By afg
siggy.63@btinternet.com
 

April 2004
Summary- An encounter in a bar
Category  - General Oddness and another POV
Spoilers - None
Rating - R. For a little gore and two naughty words
Disclaimer - Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter and 1013
productions. No profit is being made.
Thanks - To Tali, for making this readable and to Paddy for
being irritating.
Feedback- If you are so inclined, to siggy@btinternet.com
 
 
 

Chapter 1

Capitol Hill. Seattle

10:30pm
 

I first saw Sarah at Linda's Tavern, a bar on East Pine Street,
where I drank regularly when I was in town and I knew most of
the waitresses, but I hadn't seen her before.   She was serving
some little guy in an ugly suit, he was apparently expecting a
little more than just prompt service in exchange for his tip.
When he groped her ass for the second time in five minutes, she
"accidentally" ditched the contents of a very cold pitcher of
Martinis in his lap, which certainly dampened his ardor and he
left the bar muttering a stream of expletives.

I beckoned her over to take my order, and she started to make her
way to my table. Unusually for Linda's it was a quiet evening
and I was able to watch her as she walked. The first thing I
noticed about her was her hair, it was the most beautiful shade of
red and although she had it pulled back in a ponytail, you could
still have spotted her in a crowd with no trouble, which was
handy, as she was a diminutive figure, in her black skirt and
white blouse.  She had a great walk, a real "don't fuck with me"
stride, and although she was small, she was well proportioned
and beautifully compact.

Then, of course, there was her face; at first glance it didn't strike
me as much to write home about, pretty, yes, but I'd seen prettier
faces out there.  Suddenly, my perception seemed to shift, and it
occurred to me that I was looking at something timeless, so
otherworldly that it was beyond the constraints of mere beauty. I
felt like I'd had a wake up call from God himself.  I knew then
that she was what I was looking for.

She reached my table and by this time I had managed to refrain
from bouncing up and down on my chair with excitement, not a
good look for a guy in his forties.

"Hi, what can I get you?" she said a little unenthusiastically, I
thought.

"Hello," I replied brightly, "I'll have a Black Label on the
rocks."

"Okay. I'll be right back with your order." She started to turn
towards the bar.

"What's your name, by the way?" I blurted out before she could
disappear.

She turned back to face me and looked at me with eyes the color
of blue sky reflected on snow, they were slightly unsettling in
their scrutiny.

"I'll bet you won every staring contest going, when you were a
kid" I commented. <Jesus was I smooth or what>.

 "I'll get your drink." She quickly turned on her heel and
marched over to the bar.

"Well, it's nice to see that you haven't lost your touch with the
women." I muttered under my breath, mentally kicking myself.

I tried to watch her discreetly whilst she waited for the bartender
to make up her orders.  She was talking with a middle aged
Native American guy who was sitting on one of the bar stools.
He must have said something to amuse her, because she smiled a
little, it made her look far too young to be working in a bar.

The Tavern's door crashed open noisily as a group of young
women entered, they were all laughing and talking and were
looking more than a little drunk.  The commotion had taken my
attention away from the waitress and as my gaze returned to the
bar to look for her I realized that she was now standing right in
front of me with my drink on a tray.

"One Black Label," she said as she placed my whiskey on the
table.

"Thanks," I mumbled, trying desperately to think of some way of
starting a conversation.

She started to move away, and on impulse I reached out and
gently caught hold of her wrist.

"Can I paint you?" It came out of my mouth before I could stop
myself.

"Get your hands off me!" she hissed and shot me a look so filled
with venom, that it made me wish for detachable genitals that I
could mail to the next state for safe keeping. I let go.

"Sorry.... look, I'm really sorry...it's just that I'm a painter and
you are so beautiful, you've inspired me, and it's been so long
since anything has inspired me, I just got a little carried away....
Please, I didn't mean to upset you, I've been having a terrible dry
spell, and I saw you and I suddenly knew what I wanted to
paint...you just... inspired me." I finished, lamely.

"No kidding," she deadpanned, "I inspire you? Exactly how
many women has that particular line worked on?"

