by Gerry Hill
fox42@ix.netcom.com
 

Date: Wed, 10 Nov 1999

Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and
situations created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions
and Fox Broadcasting.  As such, the characters of Fox
Mulder, Dana Scully, AD Skinner, the Lone Gunmen, etc.
are the property of those entities and are used without
permission, although no copyright infringement is intended.
The following work is for the distribution and entertainment
of fanfic members only.  Any further distribution of this
work without the author's consent is in violation of
international law.

THANKS: To a wonderful group of people, on whom I
increasingly rely before posting my fanfic: Ten, Helen, Jo-
Ann, nikki, and Macspooky.  They pull no punches, and I
have the bruises to prove it!   Also, thanks to Ten for
writing the "Epilogue." <g>

SETTING: Takes place after "One Son" but before
"Biogenesis."

SPOILERS: "One Son," "Never Again," "Pine Bluff
Variant," the movie "Fight the Future."

RATING: R for violence, language and attempted rape  (not
graphic).

CONTENT WARNING:  Mulder/Scully UST.  Rape
attempt by third party.  Language.  Violence.

CLASSIFICATION: T, A

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully go undercover with the
Mob.

NOTE: I'd love to hear any feedback after you've read the
story!      fox42@ix.netcom.com.

(See disclaimer and acknowledgments in part 0 of 4)
 
 

***********************************************

MOBSTER MASH   (1 of 4)
by Gerry Hill   (fox42@ix.netcom.com)
 

A Friday in May 1999
Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.

Since it was after 5:00 PM on a Friday, most of the building
had cleared out, leaving a skeleton staff on duty.  Special
Agent Dana Scully, heels clicked hollowly against the floor,
made her way down the basement corridor.  Deep in
thought, her brief knock was perfunctory before she opened
the closed door and entered the familiar room.

After the new assignment had been made earlier today by
Assistant Director Skinner, and after the inevitable protests
from Special Agent Fox Mulder had been ignored and then
squashed, Scully had figured that her partner would settle
down and begin preparations.  As far as she could tell,
however, he hadn't moved from his desk since she had left
him there three hours ago.

Resigned to the inevitable, she understood that she was in
for a bout of obstinate, balky, uncooperative Mulder.

He didn't glance up as she reached his desk, although he
had to be aware of her presence.  She had a sudden urge to
shove his big feet from where they were propped squarely
on the blotter, but decided that now wasn't the time to
teach him good manners.

He finally looked up at her, his expression impossible to
read.  She tried to sidestep his complaints by coming right
to the point.

"The DEA guy was here with some clothes, ID, directions
on where we'll be staying, and tons of printouts on the case.
I had him pack it all into the back of my car.  How about
going over to my place and sorting through the stuff?"

Ignoring her question, he growled, "No offense to your
abilities, but I don't buy this crap about you being the 'only
federal agent' who can pull this off, Scully.  Besides, what's
this bullshit about the Mafia?  Despite what the movies tell
us, all the big shots are dead or in prison, and the structure
has fallen apart."

She sighed, accepting that he wasn't going to make it easy.

"I suppose Vincenzo's bunch are a few of the leftovers from
the Mafia glory days," she replied.  "The files show they've
been getting hit from all sides lately: Law enforcement,
factions within their own group, and the more organized
street gangs.  So no, it's not like we're taking on Al
Capone, but this group is still dangerous."

She saw no change of expression on his face.  A little bit of
exasperation entered her voice as she addressed what was
really bothering him.

"Mulder, you know that two DEA informants were
murdered, and that now their undercover agent,
Michaelson, has disappeared.  They need someone inside,
and fast.  You heard how they've gone through all the
alphabet soup law enforcement agencies, trying to find a
female who is Tony Vincenzo's type . . . "

Dropping his feet off the desk to the floor with a loud thud,
he impatiently said, "Yeah, yeah.  They had picked out three
women, other than you.  But Doris What's-er-name over at
the DEA is nine months pregnant and overdue to give birth;
Sharon Hingle upstairs got shot in the thigh yesterday in a
raid; and Gayle Orintz, Hovitz, or whatever her name is,
took off Friday to do some mountain-climbing in the Alps
and is out of touch.  Which leaves you."

He stood up suddenly, towering over her, and she backed
up a step.  "Thousands of people from whom to choose,
and they can come up with only four petite redheaded
females who would be eligible for the assignment.  Christ!
They could have just dyed someone's hair."

His eyes locked onto hers as he added, "Or do you have to
be a *natural* redhead for the purposes of this assignment?"

Ignoring his innuendo, she replied, "Apparently we were the
only experienced field agents who also had the physical
characteristics specified."

His eyes deliberately raked down her body and she could
see the gleam in his gaze when his eyes returned to hers.

"Isn't your feminist soul offended by being picked for the
case primarily for your body type?"

"That's enough, Mulder.  You and I both know that this is
the quickest way to get close to the subject and learn what
we need to know."

"It'll be incredibly dangerous."

There it was again; what Scully thought to be the crux of
the matter for her partner.  He was so protective....

"Mulder, I seem to remember you going undercover with
those terrorists a few months ago, *without* telling me and
*without* any backup whatsoever, barely surviving the
experience.  In this case, we'll both be going in, so we'll
have each other to rely on."

He gave an impatient shake of his head.

"*I* wasn't the terrorist ringleader's boyfriend.  You'll be
going in for the express purpose of turning this guy on and
maybe risking..."

"My virtue?" she helpfully supplied.  "Come on, Mulder.  I
can take care of myself, and we need any and all information
we can dig out of Vincenzo about what's probably the
biggest drug deal in this country in fifteen years."

"God, Scully!  He could be humping you twice a day and
three times on Sunday, and you think he'll tell you where
and when the buy will take place?  He'll have just met you;
there'll be no history of trust between you.  I don't know
what in hell the DEA is thinking."

She had her own doubts on that score, but Mulder was
deliberately being crude.  Giving in to temptation, she
retaliated.

Scully opened the file in her hands and looked at the picture
inside the cover.

"Twice a day, huh?" she murmured with a little smile,
letting Mulder see Vincenzo's handsome features from his
vantage point.  The man gazing out of the picture could
have been Brendan Fraser's cuter brother.

Glancing up, she could see the muscles in his jaw clenching
and knew she had hit the target.  Along with the
satisfaction, however, she felt a twinge of guilt; but it was
only a twinge and quickly forgotten.

Closing the file, she said, "There's not much we can do
about this, and complaining isn't going to accomplish
anything, either.  Let's get started on setting up the details."

She turned and headed for the elevator.  Mulder grabbed his
suit jacket as he followed her, looking less than happy.  In
truth, he recognized how unprofessional his reactions had
been.  Scully deserved his respect and support, not this
petulant crap he'd been shoveling at her.  If he were really
honest with himself, he'd own up to his jealousy, but that
would open up a whole new can of worms.
 

******************
 
 

Scully's apartment
10:38 PM

With a weary sigh, she got to her feet and surveyed the
floor around them.  It was littered with documents and
printouts, take-out food containers, a couple of pairs of
shoes, and other detritus from their case review and
preparation.  Hiding a smile when she spotted the Star Wars
figure of Jar Jar Binks' head peeking from the couch
cushion next to her partner, she remembered how tickled he
had been when he had shown her his prize from his earlier
foray for food.

"Just think, Scully.  The most hated figure in the Star Wars
universe!  Like the Edsel, it'll be worth big bucks someday."

The memory faded as she felt his eyes on her.  She shifted
her focus to meet his gaze and saw immediately that he
seemed weary...sad, somehow.

"Scully, this brother/sister thing isn't going to work.  We
look nothing alike, you know.  It would make more sense to
be distant cousins, or even husband and wife, with you
looking for a little excitement on the side."

Thinking he must really be tired to skip the innuendos he
loved to inflict on her, she said, "Well, it's too late now.
The IDs are all prepared and the background data is in
place.  We could have had different mothers or fathers.  It
happens."

He looked down and shrugged, accepting her argument.
She felt that had been too easy.

Attempting to lighten the mood, she headed for the
bedroom, saying, "I'm going to try on some of the clothes
they want us to wear.  Those DEA guys picked them out,
so God knows what they'll look like.  Yours are in the spare
bedroom."

He stayed seated on the couch, however, ignoring the
implied invitation to play "dress up."  He dropped his head
back against the cushion and closed his eyes.  He must have
dozed off because he was suddenly aware of a feather-light
touch on his jaw.

Opening his eyes without moving his head, he found himself
staring at an upside-down Scully.  She was behind the
couch, looking down at him with a tender expression,
making his breath catch in his throat.  Then the moment was
gone as she walked around the couch to stand in front of
him.  Hands on hips, she asked, "Well?"

She was a knockout.  The burgundy sheath dress showed
more cleavage than he had ever seen on his partner.  It was
cut low, straight across the top, and was sleeveless, with
narrow straps over her shoulders.   The hem stopped well
above the knees, and the waist was nipped in to emphasize
her slenderness.  She hadn't bothered with shoes, and so
was barefoot.

She had never looked so lovely.  All the self-denial of how
he felt about her was cracking wide open.  It took all his
strength to beat down his urge to enfold her in his arms and
admit to her how he really felt.  This woman had somehow
become everything to him.  And while there was this
overwhelming tenderness he felt toward her, there was also
the raw underlying lust which was even more difficult to
shove into a corner.

Scully must have read something in his eyes, because she
blushed and turned to go back into the bedroom.

"Wait."  Mulder didn't know why he had spoken, since he
couldn't...just *couldn't* ruin everything by speaking what
was on his mind.

She paused in the doorway to see what he wanted and
Mulder was surprised to see the slightest flash of fear in her
eyes.  So Scully was afraid, too, he thought.

He cleared his throat, got to his feet and began gathering
papers together.  His eyes burned and he didn't think it was
from being tired.

"I'm heading for home, Angela," he said, using her
undercover name.

"It's 'Angie' to you, brother dear.  And why don't you stay
in the spare room tonight?   Everything we'll need for the
job is already here."

Burdened with an armful of paper, he busied himself with
stacking it neatly on the coffee table, muttering something
about needing to get home; that he had things to do.

She let that go, although she knew he currently had no fish
in the tank to feed, and nothing else pressing at the moment.
Instead, she told him, "Samuels, our contact with the DEA,
will be here at 10 AM or so.  He's supposed to have a car
for us and any last minute information before we take up
residence in the Greenwich Hotel."

