By Ary
foxdvd@netscape.net

RATING:     Nc-17 for language, violence and sexual content

CATEGORY:   FBI adventure with an erotica twist and plenty of angst

SPOILERS:   Up to season 5,but definitively before 'The End'

KEYWORDS:   M/S angst, M/S romance

SUMMARY:    When your friendly neighbour psychopath starts killing
            redheads, Scully is requested to go undercover ... as
            a stripper.

DISCLAIMER: No, they are not mine.
            No, I'm not getting money for this.
            No, I didn't ask Master Carter for his permission.
            And no, I hope this isn't the last time I do it.

ARCHIVE:    Anywhere you like, as long as you keep the title, my name
            and e-mail together and in one piece.

FEEDBACK:   Yes, thank you!  Very much appreciated, specially since
            this is my first attempt at a long story.  Oh! And please
            bear in mind than English is not my native tongue, so
            forgive any grammar mishaps.
 

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Someone once told me it's damn hard to write a good
                 erotica story that actually had a plot. Whomever
                 it was: you're absolutely right.

                 What started as some mind candy (some naughty
                 undercover work to get our friends in the mood for
                 some naughty under covers workout) soon bloomed
                 into an X-like adventure, with plenty of angst,
                 violence, self-hatred, suicidal attempts and a very
                 real bad guy to catch before it was too late.

                 And then came the sex. Or, to quote my own Mulder,
                 "the intellectual masturbation". Sex talk left,
                 right and centre.  And guilt. Plenty of it.

                 All this to say that this story may not be your
                 usual brand of smut.  Still, it makes a good read,
                 even if I say so myself.

                 I wish to dedicate this story to all my good on-line
                 friends who've been kindly encouraging me to finish
                 this for over a year.  Thanks for your patience,
                 awesome beta-reading and insightful comments.

                 And for Alex, Cary and Chris, three great men
                 whom I'm lucky enough to call friends and who have
                 been kind enough as to let me peek inside their
                 world of male fantasies.

                 Special, special thanks to Jay Fox. He beta-read
                 and even re-wrote a few things here and there. I
                 couldn't have asked for a better 'father' for 'Ruby'.
                 Thanks a lot, Jay!

                 Erin: you know you shouldn't be reading this.
                 You or any other kid out there. So do me a favour
                 and get out of here. This is NC-17. You want to
                 get me in trouble with your parents, or what?

                 Once again, may CC have mercy on my soul.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"RUBY"
 

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON D.C.
JULY 31
11:15 P.M.

I had been looking everywhere for her.  And I was getting tired of
these games she was playing.   I had asked her to stop it, to get
help, to talk to me about it... but she refused it.  I had done
everything in my hands to help her get through this... this phase she
was going through.

For I am sure it is just a phase.  I am sure she is still in love
with me, as deeply as in the beginning, more deeply if it was
possible.  But I know what kind of woman she is.  I know she has
a tendency to feel restless once in a while.  I know she likes to
play this weird games with me.   But only because she loves me.

But she is getting out of control.  I could feel it, I could sense
it,  I was sure of it.   And I had spoken with her.  Pleaded.
Requested.  Begged.  And she had promised she would stop.   And I
believed her.

Until tonight.

Tonight I had gone home, looking for her.  The minute I came inside
the house, I knew.  Like a sixth sense, I knew she was out here,
somewhere, playing this stupid games, ignoring her promise.  It was
exactly like those many times before, just the same thing.  But this
time... this time I was taking matters into my own hands.

I began searching for her in the streets and alleys of the city.  I
almost knew I would find here around here, in the seediest part of
town, mingling with scumbags and human had-beens.  I could feel
anger rising to a boiling point.  She had broken her promise, and she
should face the consequences. She would face the consequences.

Once or twice I thought I had found her.  But they weren't her.
The colour was close, but it was fake.  I could tell from the way
their skin shone, from the absence of freckles,  from the lack of
spark in their eyes.  They were not the real thing.

She was. The real thing.  Ruby hair, ivory skin, ocean of freckles,
and the unmistakable Irish spark in her eyes.  She was one hundred
percent Irish, just like my mother had been.  Just like myself.

People always thought we were siblings.

People could be so stupid sometimes.

Finally, I found her.  She was standing on a corner, leaning
slightly forward if a car came by.  I don't remember seeing her
wearing that black leather miniskirt before.  Or the red halter
top, for that matter.

But the mid-thigh boots were hers.  She had bought them after
watching that hooker movie, the Cinderella nonsense about a "pretty
woman".  And she loved those boots.   She even wore them during
summer, regardless of the heat.   And she always wore them when she
was out, playing her games.  Always.

She turned around when she heard me approaching.  She evaluated
me carefully. She continued to play the game, even in this moment.
 

"Looking for some fun and games, darling?"

I grabbed her shoulder. "Sarah ... I warned you."

The last thing I see are the red traces the knife makes in her white
flesh, her pale blue eyes staring lifelessly at me as I plunge in
over and over again.

"I warned you, Sarah..."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

FBI BUILDING
AUGUST 5
4:06 P.M.

I rubbed my eyes, feeling overwhelmly tired.  I had spent the last
two days working with VCS, doing a profile on a new serial killer.  A
psycho with a penchant for killing prostitutes and strippers.

His MO was brutal and effective. He slashed their throats with a
hunting knife and then stabbed their chest until it was a barely
recognisable pulp.  He didn't waste time dumping their bodies, for
he left them lying in the same spot he had killed them.

The other remarkable characteristic was that the victims, all 14 of
them were redheads.  Natural redheads.

The DC police was baffled and worried about the mixed feelings this
particular case had stirred.  The general public couldn't care less
for the victims, they were hookers and nude dancers, after all, but
was upset with the prospect of finding a savagely mutilated corpse
lying on the street.

It hadn't helped that the last person to stumble into a body had been
the daughter of a Congressman.  That's when the FBI had been called
in. The case had been promptly handed to VCS and they had been quick
to request a profiler to help them identify the killer.

Skinner had also been quick to drag my ass into his office, demanding
I gave my full attention to the matter.  That's how Scully ended
doing autopsies for two days in a row.  The same two days I had spent
in this office, surrounded by pictures, evidence found at the sites
and forensic reports, trying to get into this psycho's head, trying
to figure out what made him tick.

So far, my profile wasn't very precise.  My description of the
suspect could be applied to one third of the male population in the
area.

It was clear that he was killing the same person over and over again.
What I had yet to discover was who this person might be.  His mother?
It would explain his need to destroy the victims breasts, and if he
viewed his mother as a sexual being, it would also explain why he
went after the hookers and the strippers.

Or maybe he was getting even with a former lover, one who had
cheated on him.  If she had been fooling around he would certainly
consider her a tramp.   But that wouldn't explain why he was slaying
the breasts.  It would make perfect sense if he attacked the genital
area, but, the breasts?

The third and last option was his wife. Or ex-wife. Someone who had
given birth.  Someone who had...

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of  the door opening.  I
didn't have to turn around to know who had came in.  I'd recognise
those footsteps anywhere.

"Mulder?"

I turned around to meet my own personal redhead.  I knew I was dead
wrong on her being mine, but I've come to feel rather territorial
about her.  She's mine, just as much as I'm hers.  If she wanted me,
that is.  I've never allowed myself to delve too deeply on our mutual
feelings.  If that makes me a coward, so be it.

"Yes, Scully?"

She sat down wearily.  Dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped.
Her hand was massaging her neck.  God, she must have been as tired as
I was.

"I went over all the reports three times. I couldn't find anything.
The  fingerprints I found where so smudged that we'll never get more
than a 70% match, and that's being very hopeful.  No traces of blood
other than the victims."

"Any other bodily fluids?" I ask, moving closer. I hold her eyes as
she answers.

"Yes. I found semen and saliva on two of the bodies, but the samples
tested as coming from three different individuals. There's  no way I
could tell you if they belong to the killer or to the victims uh...
previous clients," she replies looking down at her hands.

"So the lady had a busy night?" I observe in idle observation.

"The *lady* had the wrong kind of busy night," Scully replies, looking
up with a weary nod. Our eyes meet again for a moment. She looks
defeated, bone tired. I lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Mulder,  I know the saliva wasn't the victim's too. I just...I can't
tell if it was from her murderer though either."

The defeat in her voice is palpable. I decide to get her refocused
here so she'll shake it off. A little facetiousness to goad her. It
usually works. This time is no exception.

"So, you're saying that even though this guy is so sloppy he's clever
enough not to leave a trace?" I ask baiting the verbal hook.

"You could say that.  Either that, or he's just  very lucky"

"Oh, come on, Scully. What are his chances of being "just lucky"
14 times?" I raise and eyebrow in perfect imitation of her usual
sceptical expression. She catches my attempt to bolster her up again.

She smiled. "You want an exact figure or will an estimate do?"

I smiled back. "I didn't know forensic medicine included a statistics
course."