"Look, it's not a line, I really am a painter, you may even have
heard of me, I had some work shown a couple of years ago in the
Wright Exhibition Space, a small private gallery on Dexter
Avenue. It was a moderate success." I said, trying to get through
to her.

"What's your name?" she asked brusquely.

"Mark" I said "Mark Lawrence."

"Sorry, never heard of you, but then I haven't been in Seattle that
long."

Glad of a slight reduction in the hostilities, I grew bolder.

"Where are you from?"

"I came down here from Canada a couple of months ago," she
replied, her body language was a little less tense now.

"Oh, you're a Canuck then?  You don't have the accent."

"It's a long story," she sighed

"I have the time if you want to tell it," I smiled at her
encouragingly.

"I don't,"

"Have the time?" I inquired

"No, I meant I don't want to tell it."  She was starting to get a
little defensive again.

"Okay but would you at least tell me your name, I'm feeling at a
bit of a disadvantage" I looked at her hopefully.

She regarded me for a moment and then to my surprise she held
out her hand.

"My name is Sarah," she said, grasping my large hand in her
small one for a brief but firm handshake.

"Hello Sarah, it's nice to meet you," I said, delighted at the
sudden change of events. "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked,
hoping to prolong our meeting

"No, thank you"

"Okay, then how about I take you for a coffee when your shift is
over? You do drink coffee, don't you?" I was trying not to sound
too desperate.

She turned her head to look at the man she had been talking with
at the bar; he must have been watching our exchange, because he
met her gaze and gave a slight nod.

"All right," she said cautiously

"Fantastic," I said ridiculously pleased. "When does your shift
finish?"

"It finished five minutes ago."

"Well, in that case, shall we go?" I enthused.

 "I'll get my coat," she turned and walked towards a door marked
'Staff' and disappeared inside.

I took a nip of my whiskey to calm my nerves, I really wanted
this woman to like me, and I realized that it wasn't just because I
wanted her to sit for me. A large hand came down on my
shoulder startling me, the ice in my drink rattled sharply against
the sides of the glass.

"I'm trusting you not to hurt her," a deep voice said.

The man from the bar was looming over me, his deep-set brown
eyes regarded me seriously, his shoulder length hair was graying
and held off his face in a ponytail.

"And you are?" I said feeling a little intimidated by his impassive
stare.

"I'm Sarah's friend," he said calmly.

"Well Mr....?" I hesitated.

"Tanner," he said his voice a rich baritone, "John Tanner, call me
John"

"Well John," I said firmly. "Believe me; I have no intention of
hurting Sarah."

He looked at me for a long beat; his skin was the color of strong
tea and his deeply lined face gave no clue as to what he was
thinking. I wondered if he played poker.

"Good," he said, startling me out of my reverie, and slapping me
on the shoulder he turned and walked back to his place at the bar.

Relieved that this little encounter was over, and more than a little
puzzled, I finished the rest of my drink and shrugged my jacket
on. I turned as I heard the light footsteps approach me.

"All ready?" I asked as Sarah stood before me in her coat, an
umbrella held in one small hand.

"Yes."

"Right, let's go then." I said as I placed my hand gently at the
small of her back to guide her towards the door, eager to get
away from the piercing gaze that was emanating from my new
friend at the bar.

"Please don't do that," she said tensing up.

"I'm sorry." I quickly removed my hand, she obviously wasn't
the "touchy feely" type.

"No, never mind, sorry, let's just go," she said looking a little
embarrassed.

"No problem." I said brightly, trying to reduce the tension.

We started for the door and as I reached   to open it she turned
around towards the bar and threw a nervous look in John's
direction, he gave her a gentle smile followed by a slight nod in
my direction. We stepped out on to Pine Street and into the crisp
night air.

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

Chapter 2
 

The night life on Capitol Hill could be pretty frenetic, and the
street was busy with the usual eclectic mix of people, straight,
gay and indeterminate, from college students to drag queens.
The bohemian ambience of the Hill drew in a fair few tourists
who came to experience a little "walk on the wild side" in this
Baskin Robbins of a community before returning to their rather
more vanilla streets and homes.