He nodded as he went about putting his shoes back on, then
grabbed his suit coat and waved as he left her apartment.
After the door shut behind him, she noticed that her place
appeared to be so...empty.  He always seemed to take up so
much more than his own space when he was around, that
his leaving left a huge gap in her environment.

Troubled about his negative attitude concerning their role in
this case, Scully finished straightening up the place and then
thought that she may as well change for bed soon.  She
smoothed her hands over the skirt of the dress she was still
wearing and remembered Mulder's reaction when he had
seen her in it.  A faint flush pinked her cheeks as she
wondered just when they had become so physically aware of
each other.

The last thing she did before turning out the lights in the
living room was to place Mulder's forgotten Jar Jar toy on
the bookshelf for safekeeping.

******************

Saturday, 11:58 AM
En route to the Greenwich Hotel

Other than a comment that the weather should be nice that
day, if a little warm, the two partners sat in silence during
the drive to the hotel.  The BMW that Scully was
maneuvering through lunchtime traffic was definitely a step
up from the usual rental they drove on assignments, but
Mulder hardly noticed the more luxurious interior.  His
mind was on the case, beginning with the unsatisfactory
meeting with their contact earlier that morning.

Samuels had turned out to be at least ten years younger than
either of the two FBI agents.  He had been all excited
discussing the details of the assignment, and Mulder had
wondered if this was his first field job.

During one of the long, involved explanations that Samuels
seemed to favor, Mulder asked him how they were expected
to meet Vincenzo.

"It's a big hotel, and it might take awhile if we just wander
around, hoping to bump into him."

Apparently unaware of the sarcastic tone, Samuels jumped
to his feet apologizing about nearly forgetting, and
produced two embossed invitations, which he handed to
Scully.  They were from the hotel manager, and were
invitations to a party being held that evening in the hotel.

"Vincenzo has also been invited.  He likes to party, so we
think he'll attend."

Reading the invitations, Scully reassured Mulder that he
wouldn't need a tuxedo, but could wear a nice suit.
"Anyway, I don't think there's a tux included with the
clothes they provided," she had told him.

"See any underwear of interest while you were going
through my clothes?"

Mulder was intrigued when she reacted by biting her lower
lip while a flush stained her cheeks.  He had meant the
remark to be joking, but she seemed to take it as criticism.

"I was only making sure you had everything you'll need,
since you couldn't be bothered last night to check it
yourself."

Samuels had been avidly listening to this exchange and
Mulder couldn't help but notice the frown on his previously
sunny face.

"Don't worry," he reassured the man.  "This is the way we
work.  Sharp, cutting remarks, designed to keep us mentally
on our toes."  He winked, confusing Samuels even more.

The only ray of sunlight for Mulder was when they were
told that the massive drugs and money transfer was likely to
take place before Tuesday of the coming week.  That would
limit their undercover time to only three days or so.

Ultimately they had finished going over and over the small
details which their contact seemed to find so fascinating,
and then Samuels had introduced Grayson and Wu, DEA
agents who would be staying in the same hotel, providing
backup, and keeping tabs on events.

Jessie Grayson was a tall African-American woman who
appeared to be fit enough to toss Mulder over her shoulder
without much of a struggle.  On the other hand, her partner
Daniel Wu looked as though a strong wind would knock
him over.  He was taller than Scully, but not by much, and
very slender.

Mulder hid a smile as he imagined the man trying to have
sex with Grayson.  An image of a dog-sized Wu humping
this gigantic, shapely, feminine leg came to mind...Then he
sobered as he wondered where *that* thought came from.
He sincerely hoped that Scully never gained the ability to
truly read his mind.

After setting up emergency procedures and methods of
communication, the two FBI agents had finally made their
escape.  Mulder now carried a small black device on a
keychain which, when pressed firmly, would send a signal to
Samuels that they needed to be pulled out, ASAP.  Scully's
device was in her purse.  What he wasn't going to mention
to anyone is that he planned to "persuade" Langly, Byers
and Frohike into providing additional back-up.  Since the
agents would essentially be at the mercy of the DEA, he
wanted some kind of lifeline if Samuels screwed up.  The
FBI, constantly short-staffed, had essentially told the two
agents that they were on their own for this one.  At least
Skinner had the decency to look apologetic when he'd made
that statement.

He still wished he could carry his weapon, but understood
that it would be a dead giveaway if it were noticed or
detected by a screening device.  He wished even more that
at least his partner had been able to carry one for her
protection.  Requests for a wire had been brushed aside by
Samuels, who said it might be detected.  Mulder couldn't
help but shudder at how Vincenzo might detect a wire on
Scully...

Pulling himself out of his reverie as "Angela" maneuvered
the car around a busy corner, Mulder found himself
admiring his partner, who was again wearing the burgundy
sheath and had pushed her hair back behind her ears.  She
looked crisp and cool on this warm day and had a glow of
excitement, presumably because of this new case.  He was
tempted to whine, 'How come you never dress like that on
*our* cases?' but figured that wouldn't go over too well.

Leaving the car to the hotel staff, they found the lobby to be
fairly busy.  Mulder caught himself fidgeting in his new
Italian leather walking shoes which felt unfamiliar on his
feet.  The cream-colored slacks and blue-gray shirt were
comfortable, but he still longed for his own familiar clothes.
At least he didn't have to wear a suit at the moment.

Senses on high alert, he saw Vincenzo and his entourage
before Scully did.  They were exiting the elevators across
the room and headed in their general direction.

Mulder softly murmured "Son of a bitch," and elbowed his
partner on the arm, hissing, "What do you know?  We *are*
going to just run into our target after all."

She was swift on the uptake and managed to be standing at
the outer edge of the group at the reception desk so
Vincenzo would have to pass fairly close to her.  That
turned out to be all the work she had to put into the
meeting, since the man literally skidded to a halt when she
caught his eye.

Mulder's half-hearted wish that the guy wouldn't give his
partner a second glance was dashed when he saw this
reaction.  Shit.

"Excuse me," Vincenzo said.  "You look so much like
someone I used to know."

Mulder nearly gagged at the obvious pickup attempt, and
noted with a sinking heart that the guy was more handsome
than his picture.

Looking up at him with an amused expression, Scully, bless
her subtle little heart, replied, "Give me a break.  That line is
older than you are."

He broke into surprised laughter and finally managed to say,
"Good for you.  That *was* rude of me.  But you really do
look like a...friend from long ago."

"A good friend, I hope."

"Oh, yes.  Very much so.  Pardon my continuing rudeness -
I haven't introduced myself.  I'm John Vincenzo, and these
are my companions; Carl Volpe and Frank Barber.  We're
down here from New York for a few days."

Companions, Mulder thought derisively.  They were
between 230 and 250 pounds of muscle each, and he had no
doubt they were armed to the teeth.  Volpe was slightly
shorter, older, and had a meaner face.  Definitely the one to
watch out for.

He brought his attention back to Scully, who was making
her own introductions.

"I'm Angela Bishop and this is my brother, David."

The faint hostility that had been emanating from Vincenzo
toward the tall man standing protectively at "Angela
Bishop's" side lessened considerably at discovering that
their relationship was that of brother and sister.

Mulder's handshake was a little less enthusiastic than
Vincenzo's.

"Let me apologize for my behavior and offer you a drink in
the lounge.  I'm sure your brother wouldn't mind checking
you both in?"

Her "brother" wasn't too crazy about splitting up so
quickly, but Scully took the initiative before he could say
anything.  She squeezed his forearm and smiled, saying,
"David, why don't you come in and join us when you're
done and then I'll go up to the suite with you?"

Her question was obviously more in the nature of a
command.  So this was how she would play their
brother/sister act.  He glumly watched the group disappear
through a chrome and glass door across the room before
turning back to the registration desk.

It took five more minutes to reach the clerk and another ten
to register.  Then he had to make arrangements for the
luggage to be sent to the room.  By the time he was free to
check on Scully, his temper was wearing thin.

The dimly-lit lounge was nearly empty, so it was an easy
matter to spot the group.  Scully and Vincenzo were seated
at one end of a long, curved couch and the two goons were
at the other end, with a table between them.

Not hesitating, he flopped down in the small space left
between his partner and the edge of the couch.  Practically
in her lap, he beamed a grin at her.

"Miss me?" he said to her as his eyes took in the half-empty
glasses on the table.  He couldn't tell what the contents
might be, but snatched up the closest one and threw back a
swallow, avoiding the twist of lime.  Tonic water.

She gave him a tight smile and said brightly, "John is going
to take me to Marigold's tonight.  He says it's a great place
for dinner and dancing.  Apparently the manager's party
here in the hotel will be a real drag."

"Great.  What time do we leave?"

"Are you accustomed to accompanying your sister on her
dates?"  Vincenzo asked, with a slight frown.  He wasn't
trying to hide his impatience with this annoying brother.

Mulder raised his eyebrows in perfect imitation of a certain
redhead's favorite mannerism.

"It's supposed to be a date?"

That brought an indulgent smile.  Vincenzo didn't deign to
answer, but waved a hand in the general direction of his
companions.  "My associates prefer more excitement than
Marigold's can provide, and would like to take you with
them to Jake's.  It's about a block from where we'll be
going."

Volpe, the guy Mulder had pegged as the older and meaner
one, smiled and said, "It would be our pleasure."  Sharks
had a more engaging smile, and nicer teeth, too.

He really didn't want to separate from Scully, but they did
have a job to do.  He might be able to dig some information
out of the gruesome twosome here, while his partner did the
same with their boss.  Besides, Grayson and Wu should be
around to back them up.

Not seeing any logical way out of the situation, he agreed to
the outing, but couldn't break his gaze from Volpe's.  He
could swear that the man's eyes were black and held no
emotion whatsoever.

The staring match was broken when Scully gave a little
wiggle and shoved her partner's hip with her own, forcing
him to stand up or fall off the end of the couch.

"See you in the lobby at seven?" she threw back at the
group as they stood, Mulder's hand on her arm.

"Perfect," Vincenzo said.

Neither agent noticed that Barber carefully picked up the
drink glass that they had both handled, and used a
handkerchief to carry it away with him.
 

MOBSTER MASH   (2 of 4)
By Gerry Hill   (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

As they crossed the lobby, Mulder commented, "He didn't
waste any time making a move on you."

"Hmmmm," she said distractedly.

That drew a glance from him, but since they were entering
an elevator full of people, he kept his questions tamped
down for the moment.  He idly wondered where Grayson
and Wu were, since he hadn't spotted them in the lobby or
in the lounge.  They would be hard to miss, so he guessed
they hadn't arrived yet.