"No, but it did teach me never to discard something because it was
too obvious."

Scully dived into her pocket and produced a small plastic bag. She
lifted it up in the air so I could see what was inside.  There,
barely visible, was a human hair.  A red human hair.

"The victim's?"

"No. It doesn't match the victim's hair.  The shade is different, the
length doesn't match and the texture is coarser."

"Dye?"

"No, it's not chemically treated.  I'll have to wait for the DNA lab
results, but I'm pretty sure of why it's different.  This is a man's
hair."

My eyes grew wide with astonishment. "Are you sure?"

"As I said before, I'll have to wait for the lab results, but I'm
80% sure it is a man's hair."

My mind was running in three different directions at the same time.
If Scully was right, this meant that the killer was a also a redhead,
and that changed things, if not drastically, significantly.

For one, our suspect pool was considerably reduced.  There weren't
that many redheads out there, and once we had the lab results, the
number of suspects would be even less.

Also, the motivation would change.  I was  eager to digest this new
piece of information, so I began shuffling papers around, trying to
come up with different ideas in the light of this new element.

"Mulder. I'm going home to shower and change.  On my way back I'll
pick up the lab results and some Chinese take-out and bring them to
you, ok?"

I nodded at her in appreciation and busied myself with the profile.
When I heard the door locked, I looked up.  The third thing on my
mind had been to kiss Scully.  You see, every time she comes up with
something that will help our investigation I'm overwhelmed with the
need to kiss her.  I guess it would be the perfect demonstration of my
increasing awe and respect, although I also have the feeling that she
wouldn't understand it.

Most of the times I can ignore this kissing urge.  I've been close to
doing it two or three times in the past.  On every single occasion I
had been both physically and mentally exhausted, and I had had to
really fight this feeling.  Today, however, I'm a little beyond
exhaustion.  I'm also tired of fighting my feelings for her.

It is a really dangerous combination.

I decide to immerse myself in the profile.  It is the lesser of the
two evils.

Profiling can take away my sanity. Scully has already taken my soul.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

A couple of hours later I looked up.  Scully still wasn't back. I was
beginning to feel restless.  I needed to go out for a run, to shoot
some baskets, to get fresh air... anything to get me away from the
terrible feeling of constrictment that had descended upon me.

I was considering waiting for her outside when the phone rang.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me.  I got a call from Skinner requesting a meeting in
half an hour..."

"I'll see you there."

"Mulder..." her tone of voice was tentative, "you haven't been
requested to attend this meeting."

I felt something similar to shock by this news.  "What? Why? What did
I do this time?"

Scully was amused. "When will you learn that not everything is about
you? I'm having a meeting with Skinner and Stan Carlbadier regarding
some undercover work.  This doesn't affect you."

*But it does, Scully, it does. Everything about you affects me.*  I
was careful to keep this thoughts to myself.

"So you don't want me to meet you there..."

"No. Wait. On second thought, I'll meet you there.  That way I won't
have to go looking for you to deliver your dinner, and  I won't have
to go into the meeting smelling like Chop Suey."

I was certain I could hear her smirking over the phone. "Ok. Sounds
fair to me. Where are you?"

"Race you to the elevators."

"You're on."

And I hung up. I didn't like the idea of Scully discussing undercover
work with Stan Carlbadier, one of the best undercover supervisors VCS
has.  I had worked with him before and he was a thorough agent,
genuinely concerned with his people wellbeing, and an overall nice
guy.

When I came out of the elevator Scully was already waiting for me. A
bag full of steaming Chinese take-out boxes was standing next to her.
She was holding another bag full of bottles: iced tea and root beers.
"You're late."

I winked at her. "My dominatrix was keeping me busy on the phone."

"No excuses, Mulder. You lost."  She handed me the food and the
drinks.  "Save some Chicken Kung Pao for me, ok?"

With that, she was gone. I looked down at the bags in my hands and
sighed.  As hungry as I was, I wouldn't start eating until she came
back from the meeting.  Eating alone was not an exciting prospect
compared to eating with her.

I sighed once again and returned to the office.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Forty-five minutes later the door opened again.  Scully came in and,
without a word, slumped into a chair.  She mechanically reached for
the food, barely registering that the bag was still unopened.

I had suspected something was wrong the minute Skinner requested to
see Scully alone.  I KNEW something was wrong by looking at her face,
still focused, after the meeting.

I allowed us to eat in silence before tackling the issue.  I noticed
Scully was eating half-heartedly, as if her thoughts were some place
far away...

"So?" I prompted her.

"So, what?"

"What did Stan Carlbadier wanted you for?"

Scully hesitated before answering. "Nothing much. Just a little
undercover work on the sideline..."

" You know Scully, I'd never considered using *Stan Carlbadier* and
*a little undercover work* in the same sentence."  Noticing my humour
attempt had gone by unnoticed, I decided to try it again. "Scully,
Stan Carlbadier is like the major leagues... nothing is just a little
when you work with him. So, what's the scoop?"

She began shuffling some papers around. "I'm... not supposed to tell
you the exact details of the operation..."

"What! I'm your partner, for Christsakes!"

"That's precisely the reason.  See, they need you  in here to keep
working on that profile.  If you were to follow me you could
jeopardise not only my assignment, but yours as well."

"So I'm supposed to stay chained to this stupid desk while you're out
there running around facing God knows what kind of dangers and not
worry about it, is that right?"

"Carlbadier said he'll talk to you about this later."

"I'll be sure to remind him of it."

We continued eating in silence. Scully is deep in thought, and I am
steaming.  How dare those motherfuckers? I hadn't been chained to a
desk since my days with Patterson and those days were definitively
over.

So I could jeopardise the mission, uh? Sure.  Fine.  Whatever.  If
VCS doesn't want to see me around, they won't. That doesn't
necessarily mean I'm not going to be around...

If those bastards think I'm going to let them jeopardise Scully's
well being in one of their "special" missions  they still don't know
Fox Mulder very well.  I've almost lost her one too many times to let
her protection in the hands of those careless slobs.

"Well?", I prompt her once more.

"Well, what?" she replies.  I have to hand it to her. She's mastering
the art of not answering when she doesn't want to.

"What do our little friends at VCS want you to do?"

" I told you... I can't tell you."

"I know. I know. I can jeopardise the whole mission. At least tell me
who are you supposed to play..."

"Mulder..."

"A doctor? Lawyer? Indian chief?"

"Damn it, Mulder."

"All right, what then? A landlady? Some long-lost relative?"

"No," she states flatly.

I can see her shifting uncomfortably on her chair. At least two dozen loud alarm bells are starting to ring in my head.

"They've requested me to go undercover as a dancer..."

I carefully consider this new piece of information before continuing
my interrogatory.   "I wasn't aware of your *artistic* background,
Scully."

"I took ballet lessons once in a while when I was a kid... and I
tried to attend dancing lessons at least once a week while at the
university", she answered, defensively

"My mistake, then. So, you're going to be a dancer... why?"

She shook her head. "Can't tell you..."

More negatives. I could see Scully biting her lower lip, like she did
when she was worried, puzzled or deeply embarrassed.

"Then tell me where, Scully.  Where in the name of God would you go
undercover as a dancer?"

My words come out harsher than I expected, but, for some obscure
reason, knowing the answer was becoming an obsession.

"At a stripper's night club"

"Why you? I mean, you don't look the part..."  I hated being so cold,
but I was getting uneasier by the minute.

"Because they need a redhead ... a natural redhead."

"But why do they need a r..." I interrupted myself.  I looked down at
the profile I was working on.

All the pieces fell into place.  VCS was desperate trying to catch
this guy, having exhausted all the usual means to do it. So now VCS
was setting him a trap. With Scully as bait.

I felt anger boiling inside my head.

"Oh, no. You're not going, Scully. It's too damn dangerous."

"I know what I'm getting into, Mulder. I know the risks."

"Somehow, I'm not sure you're getting the whole picture, Scully.
This guy is a total wacko, If he lays a hand on you..." I shuddered
at the idea, " You'd be dead before your backup arrives!"

"Don't you think I know, Mulder? I did those damn autopsies, in case
you have forgotten!"

I was desperately trying to stop her.  "Even so, I don't think you
have what it takes."

"Goddamit, Mulder! Stop protecting me!"

"I'm not protecting you, it's just that you don't have the necessary
experience to work undercover."

Scully was beginning to loose her patience.   "I am a trained agent,
for Christ's sake!"

"Yeah, and one assigned to ME."

Her eyes grew big and dark.   "You're pulling rank on me, Mulder?"

"If it is what it takes to prevent you from taking this assignment,
then the answer is Yes, I'm pulling rank on you, Scully, and you're
not going. That's final."  I grabbed the phone.  "I'm calling
Carlbadier and pulling  you out of the mission."

Our screaming match had reached such level that neither of us heard
the door open until we heard Skinner's voice.

