his face.

"Excellent."  He stepped past them, and led the way back up
the front steps and into the house.  "By the way, last night
I neglected to mention that today is the annual Wanmei
Summer Baseball Tournament."  He glanced at Mulder.  "You
look like you'd make quite a good right fielder.  Do you
suppose you might be interested in playing?"

"Me?"  Mulder looked surprised.  "I would think they'd
already have the teams chosen long ago."  But there was a
wistful look on his face, and Scully felt a sudden surge of
interest on her own part.  She'd never cared for baseball
very much, but an opportunity to watch Mulder actually
having a good time --

"Oh, there's always room for one more," Mr. Lee said, with
casual assurance.  Then his face broke into another of those
funny little smiles.

#          #          #

The crack of the bat drew Scully out of her book, and she
looked up just in time to see Mulder -- playing right field,
as Mr. Lee had suggested -- backpedaling frantically.  The
ball kept sailing, sailing, on and on, a soft, looping fly
ball that didn't seem to want to stop.  There was action on
the base paths, but Scully didn't give it a second glance;
all of her attention was focused on Mulder.

At the last second, just as it seemed the ball was going to
pass over his head, he sprang into the air, stabbing out
with his gloved hand.  An instant later he hit the ground
and went into a backwards roll, popping back to his feet and
giving a ululation of victory, waving his glove high
overhead so that all could see the ball wedged in the
pocket.  Scully clapped her hands and whistled, as Mulder
and his teammates trotted in from the field to take their
turn at bat.

Watching Mulder play was even better than she'd hoped it
would be.  He was having a wonderful time -- the most fun
she could ever remember.  He was bubbling over with innocent
joy, and that in turn was making *Scully* feel happy and
carefree.  It reminded her of high school, of watching
Marcus compete at track meets.  Her cheeks colored as she
realized she was acting like a teenager, but she was
enjoying the situation so much that she couldn't make
herself care.

Of course, Mulder hadn't let up about his dragon, but that
was okay, too.  She would have been worried about him if he
had.  He'd talked about it off and on ever since leaving Mr.
Lee's home, and hadn't really stopped until they reached the
fairgrounds, where the baseball tournament was to be played.

Baseball seemed to have taken his mind off it, however -- at
least for the moment.  Even between games, when the two of
them had stood in line waiting for their share of the roast
pig, he'd been completely focused on the game he'd just
finished.  Now his team was well into their second game, and
Scully was sitting nearby on the grass, dividing her
attention between her book and watching Mulder at play.

"I see you're almost finished."

Mr. Lee's voice, close at hand, made Scully tear her eyes
away from the baseball diamond, to see the odd little man
standing a few feet away.  She glanced down at the book in
her lap, then back up at him.

"Yes," she agreed, smiling.  "Only a few pages to go."

"Excellent."  He nodded, returning her smile.  "And I take
it from your expression that you found it enjoyable?"

"Yes," Scully repeated.  "At first, I didn't think I would.
But I did.  It grows on you."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Lee replied, rocking on the balls of his
feet.  "Amusing, yes.  Entertaining, yes.  But does it say
anything to us about human love?"

"I think perhaps it does," Scully answered.  "As you said
last night, it illuminates the subject by examining its
opposite.  Mr. Horner, for example -- all he cared about was
the pleasure of the moment, and he didn't care how that
affected other people.  He didn't even care about his own
reputation.  And Mr. Pinchwife -- well, the tighter he tried
to hang on to Margery, the more he pushed her away."  

"'The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin,'" Mr. Lee intoned,
a twinkle in his eyes, "'the more star systems will slip
through your fingers.'"

"Right," Scully said with a laugh.  "Why doesn't it surprise
me that you've seen that movie, too?  Are there any books or
movies that you're *not* familiar with?"

"Oh, a great many, my dear," he replied, suddenly very
solemn.  "A very great many.  It's a deficiency that causes
me no small regret -- and one that I've dedicated my life to
correcting."  