Actually, the other pair of agents had been in the hotel for
an hour already, registering separately as business
associates.  Samuels was in close communication with them
and had ordered a low profile for the time being.

Scully's eyes sparkled when she got a look at their suite; it
was luxurious.  The off-white walls in the foyer gave way to
an elegant pale blue and white fleur-de-lis wallpaper, which
ended at the large windows on the far wall.  The tidal basin,
Jefferson Memorial and other Washington sights were
visible in a panoramic view.  The two bedrooms on opposite
sides of the suite were very large and held king-sized beds.
There was a vase of freshly cut flowers in each room and
fluffy white robes were laid out on the beds.

Scully explored every room and was impressed, particularly
with the huge bathroom.  Finally returning to the main suite,
she beheld a sober-looking Mulder.  He sat in the middle of
the overstuffed sofa, his lanky form managing to take it over
entirely.  One arm rested along the back of it, one leg was
half on the sofa and half hanging off, and the other long leg
stretched out under the low cherrywood table.

She felt an unexpected wave of affection for him; however,
knowing they needed to talk, she resisted the temptation to
make room at his side.  Instead, she settled herself into a
nearby chair and waited for him to open the conversation.

He gave her a wan smile and said, "I don't like being
separated from you tonight.  As Han Solo said, 'I've got a
bad feeling about this.' "

"I don't like it either, but I don't see what else we can do.
We've been incredibly lucky to get this close to him so
quickly.  It's entirely possible we can do our job and get out
of here before the fur begins to fly."

He snorted.  "That's a polite term.  Don't you mean 'before
the blood begins to squirt' or 'before the shit hits the fan?' "
He sat up straighter and frowned as he asked, "Scully, don't
you think this is all just a little too easy?"

Shrugging, she said, "I don't know.  Nothing strikes me as
really wrong so far.  We'll have to stay alert and watch each
other's backs."

"That's exactly why I'm going to put someone inside
Marigold's later, since I won't be there for you."

She cautioned, "Vincenzo's not stupid, Mulder.  He might
spot your guy.  It won't be Grayson or Wu, will it?"

"As if I knew where the hell those two were," he said
sarcastically.  "Let's hope we don't need them in a hurry."

He hoped Scully wouldn't notice the fact that he had never
answered her question.

Changing the subject, he said, "We need to check
Marigold's out to see if we can figure why Vincenzo is so
comfortable going there tonight without his bodyguards.
He may own it, or one of his 'associates' does."

"Okay," she agreed.  "I'll run Volpe's and Barber's names
in the database as well, to see what we're dealing with.
Then I plan to unpack."

She disappeared into the bedroom to the left of the sitting
area.  After rummaging a moment through her suitcase
which lay open on the bed, she found the laptop.  Turning,
she nearly dropped it when she bumped into her partner.

"God!  You scared me to death, Mulder!"

He was looking earnestly into her face with a questioning
expression, his hand gently gripping her arm.

"Scully.  Later on tonight...if...if the only way you can get
the information we need from Vincenzo....is to..."

"No."  Her voice was hard and sharp and her eyes would
have burned holes in him had they been lasers.

"No?"

He could see that she was furious at him, but was surprised
nonetheless when she jerked her arm from his grasp and
stuck a hard forefinger into his chest.  She snarled,
"Contrary to what you may think, Mulder, I am not a
whore.  I don't know where you've gotten the idea that I
would sleep with a stalker like Padgett, or with Vincenzo, a
drug dealer and probable murderer."

Getting a little pissed off himself, he blurted, "Does Ed
Jerse ring a bell with you?" and wondered if he had left his
brain at home.  At least she had laid off with the chest-
poking.  That *hurt*.

"If we weren't in the middle of a case, I'd kick the crap out
of you," she hissed.  He had never seen her more angry with
him.  "And I never slept with Jerse, for your information.
You were assuming something about me again."

He was horrified to see tears swimming in her eyes and
desperately tried to think of something to say other than
'you didn't do Jerse?'  He, along with the Philadelphia
police detectives, had been certain she had.

"Not only do you check my drink in the lounge to see if I'm
drinking alcohol and how much I've had, but now you ask if
I'd *fuck* some guy I just met, simply to get answers.
How dare you!  Dammit, Mulder!"

He thought for a second that she was going to deck him,
but she suddenly shoved against his chest with her free
hand, still clutching the laptop with the other.  Then she was
past him, heading for the other room.  He could see a glint
of moisture in her eyes as she passed.  Oh, hell!

Trying to make amends, he said possibly the stupidest thing
he could have come up with as he followed her to the table
near the window.

"Scully, please.  I don't think you're a whore."

She suddenly turned, raising the laptop as if to throw it at
him, then apparently managed to control her violent impulse
enough to slowly lower her arms and put the case on the
table.

"Scully, I..."

"If you want to live a little longer, Mulder, you had better
get the hell out of my sight."

Knowing when to beat a retreat, he disappeared into his
room, changed into running clothes, and left the suite
without another word.  He had fucked up, but good.

**************************

3:00 PM
Lone Gunman Headquarters

"You're leaving her alone with this two-bit gangster and his
mob tonight?!"  Frohike's incredulous tone echoed all three
gunmen's expressions.

"Yeah, well, that's where you come in...I hope," Mulder
replied.

He went on to describe how he needed Frohike to infiltrate
the Marigold's service staff in order to keep an eye on his
partner.

"If anything gets hinky, what am I supposed to do?" he
asked, clearly intrigued with the undercover role he was
being asked to perform.

"I'll be in Jake's, a bar down the street, with some of
Vincenzo's men.  Just call me on my cel and I can be there
in two minutes."

"But what if it gets instantly hairy?"

Mulder hesitated, uncomfortable.  "I don't want you getting
hurt, Frohike."

Looking offended, he said, "Hey.  I can take care of myself.
Don't worry; I'll call you first, if at all possible, but I'll go
prepared for anything."

"No weapons," Mulder quickly warned.  "They might check
on that, if this is the kind of place I think it is."

"No problemo."  He exchanged looks with the other
gunmen.  "Right, guys?"  They nodded confidently, and
Langly returned to the computer monitor, which was
scrolling data.

"Listen," he told them, without breaking his gaze from the
monitor.  "I'm into Jaycos, the company where Marigold's
gets their service staff."

Rapid typing ensued, then, "Gotcha!  Frohike, you are now
Jerry Garcia, assigned to bus tables from 7:00 PM until
midnight tonight."  There was a "ta-da!" and then an
exaggerated flourish of fingers in the air as the jubilant
hacker gave everyone a smug grin.

All three men looked at Langly and said, "Jerry Garcia?"
Langly just shrugged.  "You'd prefer Alice Cooper?  Hey,
'The Dead' rules, man."

"What about Agent Scully?"  Frohike asked their visitor.  "I
mean, does she know I'll be there?"

"No, because she probably wouldn't allow it if she knew.
Once you're in, however, there won't be much she can do
about it."

"Except wring our scrawny necks afterwards."

"Yeah," Langly piped up.  "A force to be reckoned with,
most definitely.  We still don't know how you escaped
bodily injury after....ow!"

Byers had kicked his shin under the counter before he could
expound on the Diana "incident."
 

Mulder didn't miss much, and with his quick mind he caught
Langly's reference.  Other than a sideways glance at Byers,
he refrained from getting into *that* subject with them.

There was a brief silence, then Mulder slowly said, "Be
careful tonight, Frohike.  Don't even think about messing
with these people's heads.  I'd like to see you come out of
there in the same shape you went in."

Rising to leave, he added, "And take care of Scully."

Three heads nodded solemnly.
 

********************

The Bishops' Hotel Suite
5:30pm

When Scully wandered into the sitting area wearing the
overlarge white robe, fresh from her bath, she found Mulder
seated at the table gazing out at the city view, munching on
a breadstick.  The table bore several kinds of fruit and
cheese, a container of crisp breadsticks, and several bottles
of mineral water.  He was still dressed in his running
clothes, and appeared to be lost in thought.

Mulder had spent the past several hours mulling over why
he had been such an ass to Scully earlier.  He was feeling
insecure about Vincenzo, granted, but that was no reason to
have insulted her the way he had.  Come to think of it, he'd
been doing a lot of that lately, and he had to admit that
some of it was intentional.  She used to deal with him in an
affectionate kind of way, but more and more that was being
replaced by a grim resignation.  Maybe he had been reacting
to that attitude.

His mind kept skirting around the "Diana issue," as he
thought of it.  If he were honest with himself, a lot of their
new mutual uneasiness stemmed from her arrival.  And as
much as it hurt, the gunmen's first loyalty seemed to have
shifted to his partner, with him a distant second, after he had
been such a prick about Diana.

What did they expect, ganging up on him like that?  They
couldn't seem to understand that there had never been any
reason to doubt her.  He had given Diana his heart and his
trust once upon a time, and it would take a hell of a lot
more "evidence" to destroy the memories of what they'd
had together.  His heart now belonged to Scully, but he was
stubbornly loyal to Diana, whatever the consequences.

A slight sound made him swivel his head to see Scully
standing in the middle of the room with an unreadable
expression on her face.  His gaze took in the fluffy robe and
bare feet, and once again, an overwhelming need to hold her
close swept over him.  Knowing the action wouldn't be
welcome, especially until they cleared the air between them,
he forced himself to smile and stay in his chair.

"Have something to eat.  I ordered a snack to tide us over,
since we probably won't be having dinner very early
tonight.  Great view, isn't it?"

She didn't say anything or twitch a muscle.

He turned his head back to gaze at the view and murmured,
"You ought to try the melon anyway; it's really good.
Sorry I was being a shit-head, but since that's nothing new,
you shouldn't let it ruin your evening."

After what seemed like forever, he saw a blurry white
motion reflected in the glass and the whisper of feet moving
on carpet came to his ears.  Then she was sitting down to
his right, reaching for a small plate.

"I dug up some interesting information while you were
out...running."

From the tone of her voice  it was obvious she hadn't
forgiven him and was bulldozing over the issue by getting
back to business.  What else is new, he thought, as he idly
watched a piece of honeydew melon disappear into her
mouth.

When he didn't comment, she swallowed the sweet fruit and
said, "Marigold's - and Jake's, by the way - are owned by a
corporation based in Florida, which is in turn owned by a
larger corporation in New York.  That larger corporation's
board of directors is made up of members of Vincenzo's
family, including two brothers, an uncle, an aunt, two
cousins, and his mother."

A sparkle finally lit her eyes as she added, "The cousins are
ten and eleven years of age, and the mother lives in southern
Italy.  Somehow, I think it would be safe to assume that
Vincenzo controls the board of directors, and all the
subsidiaries and holdings."