"And as YOUR superior, I'm telling you, Agent Mulder, that Agent
Scully IS going to this assignment, whereas YOU are not. Am I
making myself clear?"

"But, Sir ..."

"Am I making myself clear, Agent Mulder?"

I looked at Skinner's stone face. I knew it was useless to keep this
going on any longer.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, then.   Agent Scully, Agent Carlbadier is waiting for
you... he'll take you to meet your contact at the club."

"Yes, Sir."  Scully hurriedly collected her purse and jacket and left
the office without as much as a glance thrown my way.

I could feel Skinner's glare in the back of my head.

"Would that be all, Sir?" I swear to God I wasn't trying to be
sarcastic...

"I'm not trough with you Agent Mulder," replied Skinner, while he
turned around and locked the door.

Turning back again, he motioned me to come closer. I did.  Years of
experience have taught me not to mess with him when he's in this
mood.

"Agent Mulder," his voice is low, tense, "I don't like the idea of
putting Agent Scully in unnecessary danger any more than you do," he
grates out.

I set my jaw and prepare for the lecture. But he surprises me. He
gives a world weary sigh. He runs his fingers up under his glasses
and pinches the bridge of his nose. When he removes his hand his eyes
are somewhat less dark. But his jaw is still stiff as he continues.

"But look - Mulder. You have to consider how precarious your situation
is with the Bureau right now. The only reason you have the X-Files is
because you're useful to VCS. Therefore, when they say come you are
only allowed to ask when.  No more, no less."

I nodded gravely.   As much as I despised the rules I still knew some
of them... like those who could make the difference between keeping
the X-Files and being kicked out of the FBI... and Skinner had
appealed to the Golden Rule of All Rules: whether I liked it or not,
my ass officially belonged to the VCS.

"However, once your profile is finished, you're allowed to join the
other field agents in this killer's manhunt." He paused and gave me a
stern look. "Besides, I am not responsible of what you do in your
free time."

I gave Skinner one of my patented questioning looks. He gives me back
one of his patented unreadable ones.

"You've been working down here for more that 48 hours. That entitles
you to a day or two off. Regarding you finished your profile, that
is."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.   Skinner was giving me...
well, you could say he was giving me permission to look after Scully.

"Finish that profile, Agent Mulder. That's all I'm requesting."
Skinner turned around to leave.  When he reached the door he turned
around and tossed something my way.

"I believe this is the evidence you need, Agent Mulder."

And with that, he was gone.

I looked at the object Skinner had tossed to me.  A matchbook.  From
a stripper joint.

I sat down and contemplated the evidence and information surrounding
me.  I checked the lab results Scully had brought and forgotten on
her desk.  I was beginning to get a clearer picture of this guy...

With a sigh of determination I sat down on my desk, starting to sink
deeper and deeper into this guy's psyche.  Redhead killing redheads.
Brutal killings, the release of a deep hatred.  Payback for a
hurtful betrayal...

Somewhere in a lost part of my brain, the image of another redhead
was dimming into the background.

I began to type furiously.

I had finished printing the profile when Stan Carlbadier came into
the office.

"I was looking for you, Mulder", he simply stated as he sat down.

"That makes two of us, Stan. I was about to go looking for you to
give you the profile."

"You done already?" The question held a mixture of admiration and
suspicion.

"Yup. I must say that, without Scully's discoveries during the
autopsies, I would still be struggling to understand this guy."

Carlbadier began skimming over the written profile. "Are you sure we
are looking for a redhead, Mulder?"

"Positive."

"That'll make things a lot easier for us." He sighed and placed the
file on top of the desk. "I didn't come looking for you to talk about
the profile, though..."

I just sat there, looking at him.  I was still angry at their idea of
risking Scully's well being, and damned if I was going to help him
by making this any easier.

"I'll go straight to the point.  I know you don't like us using
Scully as bait for this guy.  I don't like it either, but we don't
have much choice. She's the only available agent at such  short
notice, and she knows what we are dealing with here."

He paused, waiting for me to say something. But I remained silent.
I couldn't trust myself not to say something I'd later regret.

"Damn it, Mulder, I wouldn't do it if there was another way out of
this mess!  But it's done and I'm not changing my mind about it.  I
came down here to tell you that when you finished the profile you
were free to go home."

"Go... home..." I muttered, clenching my jaws. "I don't get a chance
to go out and play with the other kids, do I?"

"Mulder, you're tired, you're not assigned to the team and you're too
emotionally involved to be of any use..."

"I'm what???" The hell with composure, I've never been the ideal FBI
agent to begin with.

"You heard me. I don't want you at the stakeout. That's final. You
got a problem with that, take it to Skinner.  You did your job and
now you're officially back in the X-Files..."

"Yeah...go chase some aliens, Spooky and leave everyday criminals to
the good guys."

Carlbadier and I turned to the door as one.  Standing there, smiling
wickedly, was Tom Pain-in-the-Ass Colton. I opened my mouth to reply
to his smartass comment, but Stan beat me to it.

"Agent Colton, hand in your badge and gun. You're suspended".

"What! I didn't do anything! I was backing you up in your decision to
leave Spooky out of the game..."

"You heard me, Colton."  Visibly upset, Colton dropped his gun and
badge on top of the desk. "That's be all. I'll have Skinner's
secretary call you at home when we're ready to determine your return
to this section."

Colton opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better about
it, and turned around to leave.

"And, Colton?" Tom turned around, half expecting the whole thing to
be a joke. "Next time you address Agent Mulder by any other than his
last name, I'll personally kick your ass out of the Bureau."

Carlbadier completely dismissed Colton and turned back to look at me.
"Asshole", he muttered.

I felt somewhat uncomfortable, not being used to have someone else
do my battles for me.  I wasn't sure if I should thank Stan or just
let the whole thing go unmentioned.

"Stan..."

"Go home, Mulder. Get some rest.  Come back tomorrow noon.  We'll
discuss then if you get a chance to play bodyguard for Dr. Scully."

With that, he turned and left.

I grabbed my overcoat and followed suit.  I had a redhead to catch.
Two, actually, if things got really bad.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

STARDUST NIGHT CLUB
AUGUST 9
11:23 P.M.

The Stardust Night Club wasn't what I had expected.  Perhaps I had
been misled in my assumptions by the image of the Vegas Stardust.
Never been there, mind you, but I had seen "Showgirls" enough times
as to feel acquainted with the place.

It's Washington twin was more of a distant cousin. It wasn't ritzy
or flashy.  No big marquee on the outside, no fancy signs announcing
their dancing stars, no red carpet or anxious valet waiting to whisk
your car the minute you got out, hoping to earn a juicy tip.

No. The Stardust Night Club in Washington D.C. was a dark and
distinguished building, with a classy neon sign at a first-floor
level and a very discreet double door entrance. Everything was nice
and tasteful, lest anyone think that government employees liked to
get down and dirty in their spare time.

Inside, things were a little different. For one, it was brighter.
And the atmosphere went from discreet to outright blatant. The
testosterone overload in the air was so thick you could almost taste
it.  It reminded me of a huge and decadent bachelor party.

Finding Scully's contact wasn't very difficult. It was just a matter
of finding the right hand to squeeze with a twenty among the club's
staff. Both the bartender and the bouncers had seen Candy, one of the
club's employees, arriving earlier that night with a petite redhead.

Doug, one of the bouncers, told me that Candy was the one in charge
of the new dancers.  He said she had been working in the club for six
years and the only employee with more seniority was Oscar, the owner.
It seems this guy Oscar trusted her unconditionally and never
questioned her choice of dancers.

He pointed her out to me when she briefly appeared behind the stage's
curtains. She filled the "blond bimbo" stereotype up to the nines,
chewing gum included.

"You sure the owner trusts her?" I asked, doubtfully.

Marty laughed. "Don't let appearances deceive you. Underneath that
bubbly blond exterior lies the brains of a nuclear scientist and the
commercial instincts of a Wall Street broker."

"If you say so..."

"Me and everyone else. She's busy right now with the crash course for
the new dancer, but she'll be free in an hour, tops. Have a drink,
enjoy the view, and I'll introduce you two on our next break."

"Sure, why not?" I mumbled trying to sound excited at the prospect.

At least, Scully was still around and I could keep an eye on her.

Half an hour later I was deeply in conversation with Mike, the
bartender.  I told him this is my first time at the Stardust and
asked him if the girls are nice.  He tells me they are.

"But... how nice?" I kept asking. I wanted to make sure Scully was
safe inside as well as outside.

"Well... Oscar, the owner, would throw out any girl, no matter how
popular, if he suspected she was doing drugs... and he won't pick
up girls from the street just because they're busty.  No, no.  To work
at the Stardust the girls need to audition. We are a decent business".

I tried to look disappointed.  "So, no hanky-panky going on?"

A broad smile crossed Mike's face.  "No... unless you got enough
cash on you and the lady in question finds you slightly attractive".

I raised an eyebrow in my best Scully imitation. "That so?"