Sarah and I walked together in silence, she occasionally shot a
glance my way and I wondered what she was thinking.  I hoped
she was thinking what a devastatingly handsome guy I was but I
didn't think so. The lights from the street gave her features a
rather sallow hue, and made her look tired.

"Look Sarah," I said, "how about we skip the crowds in
Starbucks and I take you to my place. It's just round the corner
and I could show you some of my work."

"Are you offering to show me your etchings?" She said with an
impressive arch of her right eyebrow.

Realizing what she meant and not wanting to appear a slouch
when it came to eyebrow gymnastics, I waggled mine at her in a
salacious manner.

"Only if you show me yours."

"You believe in equality then?" She inquired in a coolly amused
tone.
 
"In all things." I said, enjoying the banter.

"That's all well and good," she said. "But can you make coffee?"

"You bet," I said smiling at her. "I make great coffee."

Her expression blanked and as she looked at me, it was as though
she wasn't seeing me at all, maybe I reminded her of someone or
perhaps more likely she was wondering how trustworthy I was.
She blinked slowly and seemed to come to a decision.

"Okay."

"Okay?" I asked, giving her a quizzical look

"I'll come up and have a coffee, and you can show me your work
"

"Great," I said.  "That's great, my building's just over there." I
pointed to a large former warehouse, which had been converted
into studio apartments. She didn't resist when I took her hand as
we crossed the street and she didn't let go until we came to the
entrance of my building.

 "Don't worry," I said as I caught her looking at the plaque by
the entrance with the name of the building emblazoned on it.
"It's not indicative of the residents, at least not most of them."

"Oddfellows Hall, it's a strange name," she mused.

"I'd love to regale you with tales of its history, but I've only just
moved here, all I know is that my apartment has good floor space
and great windows for the light, which means that I can paint and
live in the same space." I explained as we entered the foyer and
headed towards the rather clunky cage elevator.

I swung open the gate and followed her inside shutting it behind
us. I pressed the button for the fourth floor.  The cage started up
with a jolt and I caught hold of Sarah's arm to steady her.

"Sorry, it's a bit of a creaky old thing." I apologized; raising my
voice over the rattling of the cage as it juddered its tortuous way
up the shaft.

We made it to the fourth floor and walked along the hall, I could
hear the faint sounds of jazz coming from the apartment two
doors down from me.

 "Miles Davis." I muttered under my breath, recognizing the long
cool notes of a trumpet.

"Sorry?" Sarah looked at me questioningly

"It's Miles Davis, it's my neighbor Steve's favorite. He's always
playing it, he's a dancer and he says that it's good music to do
his stretches to."

"Are there a lot of artistic residents?" she asked.

"Yes there are actually, apart from Steve, there are two other
dancers, my neighbor teaches Yoga, a singer lives in the
apartment below mine, and that's just the ones I've met so far,
like I said I haven't been here long." We reached my door. I
fished out my key and unlocked. "After you." I said as I ushered
her inside.

"It's a bit on the Spartan side," she said taking off her coat and
looking around at the bare mattress and sleeping bag on the floor,
next to which was my little gas burner for heating up my food.

"Yeah, you could say that." I laughed, "I haven't got around to
moving all my furniture in yet, but I have everything I need for
the moment. I have my brushes and paints and canvas, and of
course, most importantly the means to make coffee."  I motioned
to my percolator that was perched on the small table at the foot
of my mattress. "Ta da," I said with a flourish.
 

"It's nice to see you've got your priorities straight." She said in
mock approval, draping her coat on the back of a folding chair,
which was heaped with old newspapers, she put her umbrella on
top of the pile.

"I'll get the coffee on the go," I said, pouring some water, into
the machine from a large container I kept by the side of it. "If
you want to freshen up, the bathroom is just over there." I
pointed to a door on the other side of the room. "It's clean,"  I
added hastily.

"Thanks." She smiled and set off across the room, her heels
rapping noisily on the bare floor.

The percolator had started to burble and hiss, so I hurriedly tried
to make the place look a little less like a squat; I picked up all the
clothes lying about the floor and shoved them into the linen
hamper. There wasn't much I could do about the area by the
window, I thought, as I looked at the paint splashed tarpaulin on
the floor on which stood my easel, next to that a folding table
which held some palettes, an old chipped shaving mug that held
pencils of all grades of thickness and my father's old razor that I
used to sharpen them and lastly a large ex ice cream container
full of tubes of different colored oils. The sidewall had several
canvases draped in sheets lined along it.