"Now, now, Scully.  Making leaps of logic is my
prerogative," he teased.  "What about Vincenzo's goons;
Abbott and Costello?  I'm betting ex-cons and/or ex-
military."

"A little of both.  Barber did some hard time a few years
ago for attempted murder.  There were also some homicide
charges, but they were never proven.  I was able to talk
with the arresting detective when I called the precinct and I
asked about the unproven charges.  I got the distinct
impression that he knew Barber was 'as guilty as hell' in
strangling two rival mob members, cutting out their tongues
and hacking their genitals off, but he never could get the
proof he needed to nail Barber with the crimes."

Mulder winced at her casual description of the murders, and
asked, "What about Volpe?"

"He was military but his file is "Need To Know."  It'll take
me longer to fill in a past for this guy.  All I have is a
discharge date of May 31, 1995.  It doesn't even say
whether the discharge was honorable or not."

"That's all you could get on him?"

"For now.  Why don't we put the gunmen on it?  They
always seem to come up with information that neither the
FBI nor the national crime database can locate."

"They're already on it."

She seemed unsurprised and took a few more bites of
cheese and fruit.

When she turned to look him full in the face, he expected
something momentous, and he held his breath, but she
merely said, "You had better take a shower, Mulder.  We'll
be going down in an hour and I didn't pack any air
freshener."

Releasing his pent-up breath in disappointment, he gave her
a 'ha, ha' look and said, "That bad, huh?"

"Don't ask," was all she'd mutter.

He ambled off to the bathroom while Scully rummaged in
the closet to decide what to wear.

Well, that was real, he thought, as he stripped and stepped
into the shower.  He supposed that, like in "Gone With The
Wind," they'd talk about it "tomorrow," meaning never.
Not for the first time, he wondered if you could knock
yourself unconscious by deliberately banging your head
against the wall.

**********************
6:58 PM

Scully had chosen a basic black ankle-length dress that
accentuated her curves.  It was cut low in back, low in
front, and had a slit up the side to her knee.

When she joined Mulder at the door to go downstairs, he
was initially speechless.  Then he wondered what pervert
had provided these clothes for her to wear.  It was
something he himself would have chosen.  Her hair was
piled on top of her head, with curly tendrils escaping here
and there.  She looked beautiful.

"Hope all this black is foretelling Vincenzo's funeral and not
our own," Mulder commented after he recovered his voice.

She looked him over, noting the black jeans, black tee shirt,
black boots and black leather jacket.  He looked dangerous.
And good enough to eat, but that thought was stomped into
the ground before it went any further.

Following her to the elevator with his hand at her lower
back was pure torture.  Her dress wasn't cut low enough to
be able to see the tattoo that he knew was there, so his mind
kindly supplied the image of it beneath his hand, and then
his imagination took him even lower, to the sensually-
moving hips...He mentally groaned, and deliberately put a
little distance between them once they entered the elevator.
They had a job to do; he needed to quit lusting after his
partner.

Scully felt his withdrawal and, while disappointed, was also
relieved, since his closeness had been making it too
distracting to concentrate.

Volpe flashed his shark's grin at them as they crossed the
lobby.  His greeting was a verbose, "Car's outside," and
took the lead toward the main doors.

Following the military strut of their guide, Mulder was
tempted to imitate the man's short, choppy steps but
managed to refrain.

A white limousine idled at the curb.  Volpe got into the
front seat with Barber, who was driving, and left the
doorman to open the rear door and escort their two
passengers into the back.

They saw that Vincenzo was already in the car.  He was
lounging on the rich leather seat and he gently pulled Scully
by her wrist so she sat next to him.  Mulder was relegated
to the jump seat, facing the pair.  Great, he thought, and
forced a grin.

"Nice wheels.  Never went to a bar in a limo before."
C'mon, he told himself.  Be an ass.  It should come
naturally.

Vincenzo essentially ignored him, however, and turned to
Scully.  He gave her hand a squeeze and purred, "I hope
you like good food.  The chef is preparing a feast for us
tonight.  Trust me; you'll love it."

"Trust everybody, but cut the cards," Mulder intoned
cryptically, his eyes on the man's slimy hands.  They had
progressed from squeezing Scully's hand to caressing her
bare forearm.  "That's not from 'Maverick' but from a turn-
of-the-century humorist.  Actually, Bret Maverick stole a lot
of other people's quotes, come to think of it."  Babbling like
an idiot, he desperately thought that he couldn't do this.
But he had to.

It pissed him off that Vincenzo was acting as if Angie's
brother was part of the upholstery, so he nudged Scully's
tiny foot with his size 12s and snickered, "Hey, sis.
Remember to take your antibiotics?  You wouldn't want to
transmit any of that disease, now would you?"

Horror and amusement were at war in her expression, and
amusement finally won out.  She gave a delightful laugh and
playfully kicked his shin so hard he'd have a bruise until
Christmas.

"Brothers," she said in a disgusted tone to Vincenzo.  "Do
you know what idiots they can be?"

"Yeah.  I have two of my own. You either love them or
want to shove them off a high cliff."

They smiled tolerantly at Mulder, who was still fighting the
urge to barf.  Thankfully, though, Marigold's wasn't far
from the hotel, and they were drawing to a stop at the curb.

"Curfew's at midnight," Mulder called to Scully as she
passed him and exited the limo.  He winced at the obscene
gesture she gave him, which was hidden from her date's
view by her body.

Then the door was closed and the limo moved another half a
block before pulling into a parking garage.  When he
emerged from the car, Barber and Volpe were climbing
from the front seat and laughing.

"Let's go, Bishop.  Rachel will be on stage in five minutes,"
Barber said, and they set off toward the neon sign across the
street that stated, "All Naked, All The Time."

So Jake's wasn't just a bar, but a strip joint.  When Scully
had done her research, she must have realized that fact, but
hadn't bothered to mention it.  Guess she wanted to surprise
him....

*******************
Nearby

"This doesn't make sense," Grayson said, her voice
sounding puzzled.

Wu looked out of the front windshield of their car at the trio
of men who were entering Jake's.

"Yeah, well, Samuels said to stick with Agent Mulder until
told differently.  I think it would make more sense to split
up and watch both agents, but we're outranked."

Grayson slowly drove a route around the building, intending
to park in the alleyway to the left of the front door.  When
she pulled into the alley, however, there was another vehicle
already in place.  It was a van, and a light-haired man
stepped out of it as they watched.  The guy hurried out of
the alley and turned left at the main street, and it was a good
bet that he was going into Jake's.  This could be interesting.

Wu switched off the overhead light and opened the car
door, saying, "I'm going inside for a few minutes to check
things out."  He shut the door quietly before Grayson could
tell him to be careful.  He hated when she did that, since he
was *always* careful.
 

*********************

Jake's Interior

Mulder had to admit that the place was classier than most.
Not that he'd seen that many strip joints, but from what he
could make out in the subdued lighting, it was fairly clean
and attractive.  There was a bar to the right, tables scattered
around the floor, a small stage at the far end, with a runway
up the middle of the room.  There were no menus, but not
long after the trio had settled into seats to one side of the
runway, baskets of hamburgers and fries had appeared on
the table in front of them.  Mulder was also given a beer
without asking, and he figured that he'd just sip at it all
evening.

The two goons weren't much on conversation, and had
clearly come here to watch the show.  When the lights went
down, a sharp jab of an elbow to Mulder's ribs told him that
the main attraction was about to make an appearance.

Mulder recognized the opening music of an instrumental
version of "Lady in Red," instead of the usual bump and
grind fare he had expected.  A strikingly beautiful woman
danced gracefully onto the stage.  Besides some strappy
high heels, she was dressed only in red gauzy scarves which
flowed from a breeze, generated no doubt from offstage.
Her long black hair looked striking against the paleness of
her body and the red of the material.

Finally she was coming closer to where they sat, losing a
scarf now and then, until she was entirely naked.  One scarf
remained in her hand, and as she undulated in time to the
music, she pulled it back and forth through the juncture of
her legs.  As it disappeared into her labia and over her
clitoris, she moaned aloud, eyes closed.

Mulder felt a surge in his own groin at the sight.  This was
one gorgeous female, and sexy as hell.  He tore his eyes
away for a moment to see that Volpe was leaning back in
his chair, smirk on his face, and hand blatantly on his crotch.
Barber had raised his arm, however, and a 20-dollar bill was
sticking out from between his fingers.  The woman stepped
close to the edge of the runway and let the man run his hand
up and down her leg and over her ass while he stuffed the
money with his other hand into the ankle straps of her shoe.
Then she moved back and, swaying once more, eyed
Mulder like a cobra eyes a mongoose.

Suddenly she sat down on the very edge of the runway, legs
hanging apart over the edge, displaying her wares.  Still
staring at Mulder, she murmured, "Care to test the waters?"

Fuck, he thought.  He kept reminding himself he was on the
job, over and over, but that didn't stop his body's natural
responses.  And he noted that someone had obviously paid
off the local cops, since this was beyond legal.

Volpe whispered, "What are you waiting for, dumbass?"
which broke him from his trance.

He whispered back, "I'm particular where I stick my body
parts."

That got a big look of incredulity.  Then Volpe surprised the
agent by breaking into a huge belly laugh.  Mulder gave him
a small smile, then noticed that the stripper was standing
once more, looking slightly offended.

She moved across the runway to the opposite side and
struck a pose with her feet planted wide apart, her spine
arched, and her head thrown back.  Mulder nearly dropped
his teeth when he saw Langly's awe-struck face framed by
the lovely legs of the woman.  His friend was staring up at
the view displayed before him and was clearly catatonic.

The agent was furious that the guys had put Langly at risk.
Having Frohike keep an eye on Scully was bad enough.  He
nervously wondered where Byers might be.
 

*****************

MOBSTER MASH   (3 of 4)
by Gerry Hill   (fox42@ix.netcom.com)
 

In a beat-up van in the alley halfway between the restaurant
and the club, Byers was monitoring Langly's audio feed.
They had taken a chance that no one would check for the
tiny device in his ear or under his collar as he entered the
club, and so far so good.  Byers' headphones had been silent
for quite some time now, however, and the bearded gunman
was beginning to worry.  Finally Langly's voice filled his
ears.  He was describing a stripper in detail, which was
certainly interesting, but not very informative.

"Langly," he hissed.  "Is Mulder okay?  What's he doing?"