Scully waited to see if he was going to add anything.  She
felt a sudden prickling on the back of her neck, as she
remembered Mulder's flat certainty that this man was
hundreds of years old -- maybe thousands.  What would it
mean to dedicate one's life to something, if the span of
that life was measured in centuries?  The idea was more than
a little frightening.  She remembered Alfred Fellig, who had
wearied of life after only a century and a half.  She
shivered, then forced the thought away and nodded towards
the baseball diamond.

"My ... my friend said once that death only looks for you
once you seek its opposite," she commented, relieved at the
steadiness of her own voice.

"Do you think the same may be true of love?" Mr. Lee asked,
fascination evident in his voice.  He squatted down next to
her.  "Do you think love finds you only when you've given
up, and gone looking for something else?  Or stopped looking
entirely?"

"I don't know if that's universally true," Scully replied.
"But it was true in my case."  She thought about all those
years of emotional drought, about how her feelings for
Mulder and his for her had crept up on them, almost like
thieves in the night.  In retrospect, Mulder had seemed to
be a little bit more aware of what was happening than she
had, but he'd admitted to her once that he'd still been
taken by surprise.  And she added, "I think the same was
true of my friend, as well."

"He is your lover, is he not?" Mr. Lee asked.  "Not merely
your friend."

"Of course."  Her gaze had drifted back to the baseball
diamond, where Mulder now stood in the on deck circle.  She
looked back to the man next to her.  "But he's also my
friend, and that's the more important of the two.  I would
give up everything else, if it were necessary to keep his
friendship."

"And he would do the same for you."  A statement, not a
question.

"Yes," Scully agreed.  "Fortunately, we haven't been forced
to make that choice."

"Very fortunate indeed," Mr. Lee said, nodding again.  "And
something tells me ...."  He smiled that funny little smile
of his.  "Something tells me that you will not be faced with
those alternatives in the future, either."

"I hope you're right."

"I'm right," he said, with easy confidence.  "I've observed
the two of you quite closely these past few days, and I have
faith in you."

The two of them fell silent, as Mulder stepped up to the
plate.  The outfielders backed away as he took his warm up
swings; they'd already seen what his bat could do.  Once
again, Scully felt a surge of adolescent pride at this
public acknowledgement of Mulder's ability.

The first two pitches went by with Mulder never lifting the
bat from his shoulder, the first a called strike, the second
a ball.  He swung on the third pitch, but it dribbled away
into foul territory.  Two strikes, Scully thought.  As so
often seemed to happen in his life, Mulder had two strikes
against him.  She couldn't quite decide whether she was
amused or saddened by the thought.  

Well, they were here to have fun, she reminded herself with
determination.  And by God, they were going to have fun.  No
sadness today.  They'd had plenty of that in the past,  and
no doubt would have more in the future.  Amusement it was,
then.

Mulder caught her eye, and from the expression of happy
exhilaration on his face, she knew she'd made the right
choice.  He smiled at her and winked, and she smiled back
and raised an eyebrow.  The pitcher said something, drawing
Mulder's attention back to the game.  Mulder laughed, then
wiggled his hips, fiddled with the brim of his cap ... and
finally, as Scully had somehow known he would, he pointed
with his bat to dead center field.

CRACK!

This time, there was no doubting the contact between bat and
ball, nothing tentative at all.  The ball rocketed away from
the plate, rising into the sky and arrowing outwards.  The
center fielder -- of course it was the center fielder --
turned and ran, stealing glances over his shoulder as he
tried to outrace the projectile ....

There were no fences here, nothing but green, green grass,
with the refreshment tent visible a few hundred yards in the
distance.  Scully found herself scrambling to her feet and
holding her breath, as the fielder jumped and twisted,
stretching out his glove in desperation ....