"Fuck it, I'm an artist." I said to myself. "I'm supposed to be
messy."
 

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

 
Chapter 3
 

I heard the bathroom door open and turned to see Sarah
emerging. She made her way over to me and gestured towards
the covered canvasses.

"Are these your paintings? May I see them?" She said looking up
at me expectantly.

"Sure." I said and started to remove the sheets revealing the
paintings beneath. "This is only a small selection of my work,
I've been lucky enough to have sold a good few, a couple are in
local galleries, and I keep some in storage."

 I could see that Sarah was studying the paintings with some
intensity as she walked along the row; she looked at me after a
while.
 
"Who is the woman in the pictures? She's beautiful," she said,
returning her attention to the paintings.

"Yes, she was lovely." I said quietly. "She was my mother, she
died when I was a child, I don't really remember her that well,
only that she was very tall and very beautiful." Sarah gave me a
sympathetic look. "Hey." I grinned trying to lighten up the mood.
"Like I said, I don't really remember her, these pictures are kind
of like snapshots of the few recollections that I do have."

"I really like the colors you've used," she said, "the red, in
particular, is very vibrant."

"Yes, I remember that she had a real energy about her," I said,
pleased at her comments. "I wanted to capture that."

"Well you've certainly managed it," she smiled.

"Thank you." I heard the percolator as it gave a final 'burp.'
"You ready for that coffee now?" I said heading over to the
machine and proceeding to retrieve a couple of mugs from a
large cardboard box at the foot of my mattress. "Do you take
sugar and is powdered creamer okay?"

"That's fine," she said, "but no sugar thank you."

I poured the steaming black brew into the mugs and added the
creamer, then handed hers over.

"Thanks," she said taking a careful sip, her lips pursed and she
gave a slight shudder.  "It's a little bitter," she commented.

"Okay, maybe I was exaggerating about my coffee making
skills" I said rather sheepishly. "I'm a complete inadequate when
it comes to anything vaguely culinary, even water's not safe, but
I have some instant around here somewhere if you'd rather trust
your taste buds with that?" I offered.

"No, don't worry, this is fine," she said, taking another sip. She
managed to keep her expression neutral this time. "See? I'm
getting used to it already."

"Okay then," I grinned, "shall we go and sit over there." Pointing
over to the long window seat.

"Sure." She said and we walked over and sat down.

"I really would like to paint you, you know?" I said after we had
sat for a while, "I can pay you for your time."

 "Why me?" she asked, a puzzled expression on her lovely face.

"What, apart from the blindingly obvious fact that you are
gorgeous?" I said, amused.

"Yeah, right," she said taking a sip of her coffee her expression
slightly pained.

"You don't take complements well, do you?" I smiled gently at
her. "You are lovely though, you have an inner light, Raphael
would have died to paint you, Carravagio, Rembrant, L'Autrec,
any artist who loves the human form would want to paint you." I
enthused. "Then, of course, there is your hair," I added.

"My hair?" she said, blinking slowly at me, her hand moving to
her forehead.

"Oh yes," I watched her as she rubbed her temple a little
distractedly "It's such a wonderful color of red." I got up and
moved over to my easel. "Come here." I beckoned her over. "Let
me show you something." I started to rummage through the
assortment of pencils in the shaving mug.

I looked up as I heard the sound of Sarah's heels on the floor; she
was standing up with her hand resting against the window. She
seemed to be a little unsteady and as she pushed off from the
pane of glass and started to walk towards me, I noticed a distinct
wobble in her normally decisive stride.

I finally found what I was looking for in the jumble of pencils.
Sarah was now standing next to me, she swayed slightly from
side to side and as I looked more closely I noticed little dots of
perspiration had appeared on her brow. I gently tilted her face up
to me, her eyes had a glazed appearance and the pupils were
large and obscured most of the glacial blue.

"Mickey, look! Isn't it wonderful?"