"Yup.  You see, after a dancer has left the stage, most guys will try
to place a wager ... it's like bidding for the chance of getting a
private dance.  The highest bidder gets the privilege of the dance."

I was both curious and worried. *Private dance my ass*, I thought.
"And what can you expect from a private dance session?"

"That would depend on the girl... and how much cash you've got on
you... 50 dollars to get a lap dance... 500 bucks could get you a
night to remember... "

So much for the *decency* of the club.  "Thought you said they were
no street girls..."

"No. No street-girls for the Stardust... only top-quality, 5 star
escorts and call-girls... most of the ladies here get their kicks out
of champagne and caviar, and you better have a limo waiting for them
at the door... "

The phone rang and Mike went to answer it.  I was feeling uneasy.  I
looked around to see what kind of guys went to the Stardust for a
little fun.  Most of them looked like respectable, married men all
dressed up pretty much like me.  A couple of biker type here and
there, but ,mostly, it looked like a respectable place.

Still, the idea of any of these guys laying a hand on Scully made my
stomach churn.  I sighed.  Maybe no one would find her as appealing
as the other dancers...

Sure. And maybe Scully would come out dancing with little grey men as
a chorus line.

I caught a glimpse of Scully's hair behind the stage's curtain. I
moved closer and thought I saw a concerned look on her face. She was
biting her lower lip in apprehension while looking at the dancer
performing on the stage.

I looked at this girl. Tall, long legs, nice breasts, black, wild
hair.  A couple of years ago I would have been drooling all over the
place for her.   But that was before I fell for Scully. Now I can
only think in terms of red and blue.   What can I say? I'm addicted
to her.

But I could see why Scully was feeling uneasy.   She's the most
modest, private person I've ever met.  I couldn't imagine Scully
stripping down to barely nothing and keeping a cool facade...

I was sure she'd do it. I mean, she's a professional.  She'd get the
job done.   But I seriously couldn't believe she'd be able to pull
this off without blushing from her head to her toes.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Scully and Candy returning from
the backstage. I quickly mingled with the crowd, hoping Scully
wouldn't recognise me.  I followed them outside just in time to see
Scully getting into her car and driving away.

"Remember, 9:30 a.m.!", called the blond after the moving vehicle. I
could see Scully waving her hand.

My car was parked behind the club. I got in and drove to Scully's
apartment.  When I got there, I saw that her car was parked in its
appointed slot, and the lights were on inside her place.  I grabbed
my cell phone and speed dialled her number.

"Scully". To an outsider, her voice would have been crisp and
professional.  But I know her better. And I know she's deeply annoyed
and would have anyone's head for breakfast if provoked.

"It's me."   I've never taken the time for niceties like saying hello
or goodbye and Scully doesn't seem to mind... at least, not much.

"What is it, Mulder? Weren't the lab reports clear enough for you to
understand them?  Or are you expecting me to run out to perform
another autopsy at 2:00 in the morning?"  She's in her sarcastic
mood.  So maybe we'll change *annoyed* for a more suitable term.
*Royally pissed off* comes to mind.

"I just wanted to see if you're okay..."   Playing it cool seemed
like a good strategy at the moment.

"Well, you know I'm home and in one piece, so you might as well drive
back to your apartment, cause I'm not in the mood for midnight visits,
ok? I'm fine."  And, with that, she hung up.

I couldn't believe it.  Damn it! She knew I was outside.  I wondered
if she knew I had been following her.  I hoped not.  When Scully gets
this angry it is advisable to stay out of her way.  And of her firing
range.

I sighed. At least I knew she was safe at home. And I also knew she
was meeting Candy at 9:30.  I wasn't expected at the office until
noon. That should give me enough time to see what was she going to do
and where she would be.  It would also give me enough time to figure
out how to convince Stan Carlbadier to allow me to keep an eye on
her.

Officially, that is.

Sighing, I turned on the ignition and went home.  And although I was
exhausted both mentally and physically, I was also feeling restless.
I was familiar with the sensation.  It is the same high I always
experience after a profile.

Sleeping was out of the question.  So was chatting with Scully to
help us both to relax.  That left only one thing to do.  I plopped
down on the couch and sat there watching one of those videos that
weren't mine.

I sighed again. If I couldn't unwind enough, the next day was going
to be a hard one.

If I had only known what lay in store for me ...
 

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT
AUGUST 10
6:34 A.M.

I used to have a teacher back at Oxford who said that a psychologist's
worst curse and best asset was his capacity for empathy.  Your
insight on the patient will always be accurate, but you'll walk
through hell and back with him on the way to recovery.  He also said
that I've better consider a career change if I didn't want to end in
therapy myself.

I began my profiler career like most other FBI hopefuls: back in
Quantico during the basic training. Although a remedial course for
some, Profiling Techniques and Behavioral Science is mandatory for
everyone who has a psychology or psychiatry background.  Needless to
say, profiling is such a tough and delicate art they watch us like
hawks, trying to find that diamond in the rough that will become the
next 'golden boy' of the violent crime unit.

The guys who trained me thought I was that rough diamond. My former
teacher asked if I had a death wish when I wrote to tell him I was
going into the FBI as a profiler.  My younger peers were awed by my
skill, and my senior agents were spooked by it.

But I was young and naive then. And I thought I knew better than an
old professor living in England.  Nowadays I do know better: he was
right and the rest of the world was not.  I still keep his letter,
the only one I ever got from him, and today I decided to look for it.

Not that I need a reminder of its content.  I know that by heart.  I
think I was looking for some sort of affirmation, some mystic,
inexplicable connection that would tell me I did the right thing.  It
strikes me as funny how a letter dated 10 years ago can seem to have
been written for my present state of mind.

Professor McAddy had a definitive opinion on my choices in life after
graduating for Oxford. He said that as sure as night I'd be in danger
of loosing my sanity, even my soul, if I pursued the profiler path I
seemed so intent on following.  That I'd find it too easy to turn
into the killer to catch a killer, to become a monster in order to
understand a monster. And that his deepest fear was that one day I
wouldn't be able to come back from those dark places I would roam
while trying to figure out what made a man turn into a hideous
cartoon of humanity.

Today I'm sure that if hadn't left BSU when I did, if I hadn't
started obsessing about the X-Files, I would have definitively turned
into some kind of sociopath misfit.  And I'm not even sure I left
quickly enough as to keep my sanity intact.  But my soul was just
mildly scarred when I met Scully.

Scully.  I'm not sure Professor McAddy had a red-headed dynamo in
mind when he strongly advised me to keep away from working with
female partners.  His reasoning makes as much sense today as it did
so many years ago.  I'm doomed to repeat the loss pattern I
experienced when Sam was abducted.  Doomed to be overly protective,
unwilling to give them credit as capable individuals, unable to
develop any kind of feeling towards them out of fear of lost.

Amazing how the old man could be so damnably right about me.  He
mapped my emotional sites with such ease it still scares me to think
I could be so predictable.

But even a legendary eminence such as the Professor can be wrong.
Not totally wrong, but wrong, nonetheless.  For I have developed
feelings towards Scully that shouldn't be there. Must not be there.
But the feelings are there.  Stronger than any other emotion, deeper
than any of my obsessions.  And fear had nothing to do with them.

Wrong.

Fear has everything to do with it.  It's always been around, like a
cloak, like a shroud.  Fear of rejection, fear of love itself.  But,
above all this, fear of loss.

For loosing her is the only thing I could never bear.  Not without
loosing myself with her.

So I'm willing to make a sacrifice. I'll become the monster one more
time, perhaps one last time, in order to save her. It seems like a
fair trade: my sanity for my soul.  My life for hers.

At the end, that old man from Oxford was right.  My emotions override
rational thought.  My greatest nemesis would be no other one but
myself. And time has come for me to face those facts.

So I begin the slow painful journey into the nightmarish hell that
I've come to know so well.  Slowly, but steadily, I become the
killer, feeling his need to stalk and kill.  A need for vengeance.

I can only hope that it is love that sees me through this.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON DC
AROUND NOON

I saw Sarah last night.  She was coming out of one of those sinful
dance places.  But she got away before I had a chance to talk to her.
She was hanging around with a blond slut.  I don't think I've ever
seen that broad before.  But I'm sure she must be the one that's
been whispering naughty words into Sarah's ear.

I'm pretty sure of it. Sarah would never dream of going to a place
like that.  She would have never taken her clothes off in front of a
group of strangers.  Never.  So the blond bitch must have talked
her into it.  I find no other explanation.

Sarah would never do something like that.  Other gals would certainly
do, but not my Sarah. I know her well, and I know she wouldn't.

But I noticed something different about her last night. The way she
was dressed was different. Sarah's a simple gal, but her clothes were
fancy, ritzy.  Like she was rich or something.

I also noticed she was driving a car.  Not the second-hand wreck she
could have afforded, but a brand new one.  The kind that looks
expensive and probably is.