A chuckle came over the earphones.  "Getting an eyeful,
what d'you think?:

Byers sighed and settled back in his seat to await
developments.  He didn't notice the dark sedan parked
further down the alley behind him.

******************

Marigold's

Just as her date was telling her how much he liked her
beautiful eyes, Scully choked on a piece of pate at seeing
Frohike clearing dishes from a nearby table.  Coughing and
sputtering, she had to wonder how appealing she looked to
Vincenzo now.

Waving him away when he moved to get up and help her,
she took a sip of water, gave a final cough, and smiled her
apologies.

"I'm fine," she said, out of habit.

"I had better not compliment you again, if it causes such a
reaction," her date smiled.

When she finally risked looking over for Frohike, he had
disappeared.  She didn't see him again during the rest of the
meal, although she was certain he hadn't gone far.  Her
feelings were mixed at the thought that her partner had
enlisted the gunmen on a case like this.  A trained
professional would have made more sense as a backup; on
the other hand, she knew that Frohike would die himself
before he'd see any harm come to her.  Maybe that's what
she was afraid of....

While Vincenzo rambled on about a new boat he had
bought, she couldn't help but think about her partner,
wondering what kind of trouble he might be getting into.
Hopefully he was behaving himself, if that word could be
used to describe someone watching a strip show.

A smile tugged at her lips, but it disappeared instantly as she
recalled how unfair she had been toward Mulder earlier that
day.  She had never told him what had really happened with
Ed Jerse, so she could hardly fault him for coming to the
conclusion he had.

Vincenzo interrupted her thoughts at that point, however,
with a direct question, but she silently made a mental note
to clear the air with her partner as soon as they had some
private time.

*******************
Inside Jake's

Several strippers had gone through their acts and another
was just coming on stage when Mulder's two companions
suddenly got to their feet.  Volpe lightly punched the
agent's arm and said, "It's time to go run an errand for Mr.
Vincenzo."

"Aw, guys, I wanted to watch this," he whined, wondering
what they were up to now.  He suspected that, whatever it
was, and with his luck, it would probably be detrimental to
his health.  Then it occurred to him that the drug deal could
be going down...naah, not with him along.

"You'll like it, I promise you," Barber chimed in, as he
nudged the agent's shoulder.

Alarm bells ringing in his head, the agent was tempted to
refuse and just stay where he was.  But that wouldn't gain
the information he needed, so he sighed, got to his feet and
followed the pair to the rear of the room and through a
door.  It opened into a cluttered "undressing room."  There
were stairs built against the wall to his right, presumably
leading to the stage.  The real focus of attention, however,
were several nude women who were applying makeup at the
mirrors which lined the walls.  Although the men took their
time checking them out as they made their way through the
room, the women didn't acknowledge their presence
beyond an initial glance.

The next doorway led to an office, and beyond that was a
large, open garage, with room enough for five cars.  Only
an aging Cadillac was parked near the far wall at the
moment.  Mulder surmised that they must have reached the
back of the building where it opened onto Raleigh Street.
He definitely was having bad feelings about this whole
situation.

Although alert to trouble, the solid punch to the gut by
Barber was sudden.  He fought to breathe as it took him
down hard to his knees against the concrete slab floor.
Reminding himself that he was, after all, a trained FBI agent
who presumably knew self-defense, he struggled for that all-
important breath so he could retaliate.  He frantically tried
to note the positions of his companions.  Barber stood
directly in front of him, only a foot away.  Volpe...where the
hell was Volpe?  Then he had his answer as the back of his
head exploded in pain and the world faded away.
 

********************

Marigold's

Scully had just finished her meal, and her eyes followed
several couples as they danced to the music of the live band.
A warm hand suddenly covered her own where it lay against
the linen of the tablecloth and Vincenzo murmured, "Do
you mind if we forego the dancing and return to the hotel?
I would like for us to have dessert in my suite and then talk
some more.  I find you to be quite fascinating, yet
mysterious.   I'd love to get to know you better."

Mentally rolling her eyes at this thinly-veiled come-on, she
managed to smile at him.  "That sounds wonderful."  But
not really, she added to herself.  Scully wanted that drug
sale information and would have to walk a fine line with this
man.  She wasn't about to sleep with him but couldn't cut
him cold, either.

She soon found herself sharing a taxi with him, and realized
that she had a decision to make, and quickly.  He was
showing unmistakable signs of wanting to kiss her.  Since
she had acquired no useful information from him up to that
point, she didn't want to risk alienating him...yet.  So she let
him gather her into his arms and kiss her.  No big deal, she
told herself, and was surprised when the kiss wasn't quite
the chore she had expected.

The image of her partner's face and the memory of the
contemptuous way she had treated his earlier concern for
her brought a blush to her cheeks.  She eased away from
Vincenzo and put her hands against his chest as a barrier.

"We're moving a little too fast," she breathed.

"Funny.  I thought the opposite."  His brown eyes danced
with amusement and desire.

Then he surprised her by moving away and giving her some
space.  "I can respect your caution, Angela."  He smiled and
softly repeated, "Angela.  Such a lovely name."  There was
something about his smile that she couldn't place.  She still
saw amusement, but there was a tinge of...malice?

*****************

Back at Marigold's

Frohike saw Scully and her date leaving the restaurant, so
he tossed his employer's jacket and bow tie aside, pulled a
small earring out of his pants pocket, and made his way to
the doorman at the front of the building.

"Hey, do you know where Mr. Vincenzo was headed?  His
date left her earring and I was told to personally deliver it to
her right away."

The tall young man looked down his nose at this obvious
outsider; one who didn't have the inside knowledge that he
himself possessed.

"Everyone knows that he stays at the Greenwich Hotel
when he's in Washington," he sneered.

Fighting down a nasty retort, Frohike asked, "Well, is that
where he was headed now?"  He was careful to speak
calmly.

"With that hot dish on his arm?  You've gotta be kidding
me!  Of course he took her to the hotel.  Bet he has her
pinned in bed by now - the boss doesn't waste any time."

In Frohike's mind, he hauled off and hit the dipshit in the
solar plexus, and when the tall man bent over, knocked him
out with a blow to the side of his neck.  Too bad he
couldn't really direct his fury that way, or he might put his
friends in jeopardy.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and muttered, "Punk-ass," as he
turned to flag down a taxi.  He didn't fool himself that he
could rescue Agent Scully from an assault on her virtue, but
Mulder had asked him to watch out for her, and that's
exactly what he was going to do.

He tried calling Mulder on his cel phone once he was settled
in the cab, but couldn't raise him.  That made his brow
furrow, since he knew that the agent was worried about
Scully and would have made himself available.  So he dialed
another number and got Byers.

At Byers' cautious, "Yes?" he quickly gave him a rundown
of the situation.  In return, Byers was able to give him the
location of Vincenzo's suite.

"Can you have Langly tell Mulder what's going down?"

"I would, but we can't find Mulder.  One minute he was
sitting there at a table, and the next, he and the two bozos
had disappeared.  Langly is sniffing around, hopefully
discreetly, right now."

Frohike snorted at the idea that Langly could be discreet
about anything.

"I'll call you back later to see what develops.  If you talk
with Mulder, tell him that this Vincenzo creep was all over
Scully tonight.  Bad vibes.  Over and out."

********************

Jake's Garage

Mulder was awash in pain before he fully regained
consciousness.  Opening his eyes was not something he
especially wanted to do right then, but as he grew more
aware, it was unavoidable.  He had to see what was hurting
so badly.

The all-encompassing pain in his wrists was explained when
he saw that they were tied by rope to the legs of the
wooden chair in which he was sitting.  His arms were pulled
taut beside his body by the tension on the ropes.  His ankles
were also tied to the chair legs, and there was another
length of rope around his neck, secured to the back slats of
the chair.  It was not a comfortable position, to put it mildly.
Adding to the discomfort, he was bare to the waist.

So much for reaching the panic button on the keychain in
his pocket.  Unless he could free one of his hands, that
wasn't going to happen.

Volpe was telling his buddy, "Remind me not to order any
local fish or crab in restaurants for awhile, would ya?  Those
little suckers will be chowing down on this motherfucker
when he lands in the Potomac tonight."

"Aw, c'mon, you know you ate crab the other night, even
though we had just dumped Michaelson off the pier."

"That's why I want you to remind me this time, dickface."

"They're going to find the bodies soon enough and make an
ID," Barber warned.

"Nah.  I'll knock his teeth out and cut his fingers off just
like Michaelson.  Unless they do a DNA on them, the feds
won't have a clue."

Mulder shouldn't have been surprised to learn just how
vicious these men were, but what he was hearing caused his
stomach to knot painfully.  It occurred to him that, with
Volpe's slicing and dicing, and given Barber's penchant for
cutting off his victim's genitalia, Mulder wasn't going to
have a lot of parts left when they finished with him.

The speaker finally walked around into Mulder's view, and
he saw that Volpe was holding a large, serrated-edged
hunting knife in his hand.  He was followed by Barber, who
mirrored Volpe's expectant expression.

"Agent Mulder.  Hope you have a high pain threshold."
Volpe sounded cheerful, the sick fuck.

"I've put up with you two bozos for several hours.  How
am I doing so far?"  Despite his confident tone and attitude,
the agent couldn't keep his eyes off the knife that the other
man was waving around.

Ignoring the jibe, Volpe grinned his humorless grin and said,
"This could be easier on you if we get some useful
information.  Tell us what the feds know about the Boss."

"Every performance sells out, and he does three-hour
shows?"

Barber snickered, but Volpe's face turned red.

"One more chance, asshole.  Give, or I start cutting."

"You must have realized by now that they don't tell us field
agents jack about a case, except what we need to know."

"Too bad.  Guess we'll just have to see if you can last
longer than Michaelson did."

The agent knew there was nothing he could say that would
deter them from their fun now.  They knew who he was and
they'd already killed another fed.  Oh, God, what about
Scully?  He felt panic settling in at the thought that both
covers were blown and she'd be in danger, too.

Struggling against the ropes, Mulder watched with a
horrible fascination as the knife moved toward his face.
Look at the bright side, he told himself; at least they weren't
starting on his family jewels.  Then it paused, and Volpe
said, "Oh, by the way.  The boss has screwed your partner,
put a bullet into her pretty little head, and by now she's on
her way out of the hotel with the garbage.  That's his M.O.,
as you cops call it.  Just thought you'd like to know before
you die."

Then the ugly metal blade moved, bypassed his jaw and
pierced his shoulder.

At first the only pain was mental.  Mulder's mind was
frantically rejecting the thought that Scully could have been
raped and murdered.  This was just part of the torture,
right?  Please, God, let it just be a mind-fuck, and not true...