My head jerked up from it's perusal of Sarah and I looked over
to the wall where my paintings where, and there she was,
beautiful little tributaries of crimson trickling down from the
glistening slash in her throat.

"Mother, you're here," I said dreamily.

"I'm always here for you Mickey, it's all just for you," she
smiled beatifically at me through the slick of blood on her teeth."

I heard a slight groan from Sarah.

"Look Sarah, she's here!" I guided her head to look in my
mother's direction so that Sarah could appreciate her incarnadine
splendor.

"No!" she said sluggishly trying to shake her head from my grip
and move away from me, I put my arm tightly around her waist
and pulled her body flush to mine, her hands rose up to push
weakly at my chest, her eyes kept rolling back in her head like a
spooked mare.

"Look, Mickey, see how pretty it is." My mother sighed, from
her position by the wall. I kept my hold on Sarah and gazed at
my mother. She now had slashes of vermilion lengthways down
both of her forearms, she held out her hands as the incandescent
ooze dripped onto the floor around her feet.

"Isn't she beautiful, Sarah? I can make you as beautiful as she
is." I smiled sweetly down at her. Holding her tight and raising
the hand with my father's razor that I'd retrieved from amongst
the pencils, its lovely old tortoiseshell handle catching the light.
"Would you like that Sarah? Would you like me to make you as
lovely as mother?"

"No....Mul....I need ...." She slurred, and continued to push
weakly at my chest.

I latched the razor at the opening of her blouse just above her
breasts and slashed through the silk. The blade was wickedly
sharp and the material parted easily, I looked covetously at the
pale canvas revealed before me, the swell of her small breasts
enclosed in cream silk, rising and falling rapidly from her efforts
to get free. The taut plain of her abdomen as it met the black
material of her skirt.

The only thing marring this pristine surface was a thin line of
what looked like insulated wire appearing from under the
waistband of her skirt and traveling up the side of her ribcage,
disappearing under the elastic of her bra. It was stuck in place
with the occasional little strip of brown tape. It looked very
unattractive, so I gave it a sharp tug and the tape peeled away
taking the ugly wire with it.

I could still hear my mother crooning from across the room,
although it was now accompanied with an irritating pounding
noise. I turned my attention back to Sarah.

Carefully holding the razor I brought it up to her face so that she
could see it. Her eyes darted about in their sockets; she was
definitely having some difficulty focusing.  I had just decided to
make my first cut on her throat, when her hand clumsily tried to
grab my wrist. Her uncoordinated attempt missed its target
completely and she got hold of the blade instead, we struggled
briefly for possession but she was no match for me in her
condition, and I pulled the razor from her grip.
 
 

Chapter 4
 

Blood spattered in a bright arc on the canvas in front of us as the
blade came free of Sarah's hand. I let go of her waist and
grabbed hold of her wrist. As her delicate fingers uncurled I
could see the thick fluid welling rapidly from the deep gash, I
was fascinated by its dark progress over my hand as I held her. I
watched enthralled as it soaked the sleeve of her white blouse
and dripped in a rapid rhythm onto the tarpaulin underneath our
feet.

Sarah gasped as I lifted her hand and pressed it to the canvas
smearing her essence over its surface. It was beautiful, but I
needed more, mother needed more. The pounding noise was
starting to get on my nerves, it was disturbing my concentration,
so when Sarah managed a lucky knee strike to my groin, I was
taken by surprise, weak though the blow was I still let go of her
and clutched my crotch in pain.

Sarah, having relieved herself of my supporting hand, stumbled
backwards unable to coordinate her feet. She grunted as she
landed on her ass. After a couple of abortive attempts to get up,
she rolled onto her stomach and started to crawl towards the
entrance to my apartment.  I watched her, puzzled, at her
determination to escape.  Didn't she understand how beautiful I
was going to make her?

"Muller...Muller." Sarah was chanting as she crawled with great
effort across the floor. Maybe she saw her mother too. I looked
towards mine.

"More Mickey, it's so wonderful, so pretty, look Mickey, look."
Her hands where pressed against her lower abdomen, she pulled
them away and her eyes burned fanatically as she showed me the
scarlet bulge of her intestines as they protruded from the creamy
expanse of her stomach.