And the ball passed him by, striking the ground and bounding
further into the outfield.  Scully turned her gaze to the
base paths, where Mulder was running as if his life -- or
hers -- depended on it, rounding second and digging for
third.  There were 90 feet between the bases -- she
remembered that number from somewhere.  Mulder had less than
180 feet to go ....

She glanced to the outfield, to see that the fielder had
finally chased down the ball.  He skidded to a stop, and
made a mighty throw back towards the plate, just as Mulder
was making the final turn.  God, it was going to be close,
he was going into a slide ....

"Safe!"

Once again, Scully heard herself clapping, hooting and
hollering at the umpire's call.  Mulder sprang to his feet;
instantly, he was rushed by his teammates, and even some of
the opposing players crowded around to congratulate him and
slap him on the back.  Despite the fact that he was being
mobbed, she was able to catch his eye.  On an impulse she
blew him a kiss.  Mulder's grin broadened, so wide and
bright and full of joy that it almost hurt to look at him.
He winked again, then turned his attention to the other
players.

"Amazing," Mr. Lee said.  "Simply amazing."

She forced her eyes away from Mulder and looked at her
companion.  He was gazing not at the mob on the baseball
diamond, but at her -- and his smile was very nearly as
broad and happy as Mulder's was.

"He's quite a good ball player," the odd little man
continued, nodding towards Mulder.  "Of course, I knew he
would be.  You both are quite remarkable.  What's truly
amazing, though, is how the two of you together are even
better than either of you separately.  Love has a way of
doing that, you know.  I may not understand love the way I
wish to, but I've learned a little, down through the years."

"Are you talking about the home run?" Scully asked.  He
didn't say anything, but continued to smile.  She shook her
head.  "That was just ... that was just ... Mulder," she
said.  "I had nothing to do with it."

"Yes," Mr. Lee agreed.  "It was him.  And you had
*everything* to do with it -- you have everything to do with
him.  Just as he has everything to do with you."  He brushed
his hands together, dismissing the subject.  "Well.  I wish
to offer you my gratitude for the pleasure of your company
these past few days.  It has been a very rewarding and
informative experience -- and of course, it always pleases
me when someone enjoys one of my books."

"Thank you," Scully replied.  "I ... I've enjoyed it, as
well.  I think Mulder has, too."

"He has," the little man said, again with easy confidence.
"But I would like to offer you something more, something
concrete, as a token of my esteem.  The two of you are no
doubt eager to resume your journey.  But would it be
possible for you to stop by my home one more time?  I have
something I would like to give you."

"That ... that would be fine, I'm sure," Scully said.  She
glanced at Mulder, who was finally making his way free of
the mob of players and heading in their direction.  Then she
looked back to Mr. Lee.  "What time?"

"Shall we say shortly after sundown?" the man replied.  "So
as to allow you to stay until the end of the tournament?"
He nodded, and smiled one more time.  "Yes, shortly after
sundown would be the perfect time.  Everything will surely
be in readiness by then!"

#          #          #

This time, it was Mulder who maneuvered the car down the
narrow, rutted dirt access road that led to Johnny Lee's
home.  The sun had set a few minutes earlier, and the stars
were starting to appear.  The full moon was just becoming
visible through the trees to the east.

"So he wants to give us something?" Mulder asked, glancing
over at Scully, where she sat in the passenger seat.

"That's what he said," she replied.  Her expression was one
of serene contentment.  Mulder couldn't remember the last
time he'd seen her so happy.  Of course, that didn't mean he
wasn't going to ask questions.

"What sort of a something?"

"As I told you the first six times you asked, I don't know,"
she answered, her voice tinged with amusement.  

Mulder turned his eyes back to the road.  It seemed narrower
and rougher than he remembered it being, and thus required
most of his attention.

"Say, Mulder," Scully said after another moment.  "I
finished that book."

"Yeah?"  A smile touched his lips.  He was pretty sure what
she was leading up to, but he couldn't resist the chance to
tease her a bit.  "Did you like it okay?"