And I wonder where she got the money.  Her good-for-nothing brother
couldn't have given it to her. She don't buy lotto tickets.  So she
must have earned it. Or someone gave it to her. And I'm not stupid.
No one gives out fancy cars and elegant clothes for free or out of
the goodness of their hearts.

I feel disappointed.  Sarah promised she was going to be a good wife.
She promised she wouldn't go back to her old tricks. She promised.
And I believed her.  Seems I was a fool to do so.

It also seems like I would have to teach her a lesson. I'll have to
teach her once and for all how to keep her promises.  By the time I'm
through with her she'll be begging my forgiveness and will think
twice before even considering to break her promise.

Yes. Sarah and I will have ourselves a little chat.

Tonight.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT
AUGUST 10
2:52 P.M.

I need a cold shower. And I need it real bad. I don't think I've ever
needed one as badly as I need it now.

But today... when I saw Scully back at the Stardust Club today...
and to think what will happen tonight... oh, God... I don't think
I'm going to be able to behave in an appropriate fashion.

Just to imagine her wearing those clothes... Christ, I need to take
a plunge in the Arctic Ocean.  And I'm still not sure that will work,
either.  Not the way my imagination is running right now.

I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at Scully again without
getting a hard-on.  I mean, there have been times before when my
baser instincts were a little bit stronger than my will power.  But,
after what I saw today... I don't think I'd even  be able to see
her straight in the eyes.

Damn VCS and my profiling expertise.  Damn Stan Carlbadier for
dragging Scully into this undercover assignment.  Damn her, too, for
willingly taking the job.

Damn the psycho with a thing for redheads.  The redhead psycho who
kept exacting his private vendetta on every redhead woman working
the streets... or dancing her clothes off, for that matter.

And damn Victoria's Secret, and every other store that catered to
women's fancies and tempted male libidos.  Places like that reminded
me of a giant spider web, where a guy could get tangled and choke to
death on silk and lace, and still die a happy fellow.

How am I supposed to concentrate on the case if all I can think of is
her?  How can I protect her if the killer feels the need to attack
tonight at the club? How, indeed?

Dear God... what have I done?

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

EARLIER THAT DAY

It was barely a few minutes past eight when I parked my car one block
away from Scully's apartment. Walked over to see if her car was still
there, knowing I had arrived with plenty of time to spare, but
checking to make sure all the same.

Having convinced myself that she was at home, I went back to my car
and opened the bag that contained the coffee and bagel I had bought
on my way here. I've always thought that stakeouts are always done
better on a full stomach.

Stakeout.  Something I get to do quite often in my line of work. I
should be used to it by now, but I'm nervous all the same. I don't
think I ever thought I'd be staking out Scully, but that's exactly
what I'm doing.

I looked at my cell phone, debating whether or not to give her a
call.  Last night she was pretty angry and I did not dare to risk
upsetting her again, so I decided I'd better not call her. At least,
not yet. So I sipped my cup of coffee and settled down to wait.

Half and hour later I saw Scully leave her building and get in her
car. I gave her a couple of minutes of advantage and then I started
mine. I followed her, being specially careful not to be seen.  She
picked up Candy in front of the club and headed for a shopping mall.
I had never been in that particular mall before, so I didn't know
what to expect.

Scully dropped the blond stripper at the front doors, and went
looking for a parking place.  I waited until I saw her go inside the
mall to park my car and followed her inside.

Candy was waiting for Scully in front of a beauty parlor. I've always
hated those places. I remember the last time my mother dragged me
inside one.  I must have been 10 years old ... the smell of spray and
God-knows-what-else was so strong I still get nauseous just thinking
about it.

I waited outside for more than 45 minutes.  What the hell were those
two doing inside?  Nothing could take that long, could it?  I've
never been very fond of all that female war fare.  I'm a sucker for
the results, mind you, but I'd rather not know how women achieve it.

As casually as possible I strolled outside the door, straining my
ears to see if I could hear something that could give me a clue. Luck
proved to be on my side, and I got to hear Scully's voice.

She was complaining.  "Candy ... is this really necessary? I mean,
can't I just do it myself?"

Candy just laughed. "Ruby, dear, {Ruby? Was that Scully's undercover
name? Ruby? How original can they get?} I've been in the business for
more than 6 years now, and believe me, darling, I still can't get the
waxing right... "

Waxing?  What waxing?  What is this Candy talking about?

"But... but... "

Scully sputtering? What the hell was going on inside that place?
I've never heard the kind of panic in her voice... not even when
facing the mutants we've came across one too many times in the past.
So what could she be facing now?

"Look girlfriend, let's get over with this.   Let André do his job.
You won't regret it.   After all, you want to look nice in your
g-string, don't you?"

Oh. Realisation downed on me.  That kind of waxing.  No wonder why
Scully was trying to talk her way out of it... I tried to picture her
getting waxed... and I found the thought of it too arousing.

I told myself I'd better not let my imagination go there, as fun and
tempting as it looked. I had to remind myself that Scully was my
partner, and that I should try to keep things professional, but my
libido seemed to have other ideas of its own.  My heart seemed to be
walking down the same path, which left only my conscience and my
intellect to deal with matters in what was considered an appropriate
way.

Another 45 minutes went by. I was beginning to get restless. Finally,
I saw Candy and Scully leaving the beauty parlor. Scully didn't look
very happy.  Can't say I blamed her.  I had the distinct feeling that
Scully was hating every minute of this assignment, and was truly
regretting not having refused to do it.

I followed them, expecting to see them go in and out of different
stores.  To my surprise, they headed straight into a Victoria's
Secrets boutique.  My libido was somersaulting. That place reminds
me of a candy store full of goodies, specifically designed to lure
unsuspecting males into the realms of erotic fantasies...

There was no way I could get into the boutique without being noticed,
so I waited outside.  I tried to think about other things, like how I
could protect Scully if the psycho decided to prey on her, but my
mind kept wondering back to what kind of ensemble Scully would choose
to perform in... I pictured her in something delicate and flowery...

It took almost a minute before I realised what I was doing. I was
thinking of Scully not as my partner, but as a woman. And it
definitively was a dangerous road to travel.  Still, I couldn't help
to think how she'd look in a leopard print, or black lace... or soft
green silk.

I shook my head trying to clear my thoughts. This was Scully, my
partner. My friend. The rational side of our mismatched duo. I could
not regard her as a woman. I shouldn't. Too many things were at stake
and I could loose everything we had if I let my feeling for her
interfere.

And yet still... no one in his right mind would be able to deny that
Dana Scully was one hot number.

Scully and Candy were leaving the store with a couple of bags.  I hid
as quickly as possible, certain that Scully had seen me and was
headed my way to demand an explanation.

But she kept on walking next to Candy.   She looked... radiant.  She
was blushing, but in a different way. I'd never seen her like that. I
felt a warm tug at my heart and something, definitively warmer, in my
groin.  Warning signals were flashing in my head, but I chose to
ignore them.

You see, I had to find out what Scully had bought.  My mental health
depended on it.  Not that it was too stable to begin with... the porn
videothon that lasted well into the early hours of the morning had
left my defences weak and my senses... well , heightened.

An heated battle was taking place inside my head. My intellect ordered
me to follow them, that I was keeping watch over Scully and would
never forgive myself if something happened to her while I was playing
hooky.

The rest of me, however, had a different idea. Torn between duty and
desire, I allowed my heart to make the decision. And so I turned
around and went into the boutique.

"May I help you?"

I looked at the sales girl and flashed her my most charming smile.
She smiled back.  It was good knowing that I haven't forgotten how to
do it. Scully always seemed immune to my disarming smile and
seductive personality... though, if I had to be perfectly honest, her
lack of acknowledgement had made our innuendo's game even more
thrilling.  Not knowing how she'll react made it all more fun, more
addictive, more... dangerous.

"You see. I'm... aah...  looking for a present for my fiancé. {Now,
why did I said that?} She's a redhead and I'm  not really sure what
would suit her... I saw a redhead just like her coming out of the
store a minute ago and I thought that, maybe, if you showed me what
this girl had bought... "

I gave the girl my most innocent and adorable look.  And it worked.
She must have thought I was the most considerate fiancé a girl could
ask for. As if.

"Why, certainly, sir.  I helped the lady put together the ensemble
she bought.  Come this way, please."

I followed the girl around, trying to keep a straight face while
surrounded by lace and satin and all kinds of lingerie.  Not an easy
task, if you should know.  I had to remember the flukeman to remain
calm.  I almost achieved it.

Almost.

The salesgirl came back with the clothes, what little was of them,
anyway. I watched them, in shock.  Not because I'd never seen
anything like it before, mind you, but because I was picturing Scully
wearing them.

Push-up satin bra. Lace g-string and matching garter belt. Stockings.
And a silk, kimono-like robe.