I turned to see how Sarah was progressing, she was panting
loudly with the strain of movement, strangely, her panting kept
in rhythm with the pounding sound.  The blood from her slashed
hand left pretty streaks of red along the bare floor.

The pain from Sarah's blow had diminished and urged on by
mother's entreaties to see more sanguine beauty, I straightened
up and walked over to Sarah, as she desperately tried to drag her
uncooperative body towards the door. I flipped her over onto her
back with my foot, and kneeling, I straddled her hips.

"Mother has shown me what to do," I said looking down at her.
Blood had smeared over her torso and blouse. "You'll look so
lovely," I smiled encouragingly at her.

Her struggling was now so feeble that it didn't hamper me at all
as I placed the blade of the razor against her stomach, just above
where her flesh met the material of her skirt. I turned my head to
smile at mother, then turning back to Sarah I started to press the
blade into her soft flesh.

There was a loud splintering noise and my head shot up as my
apartment door crashed open.

"FBI, put down your weapon!" Someone shouted, as four large
figures piled into the room.

I looked down at Sarah, she was straining to look at the broken
door, she had a frantically hopeful expression on her face. I could
hear my mother's voice in the background keening her desire for
more beauty, more loveliness, and I pressed harder against the
skin of Sarah's abdomen, she gasped in pain.

Suddenly I found myself flat on my back on the bloody floor, a
horrible burning pain in my shoulder.  I could feel the hot trickle
of my own blood running down towards my armpit.

"Someone get the paramedics in here."  I heard a voice say, then
a soft yet frantic, "Scully? Scully, open your eyes, it's over,
we've got him." I wondered who Scully was.

I could hear several pairs of feet moving around so I opened my
eyes and saw a couple of black clad police officers and a tall man
leaning over me, he started to drone on about my rights and
lawyers and evidence, but I wasn't listening. All I could hear was
the sound of my mothers soft weeping as it faded into the
distance, I looked towards her but she had gone. I had
disappointed her; hot tears began to run down the sides of my
face and into my hair.

The man who had been speaking to me turned towards where
Sarah was lying, I craned my head to see her. A man knelt next
to her, he was taking off his long black trench coat and he
carefully laid it over her legs and torso. He took her injured hand,
which was still bleeding heavily, raising it up in the air, he
gripped her tightly around her wrist to try and stop the flow.

"How's she doing, Agent Mulder?" The deep voice of the man
next to me asked, a concerned look on his lined features.

"I don't know, I think she's been drugged, and she's lost a lot of
blood.  The cut on her stomach seems pretty shallow; it's this one
on her hand that's worrying me. " The man called Mulder
worriedly told him.

"The paramedics will be here real soon Agent, she's going to be
okay." The tall man said reassuringly. He turned to one of the
officers, "Go and check if they're here yet," he said patting the
officer on the back.

I suddenly realized that this was the man from the bar that had
been talking to Sarah.  I looked up at him, and my hand reached
out to weakly grasp the sleeve of his jacket.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, "but I've forgotten your name."

"Detective John Tanner, retired.  I've been looking for you for a
long time."

"I hurt her, didn't I?" My tears started up again. "I'm sorry, but I
wanted to make her so pretty." I tried to make him understand
"So lovely, just like mother."

"It's all right son, you just lie still." He looked down at me a
stern yet sympathetic expression on his face.

I heard a rush of footsteps and suddenly a man and a woman
appeared by my side, a pressure bandage was applied to my
shoulder and one of the paramedics started to insert an IV.

"He going to be okay?" Tanner asked the woman.

"Yeah, he should be fine." She said still busy with the IV. "It's a
nice clean shot; he's not even bleeding too badly."

I could hear more paramedics working on Sarah, it sounded a
little more frantic over there. Agent Mulder was quietly talking
to her, trying to keep her conscious.
There was the sound of a stretcher being opened up and I heard
her being rapidly taken from the room, the sound of voices
receding down the hallway.

I felt a burning sensation travel up my arm and suddenly I felt
very tired, a strange buzzing noise had started up in my head .My
vision started to tunnel and I thought it a good idea to shut my
eyes and sleep.
 