"Yes, actually.  It was funny.  But what I --"

"It was more than just funny, Scully!" he interrupted, his
smile broadening.  "I mean, look at that poor Mr. Horner.
All he wanted was a little action, and --"

"'Poor' is hardly the first word that comes to mind when I
think about that character,"  Scully said.  He could hear
her eyebrow raising in disapproval.  "Seriously, Mulder --
that man destroyed his own reputation by spreading those
rumors that he had venereal disease.  Just so the other men
would be more likely to leave him alone with their wives!"

"And how smart were the wives?" Mulder asked, still smiling.
 "You think they didn't hear the rumors?  But they still
slept with him."

"How smart were their husbands?" Scully shot back.  "If
they'd given those women what they really needed, they'd
never have even looked at another man.  Stop laughing!"  But
her objection rang a little hollow, as she was obviously
having trouble keeping the chuckles from her own voice.
"I'm not talking about sex."

"Uh huh.  Sure you aren't."

"I'm not!"  He heard her take a deep breath.  Finally:
"Anyway.  That's not why I brought it up.  What I *wanted*
to do was ask you, now that I've finished the book, why you
were so eager to have me read it."  Hesitantly:  "Did you
act in it?"

"No."  Mulder paused.  All of a sudden, he felt a little
embarrassed, but it was a bit late to be backing out now.
"Uh, actually, I directed it."

"You *directed* it?"

"Yeah.  One summer at Oxford.  A, uh, a group of students
formed an amateur theatrical group, and they invited me to
direct."  He shrugged, hoping he didn't sound too awkward.
"Probably because  they were self-financed, and they knew
that my dad had money."

"I doubt that," she replied.  He glanced at her, to see a
fond smile on her face.  "I'm sure you did a wonderful job."

Mulder was about to reply, but then the car rounded the
final turn, and the words died on his lips.  He'd been more
than half-expecting something like this, but the reality was
a bit overwhelming.  He maneuvered the Taurus the last few
feet to the end of the road, and braked to a halt.  For a
moment or two he sat in silence, hands still on the wheel,
staring straight ahead through the windshield.  He was aware
of Scully sitting next to him, but he couldn't tear his eyes
away from the sight in front of him.

The house -- Johnny Lee's house -- was gone.  There was
nothing there.  No long, wrap-around porch, no well-tended
yard, no old-fashioned water pump.  There wasn't even a
foundation.  It was as if the structure had never existed at
all.

Maybe it hadn't.

Mulder switched off the engine and headlights, and he and
Scully climbed from the car, still maintaining their
silence.  They walked to the front of the car, joined hands,
and moved forward over the rough ground, until they stood in
the spot where Mulder remembered the front steps as being.

"Scully?" he said at last.  "We took the right road, didn't
we?  This *is* the place, isn't it?"

"Yes."  With her free hand, she pointed at a tree some fifty
feet downstream.  "I recognize that weeping willow.  And
there's the trail where you saw ... where you said you saw
the track."

"Right," Mulder nodded.  "So the house should be pretty much
exactly where we're standing."

"Yes, it should.  And before you ask -- no, I can't explain
it.  But that doesn't mean --"

"Right on time, I see!"

Mulder swiveled, to see Johnny Lee standing a few yards
away, in the direction of the river.  As always, he was
wearing a three piece suit and a friendly smile.  He bowed,
then moved forward until he was standing directly in front
of them.

"Thank you so much for coming," he said.  "I've learned so
much from the two of you.  I'm delighted to have this
opportunity to give you something in return."

"That's ... uh, that's okay," Scully replied.  Mulder
glanced at her, trying to interpret the expression on her
face, but it was unreadable.  "We're happy to be here
again."  She looked over her shoulder, then back at Mr. Lee.
 "We were wondering, though, about your house --"

"Yes, yes," he answered, nodding.  "I hope you weren't to