I held  the soft cloth in my trembling fingers, hoping the girl
wouldn't notice how badly they were shaking. My senses were going
into a lust-like frenzy . I could barely pay attention to what the
girl was telling me.  The mental images were that overwhelming.

"I'm sorry, sir. But we're out of the robe in red. Would you like to
see it in another colour?"

"Excuse me?"

"Red. The lady you saw chose the robe in red. I'm sure you'd like to
buy the same colour that she... "

"No, never mind. I'll just bring her and have her choose whatever she
likes, ok?"

I gave her a slight smile and almost ran out of the place. My hands
were trembling so badly that it took me three tries to open the car's
door.  Once inside I couldn't stop shaking.

My imagination was on overload, and my forehead was hot.  To be
perfectly honest, it wasn't the only part of my body that felt hot,
but I couldn't allow myself to give into the feeling. I just couldn't
allow myself to delve too deeply into the sensations.  Knowing I was
attracted to Scully was one thing.  Knowing she could arouse me like
this was something completely different.

"Breathe, breathe... common, damnit, focus.  Mulder, you need to
focus NOW."

Slowly, very slowly, I recovered my self-control.   And I knew I was
in for trouble. Big time.  If I couldn't control my reactions looking
at the clothes, how was I going to control myself when I saw Scully
actually wearing them?

What was I going to do when she began stripping?

How was I going to be able to protect her from a hormonal ape, let
alone a maniac, if all my attention was focused on just a tiny (well,
not really) part of my body?  I had to get a grip on myself and start
thinking with my upper head, and forget the lower one for the time
being...

I let my head come in contact with the steering wheel. Hard. The pain
seemed  to clear my thoughts.  A little anyway.  Enough to bring them
back to the case.  Scully was going to be in danger, a sitting duck
target for an extremely vicious killer.

Therefore, I couldn't afford to just sit down and enjoy the view.
I've never trusted the VCU protection of undercover agents, and I
have a dislocated shoulder to vouch for their neglect.  And that time
it had been white collar criminals, not a cold-blooded murderer.

So I felt it was up to me to make sure Scully was okay. Irrational?
Yes. A total lunacy? Maybe.  But I wouldn't be able to stop feeling
restless until this case was over and I knew for sure that Scully was
out of danger.

What I had to do now was find Scully and keep and eye on her. I also
had to find a way to persuade Stan Carlbadier to let me take part of
the stakeout team.  And I knew that Agent Carlbadier was a though
cookie to bite on.  I was going to need an extremely good persuasion
technique if I wanted to be on the case.

I checked my watch and noticed it was quarter to twelve. I wouldn't
be able to make it to the office in time for the meeting, not with
the lunch hour rush a few minutes away. A phone call would have to
do.

Problem is... I'm not that good persuading people on the phone. Then
again, you can always blame misunderstandings on bad connections and
bouts of static...

I dialled Carlbadier's office.  Just my luck that he had already left
for a meeting.  But he had left a message for me.  I had earned a
couple of days off and should only come to the office if I came up
with any other ideas about the killer.  Other than that, I was out of
the case.

I thanked the secretary and hung up. I was on my own on this one,
which could be a far better fare than if I had to work under the
orders of Stan Carlbadier.  I could do as I pleased and wouldn't have
to account for my actions to anyone.

And considering the way I felt about the whole thing, not being
allowed to work due to my "emotional attachment" to the case might
just be the best thing that could have happened.

I started the car and headed for the club. To be able to keep an eye
on Scully, I had to find her first, and I thought this was the most
obvious place to start looking for her.  My gut was betting 10 to
nothing that I would find her there.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Damn my gut, my instincts and my insane need to protect her.

And damn my jeans. I should have brought my sweatpants. Who am I
kidding? A circus tent would have proven to be too restricting the
way things were going just then. God, talk about tents. No, Mulder -
do yourself a favour - don't look down and think about any kind of
tent. Oh shit.

You see, I did find Scully at the club. And when I found her, I
thought that I had died and gone to Heaven.  It was only later that I
realised that the truth was that I was slowly burning in Hell.

She was rehearsing.  Candy was guiding her in a routine guaranteed to
blow a few minds away. At least, it was blowing mine quite nicely.

So this is why I was standing in the shadows of the second floor,
watching a petite redhead sway her hips in time with some erotic
love song, shaking her head, eyes closed in concentration.  If you
watched real closely you could be able to see her tongue darting over
her lips, as her hands slowly and sensuously caressed her thighs...

She was completely dressed.   But her dancing was the most erotic
thing I'd ever seen.  Besides, she's the woman my heart had been
aching for, the woman who could question my mind endlessly,  the
woman my body has lusted after for 5 years.

Maybe that's the reason why I was unwillingly but slowly rubbing
myself, trying to relieve some of the pressure building inside  my
jeans. I was biting my lower lip to stifle my moans. I was fighting
really hard to keep my self control.

But then her hands moved to her shirt and she started undoing the
buttons.  Unknowingly to her, she was also starting to undo my
resistance.

I couldn't control my reactions anymore. I reached forward and gripped
the railing hard. I opened my jeans and began stroking myself keeping
rhythm with the music. Oh man, it felt good too. My breathing was
picking up a little more. I was starting to pant, my mouth open.

The shirt came off and underneath I saw the white cotton of a sports
bra.

I let out a huffing sigh of relief. I wasn't sure I could handle any
other kind of lingerie at the moment. I thought I was safe.

I thought I could get things back under control.

Until she began caressing her breasts.

Jesus....I...I really started to crank myself hard then. Couldn't
help it. She has...her nipples were hard little...nubs...and she...
was t-touch...all over...Oh FUCK!

When my mind returned from the O-zone, I still had the railing in a
death grip. I'd sunk to my knees, weak as a kitten. Christ, I came
hard. I closed my eyes tightly. I didn't dare glance over or down
through the railing to see what Scully was doing. It might have
killed me.

I needed to get out of there.  Fast.   Before I made a bigger fool out
of myself.   Before I decided to throw caution to the wind and confess
my feelings for her,  before taking her home with me.  I fled when I
felt desire stepping in again.

Believe me, I fled.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

OUTSIDE THE STARDUST NIGHTCLUB
AUGUST 10
2:00 P.M.

I know Sarah is inside that place, that house of harlots, tower of
sin.  My heart bleeds just thinking about it.  Her mother would die
of shame if she knew, but, God merciful, she's already dead.

A tall guy left in a hurry a while ago.  He seems somewhat familiar.
Perhaps he was here last night, I don't know.  I can't be sure.

But what I'm sure of is that he was hiding something.  He was trying
to hide his shameful behaviour.  But the Lord sees it as well as I
did.  He had his sin written all over him.  And if it wasn't enough,
the bulge and wet spot in his crotch gave him away.

I know. I'm a God fearing man, but a man after all. And I know lust
when I see it. Oh yes, I do. The bastard was inside letting the beast
in him roam loose.

And something inside me tells me he was lusting after my Sarah. Using
her as an object for his lowly passions.  Perhaps he is the one who's
been giving her all those fancy gifts.

Heaven help them if I catch them together.  I swear to God I'll kill
them both if I do. That's a promise.

And I never break my promises.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT
AUGUST 10
4:54 P.M.

I sat rigidly on my couch, thinking.  I got home 2 hours ago and
spent almost one under the cold shower I so badly needed. I stayed
under the water until I felt I had come to my senses again.

And now I was sitting here.  And I was scared shitless.  I felt like
I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.  Like I fucked-up big time.
And the scariest part is that I'm such a coward, such a fucking coward,
that I can't bring myself to admit why I was feeling like this.

Deep down I know why.   Deep down I knew I had just blown my working,
no,  make that overall, relationship  with Dana Scully.  I know I'd
never be able to look at her again, to talk to her again, without sex
raising its ugly head over us.  Thinking of her will get me carried
away... touching her will, undoubtedly, be a sure-fire way to get an
erection.

And I didn't think I was going to be able to live in perpetual
arousal without loosing my mind.  I'm so in love with her that it is
getting to be physically painful.  I might go crazy with wanton and
lust and unrequited love...

But I'd never be able to tell her.

I'd turn my heart into stone, I'd bury my feelings deep within myself
until I was sure they'd be lost forever.  I was even willing to loose
my soul, what little there was of it, and become a ghost of the human
being  I once was.

But I'd never tell her.

I couldn't.

Because telling her would open the doors of myself.   And once I open
those doors I wouldn't be able to close them again.  Because once I
bare my soul and heart to Scully, I wouldn't be able to have them
back. I couldn't have them back.

They'd belong to her.   And I love her too much to burden her with
them. I didn't want Scully to suffer because of me.  I didn't want
Scully to accept them out of pity or guilt. And I couldn't bear to
hear her say she didn't want them.

I'd rather kill myself first than die at her feet from a broken
heart.  I still got some pride stored somewhere inside.  I was going
to have to rely on pride to continue living next to her.