 

Epilogue
 

I awoke some time later, feeling stiff and sore; I hadn't failed to
notice the uniformed police officer station just outside my room.
Apparently, the nurse informed me, I was at The Northwest
Hospital and had been for the last three days.  I remember
vaguely my mother coming to visit a few times. She had been
angry with me; I don't like it when mother is angry with me.  My
shoulder felt okay, it had been cleaned and bandaged and my arm
was supported in a sling.

My door had been left slightly open and I could hear the constant
traffic of people and trolleys as they passed by.  I recognized the
deep tones of Detective Tanner as he spoke to the officer at my
door, he then entered accompanied by the man he'd called Agent
Mulder.  I smiled at them as they entered and Tanner gave me a
nod but Agent Mulder just looked at me blankly. Detective
Tanner talked to me for a long time, he asked me lot's of
questions about my mother, and about the other women I had painted.  I
told him about the storage facility where I kept the pictures. I
asked them about Sarah, and Detective Tanner said she was fine,
I wanted to know if she would still let me paint her, but Agent
Mulder stood up straight and told me he didn't think she would
want to do that. They then thanked me and left the room.

They stood outside my door, I could hear them talking, they both
sounded very tired.

"Thanks for your help, Agent Mulder." I heard Tanner say. "And
I'm sorry it was all so rushed, I only got the information about
his mother's birthday this morning."

"It was you who figured out all the connections Detective. It was
you who realized that he only visited Seattle on this date." said
Mulder "I just came up with the profile, anyway, here's the
person you should be thanking." he said, his voice brightening.

I could hear the click of heels approaching my door, I knew who
it was.

"Agent Scully!" Tanner said cheerily. "You managed to persuade
them to release you then. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Detective," Sarah's low tones drifted through my door.
"Although it's desk duty for a few weeks, while my hand heals."

"Yeah." Tanner said a little sadly "I'm sorry about that. If I could
have only got the department to have taken me seriously, we
would have had more manpower and maybe you wouldn't have
been put in such a dangerous situation." He sounded frustrated.

"Don't worry about it, we don't get taken seriously very often
either, but we got the result we wanted. Mr Lawrence won't be
adding any pictures to his collection this time."

"Yeah, I guess you're right Agent Scully," he said resignedly.
"Well I'd better be going or else my wife will be on the warpath.
I can't remember the last time we sat down to dinner together.
Goodbye Agents and thank you." I heard his footsteps
disappearing down the corridor.

"Okay Scully," I heard Agent Mulder say. "No more of this
"fine" crap, how are you really feeling?"

I heard a long feminine sigh.

"Actually, I feel like I've been hit by a truck, if you really want
to know. I also can't get rid of this headache from the drug he
slipped into the coffee," she said tensely, "but at least the
hallucinations have stopped."

"A concentrated dose of Valerian and Salvia came up in your
blood work."

"Yes. I don't recommend it."

"He still wants to paint you, you know?"

"I think I'll pass on that little pleasure if you don't mind Mulder,
being immortalized in oils as a bloody corpse and given as a
birthday gift for an insane dead mother is not high on my "to-do"
list." She replied emphatically.

"Well, it's a good job that detective Tanner managed to slip
Frohike's little last minute tracking device, under Lawrence's
collar when they where having their little chat or else we'd have
lost you on Pine street.  Frohike was right," he said, "those police
department wires are next to useless." They were starting to
move away from the door now and it was getting hard to hear
what they where saying.

"Oh, that reminds me Scully, Frohike says that you owe him a
new suit after covering his crotch in Martini mix," said Agent
Mulder seriously.

"The little troll grabbed my ass, Mulder!" Agent Scully sounded
aggrieved.

"Well, he says he was merely trying to slip you his tracker," he
explained.

"Oh, is that what he calls it? Anyway, I did him a favor that suit
was hideous." Their voices grew fainter.

"Hey Scully?" Agent Mulder said conspiratorially.

"What?"

"You have a great ass," he said appreciatively.

"Shut up, Mulder."

Their footsteps faded away and I was left alone, maybe Mother
would come by for a visit.  That would be nice.
 

The End.
 
 
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