The blade very slowly pushed its way into the muscle, blood
now running freely down his chest.  Then white-hot searing
agony shot through his shoulder, every nerve traumatized,
forcing a raw scream from his throat.  The agony was
unbearable, but it went on and on as the knife pressed
deeper and deeper.
 

*********************

Inside Jake's

Langly had finally decided that the nondescript door to the
left side of the stage had to be where Mulder had
disappeared.  There just wasn't anywhere else.

As he reached for the doorknob, Byers' voice resounded in
his ear, asking, "What's going on?"

Desperately trying to calm his heartbeat, Langly nervously
whispered, "Chill out, man.  I'm entering the lion's den as
we speak.  Catch you later."

He again reached for the doorknob, turned it and walked
cautiously into the room beyond.

He narrowly missed bumping into a woman who wore
nothing but her long, curly red hair.  She was carrying a
large, feathery fan, and gave him a wink as she slipped past
him and up some stairs.

Langly gulped, his eyes very large behind his glasses as he
watched her disappear through a curtain at the top of the
stairs.  Hearing a soft noise behind him, he turned in time to
see another nude woman, blonde this time, carefully sliding
a gauzy piece of material over her head and onto her body,
hiding nothing.

"Talk to me, Langly," came Byers' voice in his ear, startling
him back into a semi-coherent state.

"Uh..."  Langly flushed at his inability to speak, and tried
again, addressing the young woman.

"Did you see anyone come through here, m'am?"  M'am?!
Nervous much? he sarcastically thought.

"Yeah, about eight, ten minutes ago," she answered,
looking him over.  Then she pointed to the door at the far
end of the room.  "They went into the office."

"Thanks," he said, and made his escape.  Once in the office
with the door shut, he could hear a muffled sound coming
from further back in the building.  Could be screaming...

An impatient voice in his ear demanded, "What the hell is
happening?!"

Distracted, he moved through the empty office toward the
other closed door, saying, "Don't know yet.  Sounds bad."

Once his hand closed over the doorknob, he felt very
reluctant to take that last step.  He was sure now that those
were screams and he really didn't want to see what could
make someone sound like they were being skewered alive.
But he forced himself to keep going.

It was a scene from hell that opened before Langly's
shocked gaze as he stepped into the large garage.  A big
man who had been crouched over a seated figure in a chair
turned his head to look at the intruder.  His eyes were
insane, and Langly was horrified to see that he was pulling a
wicked-looking knife out of Mulder's shoulder, while blood
spattered everywhere.  Another man who had been
watching the butchery produced a gun from somewhere on
his body and leveled it at the new arrival.

"What are you *doing* to him?" Langly whispered.

"Who the hell are *you*?" Barber bellowed as he
confronted this new complication.

Langly had forgotten his own precarious situation after
seeing his friend's plight, and pushed forward to see if he
could help him.  Barber resolved his anguish with one
knock-out blow to his head with the weapon.

That seemed to enrage Volpe.

"Why the fuck didn't you just kill the guy, you dumb shit?"
he demanded, looking down at the unconscious man, the
knife in his hand dripping several drops of blood onto
Langly's white tee shirt.

Barber shrugged and said, "We can have some fun with
him, too, but this will keep him quiet while we finish with
the fed over there."  He nodded toward Mulder, who was
gasping and fighting to stay conscious.
 

***************

Alleyway next to Jake's

The front passenger door of the sedan opened and closed,
and Wu settled into the seat with a sigh.  Grayson glanced
at him, waiting to hear what he had found inside the
building.

Wu stared out the windshield as he said, "Something's
going on in there.  We need to check out that van first and
then the joint."

She thought about that for a moment, contemplating the van
that was parked nearly the length of the block away.

"We might blow Agent Mulder's cover if we make a move
right now."  Grayson looked over at her partner, knowing,
however, that she would follow whatever course of action
he felt was right.  She used to question these instinctual
"feelings" he had, but after several years of his making the
right call in these kinds of situations, her arguments with
him were more of a habit than anything else.

Wu nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest, indecisive.
Five minutes ago, from his vantage point across the room in
the strip joint, he had seen Agent Mulder and Vincenzo's
hoods go through the dressing room door.  He knew Volpe
and his mentality.  The murdering asshole wouldn't have led
the FBI agent into the interior regions of the club unless he
was up to no good.

Suddenly he grabbed the short-barreled shotgun from the
floor beneath his feet and said, "Let's go.  I don't want to
see another fed disappear on this case.  You take the
driver's side."

They moved quickly up the alley and yanked open the doors
to the van.  Identifying themselves, they shouted orders
about dropping weapons and raising hands but only found
one man inside.  They seemed to have scared him nearly
into having a heart attack, but once the initial excitement
was over, they realized that he was also upset about what
he'd been hearing over the listening device he'd been
monitoring.

"You're DEA?" he demanded.  "You need to get in there,
now!  I think my friends are in real trouble."

"Who are you and who are your 'friends?' " Grayson asked,
as she motioned for him to get out of the van.

As he climbed out of the vehicle he impatiently answered,
"I'm John Byers.  Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI is in that
building and may be hurt.  I've lost the audio from Langly,
so he might have been hurt, too."

She kept her gun leveled at the increasingly-agitated guy
while Wu frisked him.  No weapons were found, but the ID
confirmed his identity.

"You have to *do* something," he demanded, while
Grayson made sure there were no weapons tucked away in
the van.

Finished searching, the partners exchanged a glance in the
dim light of the alley and came to a silent mutual decision.

As a precaution they cuffed Byers inside the van, to the
frame, and left him sitting there.  They made sure, however,
that he wasn't within reach of the electronic equipment.
Moving quickly around to the back of the building, they
searched for a lock they could force.  The agents wanted to
keep a low profile for as long as they were able.

"Here!"

Grayson had found a door at the back corner of the
building.  There were also several large overhead doors
adjacent to it.  Wu went to work with his lock pick.

*****************
Hotel

Scully was reconsidering her decision to go with Vincenzo
to his suite.  Granted the man was charming, but she had
learned nothing that was useful all evening.  She vowed to
scream if he told her one more time how beautiful her eyes
were.

And the thug he'd left on guard outside his hotel room
door...He may be Vincenzo's bodyguard, but to her, he was
just another obstacle to be dealt with if she had to get out of
a sticky situation with his boss.

She and her "date" had been sitting on a small sofa together
making small talk, his hand caressing her cheek or arm
occasionally.  This she could handle.  But then his patience
must have worn thin, because he suddenly made his move.

Setting his glass of wine onto a side table, he shifted even
closer to her.  His lips were warm and sensuous as he kissed
her again.  She was torn between slapping him away and
going along with the charade for the sake of the job.  Then
suddenly, without warning, his hand was moving through
the slit in the skirt of her dress and heading for home base.

Scully's reactions kicked in, and she scooted into the corner
of the sofa, away from his questing hand.

An angry spark lit up his eyes.  He snarled, "Enough tip-
toeing around.  At the risk of sounding like a dastardly
villain from some '30s film, the situation is this: I'm going
to fuck you, Agent Scully, so you may as well lie back and
enjoy it."

The sexual threat was nearly forgotten when the fact
registered that he had called her by her own name.  Her
expression caused him to chuckle.

"We've known who you were since this afternoon.  What
really makes this whole thing priceless is that we exchanged
the drugs for the money last night.  So you're a day late and
an agent short."

He easily anticipated her lunge toward her purse on the
lamp table and roughly shoved her back into the sofa
cushions.  She kicked up and out, trying to connect with his
groin, but he nimbly dodged the potentially lethal high-
heeled shoe and stood back out of range.

"Where's my partner?" she demanded.

"Agent Mulder should be just about..." he made a show of
looking at his wristwatch, "...dead by now."

Her face turned white.  She slowly got to her feet, her eyes
never leaving the face of her enemy.  She felt as though the
atoms of her body were disintegrating and she would fly
apart any second.

"I don't believe you," she managed to choke out.

Vincenzo sighed and said, "Volpe isn't a subtle man when it
comes to torture.  His methods are so heavy-handed that the
victim never lasts very long."

Scully didn't see the blow coming in time.

His fist hit her jaw with a force that sent shock waves
throughout her body, with the pain centering on the point of
impact.  He gathered her limp body into his arms, strode
into the bedroom, and dropped her onto the bed.  His blow
had stunned her and although she was desperately willing
her limbs to move, they were useless.  Her shoes were
discarded and her dress rapidly followed.  She lay there
clothed only in panties while Vincenzo loomed above,
practically drooling as he gazed at his prize.  She screamed
for Mulder then, but only she could hear the sound,
imprisoned within her mind.
 

*******************

MOBSTER MASH   (4 of 4)
By Gerry Hill    (fox42@ix.netcom.com)

Garage at Jakes

It took only seconds for Wu to defeat the lock on the door,
and then they were inside the building.  Grayson moved
through the door first, weapon ready, and suddenly she was
diving to the side, screaming, "Gun!" at Wu, and "Federal
agents!  Drop your weapons!" at Barber.

The first bullet caught Wu in the leg, but the second went
high, spanging off the open edge of the metal door.  Before
Barber could get any more shots off, Grayson took Barber
down with two rounds from her Glock.

Still holding her weapon on the scene in front of her, she
screamed, "Dan!" knowing he had been hit, but not how
badly.

"It's okay.  Go on," was his calm reply.  He was sitting on
the concrete floor, back against the wall, gun up and
covering the room.  His other hand was pressed against the
large dark stain on his thigh, just above the knee.  Despite
his reassurance to Grayson, he realized that he was going
into shock.  Better call Samuels first, he thought, and
fumbled for his cel phone with his blood-covered hand.

Casting a quick, worried glance over her shoulder at her
partner, Grayson cautiously moved further into the large,
open room, not seeing any immediate threat.  The man she
had shot was obviously dead.  There was a blond man lying
on the floor either dead or unconscious, there was a man
tied to a chair who looked like Agent Mulder, and one guy
was still standing, hands in the air.

Volpe waited until the fed had moved close to Mulder and
was feeling for a pulse in his neck with one of her hands
before he made his move.  As he dropped suddenly, he
pulled the spare knife from his ankle sheath and threw it at
her before he hit the floor.

Without thinking, Grayson fired a round at the man, even
while spinning away from the object that was hurtling
toward her.  She felt the sting as it sliced along her cheek
and heard the solid thunk as it embedded itself in the wall
behind her.