I won't make a fool of myself showing Scully the depths of my desire
for her.  I won't embarrass her telling her about the ever-consuming
force of my love for her.   I won't let her pick around my brain.  I
won't allow her to gaze into my soul.  I still got my pride.

And pride could be a very motivating force.

Very motivating, indeed.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

I sighed and looked at my watch. It was almost six o'clock.  In less
than 3 hours Scully was going to start stripping in front of a room
full of strangers, each of them a possible stalker, murderer or
rapist.  In less than 3 hours Scully could be in grave danger.

But she didn't need my protection.   She's a trained FBI agent,
capable of taking care of herself,  capable of kicking butt.   The
night club will be swarming with undercover FBI agents from VCS ready
to kill the first guy who tries to put a hand on her.

No, she didn't need my protection.   She didn't need my disabled male
ego trying to prove I could protect her.  And she definitively didn't
need my teenaged, hormonal libido hanging from her garter belt.

What she needed is her peace of mind to concentrate on the task at
hand. She needed to know she's doing her job well.   She needed to feel
she's proving her worth as an agent.  She needed someone to tell her
she's doing okay.

And while she didn't need a partner looking after her, and while she
didn't need a lover making her anxious, she might as well need a
friend to help her to her feet should she fall down and to pat her
back when she succeeded.

I respect and I trust her unconditionally, the way I'd never will
trust a partner again.  I lust after her, like the lover I would
never become but will always dream to be.

But I love her.  Not as a man is capable of loving a woman.   My love
goes beyond that. I love the woman and I love the partner, but, if I
had to choose, I'd rather love the friend.

And I had the feeling that she might need a friend tonight.  And because
I love Dana Scully, the friend, I was going back to that club.  Even
if it meant destroying my own heart in the process.

May God have mercy of my soul.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

AUTHOR'S NOTES: We're still dealing with sex references
                and adult content in this part. Don't
                say I didn't warn you beforehand.

                I'm not writing the lyrics to "Lady in Red".
                Guess that if you're old enough to be reading this,
                you're old enough to know that song.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

OUTSIDE THE STARDUST NIGHT CLUB
AUGUST 10
9:28 P.M.

I'm feeling a little better.  Just a little.  But I'm not betting on
this comfort to last forever. I know darn well what is going to
happen here tonight and I'm not at all happy with the idea.  There're
too many things at stake, far too many things that can go wrong for
me to feel comfortable tonight.

Besides, I'm also feeling a little embarrassed. I've been here fifteen
minutes and I've already recognised some 12 undercover FBI agents who
work with Stan Carlbadier.  If they've seen me, they have appeared
not to notice.

But they're not stupid. Monday morning the whole building is going to
be buzzing with the news... 'Spooky' Mulder was seen at a strip
club! And he was there to watch how the demure 'Ice Queen' bared it
all!  Told you he had the hots for her!  Told you they are having an
affair!

Yeah... I've heard the rumours. Enough of them, anyway, to know that
my fellow colleagues are a tad too interested in my relationship with
Scully.  I even heard there's an ongoing betting pool to be collected
by the first who sees us kissing in public.

I believe that one as much as I believe the one that we got married
at the hospital when Scully was dying of cancer. Seems that someone
saw Father MacCue walk into her room while I was inside. I find it
hard to believe that people have nothing else better to do than
discuss if we're having a relationship or not.

Anyway, my presence here has surely rocked the rumour mill. Which is
making me even more nervous.  It's going to be somewhat difficult not
making a fool of myself in front of all this guys when Scully comes
out on stage.

Maybe the sight of Scully stripping will get their minds away from my
reactions.  Curiously enough, I don't find that thought comforting;
it's more like an irritating idea.  I wonder how many of the guys in
here will still be able to see the agent and not only the woman
after tonight... probably not many.

And I feel angry and sad at the same time.  Scully has fought so hard
to show that she can play this game as well as all the other boys,
and now all that effort is about to come tumbling down due to this
absurd mission.

Knowing Scully, this was a risk she decided to take. For she's not
only risking her physical integrity, she's also risking her
reputation as an agent. I'm not sure whether Skinner and Carlbadier
understood that when they asked her to do this.

And that brings me back to here, to now. I'd be lying if I said I'm
not interested in watching her just wearing a tiny g-string, I'm
human, after all.  But I'm also here to back her up when she comes
out of that dressing room and has to face the undercover team. No one
would dare to say anything in her face, but I want to make sure no
one says anything behind her back... at least, not tonight.

With that in mind, I walk inside the night club. I can only hope
everything will turn out all right.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

The minute I came into the night-club I began searching around for a
tell-tale shade of red hair among the patrons.  I notice two men with
red hair sitting together in the middle of the room, and another one
sitting with a larger party at the end of the stage.

I quickly dismiss the three of them as suspects.  Our guy worked
alone and he didn't seem the kind of person that would come with a
group, then separate long enough to kill his victim, and rejoin the
party as if nothing had happened.

That scenario just didn't fit with the mental image nor with the
internal profile I had of this guy.  I was almost sure he was around.
I could almost sense him...  Call it a hunch or intuition, but I knew
this guy was around, somewhere.

I also knew then and there that he wasn't going to sit down and enjoy
the show.  He would wait in the shadows until Scully was finished and
then he would try to reach out for her.

And the only way he could get close to her was by placing a wager on
her. Without much hesitation, I went straight to Mike, the bartender.
I asked him if there was a way to make sure that no one, and I meant,
no one, placed a wager on a dancer.   He told me I could just pay a
200 dollar fee to put the particular dancer above wagers.  But, he
warned me, that didn't mean the dancer would want to go out with me.

I nodded my understanding as I reached for my wallet. I knew for sure
that Scully would rather die (or shoot me) than accept my wager. But
it never hurt to be on the really cautious side of things.

"Which dancer are you interested in, anyway?" he asked.

"Um. The new one. The redhead. Ruby."

Mike eyed me suspiciously, and turned to reach for a blue bottle
behind him.

"You're only interested in her? We got this nice Italian chick
that... "

"No, I'm only interested in Ruby."

Mike got the bottle and I got something cold and hard poked against
my ribs. I was so worried about putting Scully at a safe distance
from any other psycho that might be roaming the club tonight that I
fell for the oldest trick in the surveillance/undercover book: an
agreed signal among the agents and the possible target.

"Put your hands on the counter where I can see them."

I recognised Carlbadier's voice. "Easy Stan, it's only me."

Carlbadier's gun left my side as he turned me around "Christ, Mulder
what the hell are you doing here? I told you yesterday that I didn't
think it was appropriate for you to show up here."

"Why? Does it look like I'm working undercover or something?"  I
asked, attempting to sound convincing, and knowing darn well that I
wasn't fooling anyone.

Stan Carlbadier sighed, defeated.  He had worked with me before.  He
knew I was a lost cause. I guess he was also aware of the strong
feelings I have towards my partner, or he wouldn't have mentioned the
'emotional attachment' on the first place.

"You're not going to make trouble around here, are you?" His voice
was weary and I couldn't help but wonder how many hours had gone by
since Stan Carlbadier slept. Well over twenty four was my educated
guess. Which meant he was just too tired to try to argue with me.

"No, unless Tom Colton shows up and attempts to do something stupid."
When in doubt, mumble. When in trouble, go for the amusing remark,
for the lighter side of things.  If it didn't get you off the hook,
at least you bought yourself some time to get out of a tight spot
while the others try to figure out what you meant by it.

Carlbadier chuckled at this.  "Always the same "Spooky" Mulder,
right?"

"You know what they say: once a spook, always a spook."  Humour
seemed to be working just fine.

"Be a good boy and stay out of this, ok? Mingle with the crowd, have
a good time, get drunk if you feel like it... but leave Scully alone,
ok?"

"Just answer a couple of questions and I'll be out of your way."

"Shoot."  Maybe I should warn Stan about saying that particular
phrase in front of Scully.  Then again, he still hadn't done anything
to deserve becoming Scully's practice target.

"What makes you so sure the killer is going to show up here tonight?
How can you know he'll bite the bait and go for Scully? I mean, his
attacks have been so random that it's hard to pinpoint where he'll
strike next."

"I sent a couple of guys out yesterday morning to distribute fliers
announcing the Stardust newest sensation, Ruby. They covered all the
areas where this guy has appeared. They even posted some larger
adds in the alleys.  We can only hope it'll interest him enough as to
show up here. Next question?"

"How are you planning to spot the guy?  I mean, he's not walking
around carrying a sign saying "I'm the Redhead Killer" or something."
Though I tried to make the question come across as a light joke, we
both knew it was anything but.

Stan just smiled at my attempt for lightness. "Now that I think of
it, your profile didn't mention anything about a sign...  Seriously,
Mulder.  Our friend Mike here is the only one who can accept wagers.
He's to notify us if anyone shows an unusual interest in Agent
Scully."

"So that's what the trick with the blue bottle was about?" I asked,
although I already knew the answer to that one.