Taking a shaky breath, she checked on the man she now
recognized as Volpe, one of Vincenzo's hired thugs.  She
had been aiming for his chest but her bullet had gone high;
Volpe had a neat hole through his head, right between the
eyes.

"Good shot," a hoarse-sounding voice remarked from
nearby.

Looking up from the body, gun swiveling to face the sound,
she saw Agent Mulder gazing at her, still bound to the chair
and bleeding.

"Oh, God.  Let me get you out of there."

She quickly had him untied and then checked on the other
bodies lying around the room.  The blond-haired guy was
alive; just unconscious.  She confirmed that Barber was very
dead.

She realized that both her partner and Agent Mulder needed
immediate care to get the bleeding stopped.  She found a
fairly clean shirt lying nearby and pressed it to the agent's
wound.  He jerked back initially, but then took over for her,
keeping pressure on it.  He seemed dazed, but able to
function.

Returning to her partner she saw that he was pale and
sweating, gun lying beside him, blood still seeping from his
wound.  She knew he had called for help already, but she
needed to do something about that leg.

As gently as she could, she eased him down so he was lying
flat, and then scooted a box under his feet to elevate them.
Hoping to slow the blood loss, she quickly fashioned a
tourniquet with his belt above the wound.  Then she hurried
over to the dead man and worked the jacket off his
stiffening body.  Her partner needed it more than he did.
While laying the jacket over Wu, she absently noticed that
Agent Mulder was checking on the blond man who was still
out cold.   The agent really got her attention, though, when
she saw him pick a gun up from the floor and stagger
toward them, the now-saturated cloth held to his wounded
shoulder with one hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"Scully," he whispered, and continued making his way to
the back door.

"An ambulance will be here in a second," she objected.
"You need medical attention."

He didn't seem to hear a word she said and was out the
door, a trail of blood droplets marking his route.

"Shit," she said, and grabbed her cel phone.
 

***************************

Hotel

Armed with the suite location from Byers, Frohike went
directly upstairs when he reached the hotel.  Once off the
elevator, however, he came to a dead stop.  There was this
tough-looking guy standing in the corridor halfway between
himself and where the hallway split in two directions.

Odds were, he thought, this guy was guarding Vincenzo's
door.  Now what?

Trying to act as nonchalantly as possible, he ambled past the
guard to verify the suite number. Yep.  This was the place,
all right.  He gave the guy a nod and kept going, frantically
wondering what he could do to check up on Scully without
getting himself killed.

As he reached the corridor intersection, he heard the
elevator doors opening back down the hall behind him.
Turning slightly, he wasn't so far away from the elevator
that he couldn't see that the three large men who emerged
had very grim expressions and were carrying automatic
weapons.  Not a friendly bunch.

Not being armed, he scampered around the corner, but then
halted and leaned against the wall to await developments.
He was far enough from the group that they wouldn't hear
his cel phone, so he tried dialing first Mulder and then
Byers.

Half a dozen gunshots and a tremendous crashing sound
interrupted the call and he peered around the corner to see
what was going on.  He was in time to watch the last of the
three men disappear into Vincenzo's room by stepping over
the guard's body and pushing through a completely smashed
door.

A voice coming through the phone was ignored as another,
longer, barrage of gunshots assaulted his ears.  Nearly in
tears with indecision and fear at what might be happening to
Scully, he whispered into the phone, "It's a mob hit on
Vincenzo, and Scully's in the middle of it."

He heard a strangled sound and realized that Mulder had
been on the other end of his cel phone connection - not
Byers.

Frohike urgently said,  "I'm at Vincenzo's hotel room.
Where are you?"

"The hotel, coming up the elevator," was the distracted
response.  "Tell me what's happening now."

The three men came barreling out of the room, and took the
stairs at a run, bypassing the slower elevator.  Frohike
wasted no time in entering Vincenzo's room, telling Mulder
that the shooters were on their way down and that he was
going to check on Scully.
 

************************

Earlier in the Van

Byers had nearly had his second heart attack that day when
a bloodied, shirtless Mulder clutching a gun suddenly
yanked the driver's door open and practically fell into the
seat.

"I *thought* this looked like the Gunman's van," he panted,
as he looked back at the handcuffed Byers.  The handcuffed
man in question was still sitting in the cluttered open area at
the back, and now wore an expression of astonishment.
Mulder laid the weapon on the passenger seat, slapped his
hand against the empty ignition and turned a frantic look
back at his friend.

"Spare key under the mat," Byers managed to say, correctly
reading the agent's mind.

With a grunt of pain as he bent down, Mulder retrieved the
key, put it in the ignition, and floored the pedal as the
engine roared to life.  He didn't pause as he burst from the
alley, and turned up the avenue at full speed.

Finally collecting his wits, Byers grabbed a cherished
Ramones tee shirt of Langly's that was in reach and threw it
to Mulder.

"I assume this is a rescue mission.  You'd better put that on,
or you won't get two feet once people take a look at you."

He almost regretted the gesture, because Mulder kept
driving like a madman, using his thighs to steer while pulling
the shirt over his head with his usable hand.   Luckily it only
took a second or two, but Byers' life flashed before his eyes
as they ran a red light and nearly sideswiped two cars.

"Where's Langly?" he called, as he slid sideways when
Mulder took a sharp corner.

"Knocked out cold, but he should be okay," came the terse
reply.

"Where are we headed?"

"I figured Scully would be back at the hotel by now."

Byers hesitated, and then said, "Frohike called earlier and
said that she and Vincenzo were headed back to the hotel,
and that the guy had been coming on to her, big time."

The car swerved wildly as muffled curses reached Byers'
ears.

Then they were pulling up to the hotel, while a phone began
ringing somewhere in the van.

"Sorry, Byers, but I don't have time to try to get you out of
those cuffs.  Later!"

He grabbed the ringing phone and the gun, opened the door,
tucked the gun in his waistband, and staggered past a
startled parking valet.  The washed-out light-colored tee
shirt Mulder wore was gradually becoming a deep red in the
area of his wound and he held his left arm protectively
against his chest as he ran.

Knowing he'd never be able to climb fourteen flights of
stairs, he made his way through the large lobby toward the
elevators.  Impatiently, he activated the still-ringing phone.

"Yeah?"

No one answered at first.  Then he could hear gunshots
coming through the instrument.  Running for the just-
closing elevator doors, he kept demanding, "What's
happening?"

Frohike's words chilled him to the bone.  "It's a mob hit on
Vincenzo, and Scully's in the middle of it."

Mulder couldn't help the choked cry that was wrenched
from his soul.  He was terrified of what he would find
upstairs.  He finished his brief conversation with Frohike
and stuffed the phone out of the way in his pocket.

The young couple who were already in the elevator had
moved to the far corner at the sight of the bloodied wild
man.  While his foot held the door open, Mulder hollered at
them to get the hell out. Their eyes riveted to the butt of the
gun sticking out of his waistband, they scrambled hastily out
of the car.  As the doors closed, they could all hear sirens
screaming nearby.

Mulder desperately tried not to think of all the things that
could have happened to Scully during the interminable
fourteen-floor ascent.  When he neared his goal he drew the
gun from his waistband and clutched it tightly.  The blood
loss was beginning to be a problem, however; he felt
lightheaded now, and the pain in his shoulder was
threatening to take over and knock him flat on his ass.
Adrenalin had kept him going up to this point, but the wait
in the elevator had let the injury take its toll.

With a slight jerk, the elevator car finally stopped and the
doors slowly parted.  He forced himself to move cautiously
out into the hallway, which appeared to be deserted.  It had
only been a few minutes since he had talked with Frohike,
though, and the bad guys could still be nearby.

Although lightheaded now, he didn't waste any time in
heading down the hall to the room where the remnants of a
door did little to bar his way.

Still no one in sight.  He moved through the living area and
fearfully entered the first bedroom he came to.  And froze.

Frohike was kneeling on the floor near the large bed,
weeping.  But it was the sight of the bodies on the bed that
stopped Mulder's heart.

There was blood everywhere.  The man lying on top of the
woman was nude, so it was easy to see that he had at least
six or seven bullet holes in him.  The woman....the woman
was Scully.  It appeared that she was unclothed as well.
From what he could see of her beneath Vincenzo, she
wasn't moving and was also covered in blood.  His already-
stopped heart now began cracking and falling into pieces.

"I think they're both dead."  Frohike's voice was grief-
stricken.

With a sudden fury, Mulder grabbed the dead man by his
shoulder and shoved him over and off of Scully.  Now he
could see that she had wounds to her head, her shoulder,
abdomen, and upper arm.  With a trembling hand, he felt for
a pulse in her neck, holding his breath in terror that there
would be nothing.

There.  He felt...something.  A faint pulse.  Then his shaking
hand moved to her mouth and a puff of breath tickled his
palm.  He nearly wept with relief.

He grabbed a rumpled sheet from the foot of the bed and
threw it over her nakedness, and then leaned close to her
face.  Gently touching his lips to hers, he whispered
brokenly, "If you have me big time once more like this,
Scully, so help me God, my heart will stop for good."

Suddenly there were police and feds streaming into the hotel
room, screaming orders and generally creating havoc.  One
of the police officers mistakenly tried to pull Mulder away
from Scully and received a black eye for his efforts.  But
with the pain and his weakened state, the desperate agent
would have ultimately lost the battle if Agent Samuels
hadn't stepped in and clarified Mulder's role and identity
before it got really ugly.  When the cops then turned their
attention and suspicions on Frohike, Mulder explained that
he was a witness.

Meanwhile, paramedics worked on Scully, hooking her up
to various bags of liquids and treating her wounds.  Mulder
was able to give her his full attention at last, and was
hovering anxiously over these efforts, when she stopped
breathing.

The room full of people went silent as the EMTs
concentrated their efforts to get her breathing again.  Silent,
that is, with the exception of one man's quiet pleading for
her to 'breathe, Scully.'  Somehow, he managed to hang
onto one of her hands as the medical experts efficiently did
their job.

The intensity of his expression lightened slightly when
Mulder saw that they had managed to get his partner
breathing again.  A ventilator had been inserted and they
were wrapping things up preparatory to moving her.

He had temporarily stepped back to give them room to
work, but as they headed out to the elevator, he practically
glued himself to the gurney.

"I'm not leaving her," was all he'd say.  No one argued.

But plans change, and when Mulder suddenly staggered in
the hallway, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid to the
floor, the paramedics realized that they had more injuries to
treat.

They had noticed that his tee shirt was covered with blood,
but figured that it was somebody else's, given the condition
of that bedroom scene.  The shirt wasn't torn in that area,
either.  But when they checked under the sodden material,
they found a nasty knife wound.

Sending Scully's gurney on down with one of the EMT's,
the remaining technicians took Mulder's vitals and
temporarily bandaged the wound.  He was deeply
unconscious by this time.  Another gurney soon made its
way up to the fourteenth floor and they took their second
burden down to the ambulance.

***********************

Hospital
Saturday morning

Regaining consciousness abruptly, Scully was mesmerized
by Mulder's hazel-eyed gaze not more than a foot away
from her face.

"Welcome back," he murmured, pulling a lock of hair away
from her face with a finger.  Then, to give her room and to
let her properly wake up, he settled into his chair with a
sigh.

His system had recently absorbed several bags of blood,
pain killers, antibiotics, tetanus serum, and God knew what
else.  He had slept through the treatment of his stab wound
which involved a thorough cleansing and fourteen stitches.
The rap on his head hadn't caused a concussion by some
miracle, but there was a cut that took three stitches.   It had
been 8:00 the following morning before he had suddenly
come to life, urgently asking for Scully.  He was still weak
and in some pain from his shoulder, but he had visited her
the minute he found out where she was.  After a few hours
of staring at his unresponsive partner, he had gone to visit
Wu down the hall and then returned to continue his vigil by
Scully's side.

Focusing on him, she could see the edges of a large bandage
under his hospital pajamas at the shoulder.  Lifting the hand
that wasn't encumbered with an IV needle, she pointed at
his chest and raised her eyebrows.

Immediately recognizing what she wanted to know, he said,
"Volpe used me for a knife-holder, but I'm all patched up,
with all my body parts in working order."  He couldn't
resist giving her a sly, sideways look and waggling his
eyebrows for emphasis.

Her worried look didn't go away, so he thought he'd
distract her by bringing her up-to-date on the case.

"The gleesome threesome - Volpe, Barber, and Vincenzo -
have all gone to the Great Pasta Figule in the sky.  Grayson
put down the two bozos, and Vincenzo bought it from three
gang leaders who were pissed off about his making such a
huge drug sale in their territories."

"They..."  She had to pause and gratefully work at an ice
chip from the cup Mulder offered before she could continue.
He could also see that her bruised jaw and cheek were
making talking painful.

"They sold the drugs...*before* we were assigned to the
case, Mulder."

A strange mixture of anger and guilt crossed his face as he
nodded.

"What?" she asked.

"Uhhhh, well....I was down the hall in Wu's room...."

"Wu?!  Did he get hurt, too?"

"Yeah, and Langly got bopped on the head.  But he's fine."

At her puzzled expression, he thought he'd better finish the
whole sordid story.  Besides, it would delay having to fill
her in on what happened in the last hour or so...

"...And the bullet to your abdomen was superficial because
it went through his body first, which slowed it down
considerably.  The head shot was bad, but it bounced off
your skull above your temple and didn't penetrate.  You've
got a concussion; it was bad enough to stop your breathing
for a minute back there..." He forced the quaver from his
voice and continued, "... and your arm has a flesh wound.
All in all, you were pretty lucky."

"Yeah, I was really lucky," she said wryly.

Mulder, his heart in his eyes, found himself babbling, "Well,
he could've left that expensive dress on you, it would have
been ruined, and you'd be looking at a hefty bill from the
DEA."

With a serious look at him, she captured his fidgeting hand
with hers.  Memories of being coldly stripped of her clothes
by Vincenzo had been flashing through her mind.  She had
no choice but to ask....

"Did he rape me, Mulder?"

He blinked, and said with surprise, "You don't know?"

Swallowing her fears, she shook her head no.  "He hit me a
couple of times and I wasn't exactly aware of what was
happening."

His fingers whispered across the bruised skin of her cheek
as he said, "Well, the doctors told me there was no evidence
of rape...I asked," he admitted, ducking his head.

She realized that she was tightly gripping his hand and
forced herself to relax and take a breath.

"That's okay, Mulder.  I understand that you were worried
about me."  She took another deep breath before adding, "I
really did try to fight him off."  She couldn't stop the
trembling of her lower lip nor the moisture in her eyes.

Through her blurry vision, she could see that he looked
stricken, so she forced herself to calm down and gave him a
small smile of reassurance.  That move backfired, however,
since her face and jaw were so sore that it turned into a
wince.

"Scully..." he whispered in concern.

"I'm okay, really.  But remind me later to apologize for
being so ungracious to you in the suite yesterday, when you
were just concerned for my safety and making
an...understandable...assumption."

He could only nod, all smart remarks gone from his head.
The apology would be mutual, he vowed, but now was not
the time to get into it.  The talking she'd just done seemed
to have worn her out, since she looked as exhausted as he
felt.

Then he managed to say, "We'll talk about assumptions
later."  And they both knew he was also referring to the
Diana issue.

He released her hand when he felt her grip lighten, missing
the connection immediately.  Mulder ached to pull her into
his arms but knew that her injuries wouldn't allow it, nor
would she, in such a public place.

A few minutes passed in silence as her eyes stared into his,
until finally she asked, "What aren't you telling me,
Mulder?"

His first reaction was to look startled, then offended, but
finally he backed down under her steady gaze.

"Okay," he finally conceded.  "I was in Wu's room about an
hour ago and Samuels came by to drop the little bomb about
how 'whoops, they already did the drug deal - we didn't
need you and Agent Scully, after all.' " Mulder bit his lower
lip and looked even more uncomfortable.  "I...kind of lost
it."

Looking like a kid who was caught with his hand in the
cookie jar, he admitted, "I knocked him down and then tried
to...uh, strangle him."

All she could do was stare at him, speechless.  Finally she
was able to say, "I don't suppose you succeeded, since
you're sitting here instead of in a jail cell."

He fiddled with the hem of her bed sheet and shrugged with
his good shoulder.  "Skinner happened to stop by the room,
saw what was happening, and pulled me off the guy.  But
when Skinner heard the story, he slugged Samuels so hard,
he's probably still unconscious."

She closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"I suppose you'll use the 'I was drugged' defense, right?"
Her sarcasm faded into real concern when she added, "You
both could lose your jobs, you know."

She felt him move closer to her.  When her eyes flew open,
he was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin.

"We could have lost *you*, Scully.  Not to mention Daniel
Wu, his partner, and myself.  This whole scenario was
dreamed up by that little prick, Samuels.  His own
supervisor wasn't being kept informed.  Skinner found that
out when he called the man about half an hour ago.  I think
it's more likely that Samuels will be losing his job than
Skinner or me."

She seemed confused.  "Why didn't Samuels keep in touch
with his supervisor?"

"Because he was trying to grandstand and get a promotion.
He's an incompetent ass who doesn't follow procedure, and
nearly got you killed by not providing backup.  He screwed
up the whole operation from the very beginning."

He fell back into the chair once more, wincing a little at the
discomfort the jostling caused his shoulder.

Scully noticed, and ordered him back to bed.  This, of
course, required him to argue with her about it, until they
were interrupted by a nurse.  This nurse was male, weighed
somewhere around 230 pounds, and probably ate rusted
iron auto parts for breakfast, judging from his gravelly
voice.

"Back to bed, Mr. Mulder," he growled.  "Those stitches
you popped earlier may have been repaired, but you need to
take it easy for awhile."

There was a pregnant pause as Scully absorbed this
information.

Wanting to argue but knowing when to give it up, Mulder
beat a hasty retreat, giving his partner a little wave goodby
as he disappeared out the door.  The debonaire look he was
attempting was doomed, however, with the ill-fitting
hospital pajamas bagging at his butt and the paper slippers
threatening to fall off with each step.

"Thank you," Scully told the nurse.  "He needed to get
some rest."

Turning his amused eyes on the small woman in the bed, the
nurse smiled and said, "Yes, ma'm, but so do you.  I chased
him out of here mainly to let you sleep.  You need lots of
rest right now."

But the peace and quiet they both wanted for her was not
yet to be.  A loud voice in the hallway was saying, "You
monumental load of shit!  I'm being called on the carpet by
Gerald-fucking-Rosenthal!  Me! *You're* the one who
tried to kill a federal officer, namely yours truly!  I'm going
to have your badge, and A.D. Skinner's too!  You're not
getting away with attempted murder!"

She could recognize Mulder's voice but couldn't quite hear
his reply.  Her nurse made a move toward the commotion,
but he paused when Scully's hand fell on his arm.  Then
they heard Samuels speak again.

"The only decent agent in this whole fiasco has been Agent
Scully.  She's so dedicated that she fucked the guy for the
informa...."

Mulder's cry of rage could be clearly heard, along with a
scuffling sound and two loud thumps.  Then her partner
snarled, "If you ever come near Agent Scully or myself
again, I'll introduce your dick to your asshole and then
shove what's left of you through the nearest mail slot."

His interesting comments were interrupted suddenly by
another voice.  It was deceptively calm.

"Agent Samuels.  You are out of line here."  After a pause,
he added, "Mulder, get off of him."

Scully smiled at hearing Skinner's familiar voice of
command.

"*I'm* out of line?!  You...you both....hit me, you
bastards!"

"And you nearly killed two of my agents.  Get the hell out
of this hospital.  You'll have your chance to voice your
complaints at the appropriate time and place."

The voice of reason worked wonders, since a pause ensued,
and then footsteps faded away and a distant door swung
closed with a bang.

With a smile at the woman in bed, Scully's nurse patted her
hand which still lay on his arm, then placed it on the bed.

"I'll go make sure that his stitches held up, okay?"

He left her to rest, figuring that all the excitement was over.
For the time being, anyway.

After that, Mulder's and Skinner's voices ebbed and flowed
outside her door, but Scully was fast dropping into sleep
and didn't bother to try to make out what they were saying.
It was enough to know that her partner was there, close by.
And a wicked inner self was also contented that Agent
Samuels was undoubtedly sporting at least one black eye.

THE END

EPILOGUE
by Ten
(Her revenge for my not writing a "proper"
 epilogue for this fanfic)

Jar Jar Binks was currently being jar-jarred on the
nightstand, eyes bulging, in danger of falling off due to the
banging of Scully's bed into the wall and the night stand
itself.  The toy wobbled back and forth dangerously as the
cries of his owner became more and more frenzied.  As for
Scully, she had dissolved into one big long continual
scream, especially since Mulder had proved to have a
tongue just as dexterous and amazing as Bink's, everywhere
at once...

Jar Jar didn't end up falling though - a stray, hormone-
charged arm whacked him off his perch.  The impact of the
toy against the wall triggered his voicebox: "How rude!"

THE END (again)