"Precisely.  Don't worry, Mulder.  He won't get near her.  We won't
let him.  I won't let him."  We looked at each other for a few
seconds, and I got the feeling that this man has just given me his
word of honour, something he didn't do often or in vain.

I felt like shaking hands with him, but instead of that I just
shrugged my shoulders and remained silent.  I watched as Carlbadier
turned around and went back to sit at the end of the bar, where he
could see Mike's signal.

I asked Mike for a screwdriver and wandered into the club, looking
for a place to sit.  I spotted an empty stool just two places away
from the central stage and claimed it for myself.  I casted long
sideways glances on both sides, but it seemed like I was the oddball
between two different parties.  This suited my plans just fine.  I
wasn't in the mood for small talk, anyway.

I settled down and prepared for the wait.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

I still can't believe half the things that happened tonight.
Everything happened so fast that my head is still spinning and I
can't still figure out what the hell was going on.  I've come across
x-files whose occurrences were far more simpler than what happened in
here tonight.  I still can't believe it.

And this from the guy who has an "I want to Believe" poster in his
office, and who seeks the truth as a way of life.

Weird.

I remember telling you that I sat on a stool and got prepared to wait
until something happened.   Turns out I didn't have to wait long.

Fifteen minutes after I sat down, I felt a hand on my shoulder. A
female hand.  If I had to be 100% honest my stomach did a double flip
for about 7 seconds. By then I knew it wasn't her hand. I'd know her
touch anywhere.

Looking up, I noticed it's Candy's hand. The blond woman looked at
me, not really smiling, but amused. I also noticed that whatever it
was she was feeling, it did not reach her eyes.  And it made me
nervous as hell. It felt like a very bad omen.

"You Ruby's friend?" she asked.  I nodded, not knowing how to answer
correctly.

"She wants to talk to you."  And, with that, Candy turned to leave. I
got the idea, and got up to follow her.

The guys on both my sides were looking at me enviously.  I told the
one on the left to save the seat for me and I followed Candy
backstage.

She motioned me silently into one dressing room.  I paused before
going in.   I mentally braced myself for whatever confrontation might
have awaited for me inside.   Drawing a huge breath, I knocked on the
door.

"It's open" came Scully's reply.  From her tone of voice, I figured
she wasn't happy to have me around.

I opened the door and stepped inside.  Scully's back was to the door,
and she's reclined on a chair. The muscles in her back looked so
tense one could think they'd burst any moment. Had the circumstances
been any different I would have tried to give her a massage, kneading
deeply into those knots that seemed to be plaguing her...

Time for a reality check...  Scully would have probably shot me if I
had come within a foot from her just then.

"Mulder, what are you doing here? I told you before I don't need your
protection", she asked, without even turning to face me.  I didn't
need to look at her face to know just how upset she is about my being
there.

But... what could I tell her? A lie? Or would it be better if I
finally behaved like an adult and told her the truth?   I leaned
against the wall and stuffed my hands in my pockets before replying.

"I didn't come here to protect you, Scully.   You don't need my
protection.   You're a grown woman, and a trained FBI agent. If
anything should happen tonight, you'd be more than capable of
handling it yourself ... and, should you need help, you have a dozen
undercover agents outside more than willing to start a shootout.  So
I don't think you need my protection."

I could hear her sharp breath intake.  I guess she wasn't prepared
for my answer.  Heck, I wasn't prepared for it, either.

" You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

I got to handle it to Scully.  She never looses her composure.  And
she went straight for the jugular. As usual.

" I came here tonight because I thought you might need a friend."  I
knew I was risking a lot by telling her this, by letting so much of
my true feelings for her shine trough, but I was desperate to keep
our communication open. So many things have been left unsaid in the
last few months that I'm afraid one of these days the walls holding
them in will crumble and we'll end up saying something we would
definitively regret later.

" A... friend."  A pause. Just that. I wasn't getting any other kind
of reaction from her, and I couldn't help thinking when did things
between us began to go so wrong.  There had been a time when even her
pauses were full of meaning, with a complex language in themselves.
All I was getting  then was a blank.

5 years of work developing our infamous psychic communication all go
down the drain.   I don't think she had been able to fully understand
what I've told her, and as sure as hell I didn't have the slightest
idea of what was going on inside her head.

The silence was making me uncomfortable. I shifted on my feet,
carefully considering what to do next.  Scully hadn't even flinched
at my statement and was certainly taking a long time to say something.
I finally gave up.

"Sorry Scully.  I guess I was mistaken.  I'd better go now.  See you
on Monday, then."  I turned around to leave.

"Wait."

I paused with my hand on the doorknob... my heart missed a beat or
two while I waited for her to continue. I didn't dare to hope for her
acceptance, and yet, I was doing just that. Hoping against hope.
Always a believer of lost causes.

" I-I'm sorry, Mulder.  I'm just nervous as hell for having to do
this.  I really appreciate your concern but... "

This was it, then.  She's leaving me out in the cold. Again.  Like
she did when she found out she had cancer. Or when Emily died. Or
after her near-death experience in that bridge.  Once more we're back
to being a couple of strangers living in a not-so-agreeable silence.
Barely partners and certainly not friends. Again.

"But I guess I didn't expect your friendship offering at a moment
like this."

I was still not moving.  I couldn't.  I needed to hear what she had
to say.  My whole existence depended on it. Maybe there was hope for
us, after all.

"I'd really like it if you stayed around a while.   Maybe we could
grab a coffee afterwards... "  Her voice was calm and almost
expressionless.  I knew that tone of voice. It belonged to the always
professional Dr. Dana Scully.

I turned around and tried to catch a glimpse of her expression, but it
was no use.  Scully knew as well as I did that, while I wasn't being
able to read her voice or body language, I could still read her eyes.
And they speak louder than everything else when she is under stress
or in pain.  They betray the best of her lies, her most composed
attitude, her deepest fears. She knew it and she hid them from me.
Perhaps it was a wise decision. I don't think I would have been able
to deal with whatever it was that I might have found in them just
then.

"Now, please go, Mulder.   I need to finish my make-up."

A stern, Skinner-like "dismissed" wouldn't have been as clear as her
words.  I let out a sigh (relief? regret? or maybe I was just
holding my breath?), and left the dressing room, feeling a little bit
less unsettled than when I had gone in.  Perhaps there was still hope
for us, after all.

So many different ideas and emotions were swirling up inside me that
I chose to shove everything down until I had more time to analyse
them.  I just knew one thing for certain:  after that night, my
relationship with Scully would never be the same again. For better or
for worse. The stakes were high, and the bets had already been
called. Nothing left for me but to wait and see what hand would fate
deal for me. For us.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

I'm so angry I can feel my blood boiling.  The same lanky fellow from
this morning has just emerged from her dressing room. Not that her
name is on the door or something like that, but I can sense her.

Sarah. My Sarah.  Getting ready to stand naked before the lustful
sinning eyes of dozens of strangers.

I might have been able to forgive this indiscretion. After all, all
women are the same, always wanting to hear nice words about how good
and how young and how pretty they look. For God so fit to curse them
with the sin of vanity since the birth of Eve.

But this shameless flaunting of her lover for all the world to see, I
can not condone it. Mine is not the rage of the cheated husband, nor
the anger derived from a shredded honour.  Revenge won't be exacted to
satisfy my aching male ego, or the punishment set as an example for
all sinners to see.

Killing them both will be an act of justice, both human and divine. I
shall be both judge and executor, avenging common decency and the
tarnishing of the word of the Lord.

I relished the image of finding them together, of seeing her eyes
widen in realisation of what had she done. Watching him trying to
explain the unexplainable, to justify the unjustifiable.  To try to
talk his way out of the mess his carnal weakness had got him into.

He will surely tell me he didn't know she was a married woman. He
will undoubtedly try to convince me that it was her fault, that I as
a man know what it is like when the heat of the flesh is unbearable.
He will possibly try to bribe me into letting him go unharmed.

And he will fail in all accounts.

For I will kill them both.

Tonight.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

I went back to my seat.   Miraculously, it's still empty.  The guy on
the right started telling jokes about me having a hot date after the
show.  I gave him my best "drop-dead" stare and he eventually got the
message and shut up.

And not a minute too soon.  Just as he became quiet, the announcer
introduced "the new Stardust sensation, the one and only, Ruby". The
announcement was greeted with cheers, wolf whistles and loud applause
and a very un-rational part of me felt somewhat proud. Not many guys
can say that their woman attracts so much attention.

My woman. Who am I kidding? Scully is as mine as the elusive truth I
have been searching for half my life.  I may be totally hers,
alright, but that's quite different.

"That your lady friend?" whispered the guy on my left. I grunted an
affirmative answer and thought I detected a note of envy and
something that seemed like a new-found respect for me. It has always
struck me as funny how having a gorgeous woman by your side changes
the way you're perceived by your peers. As if having been able to
conquer such a desirable female somehow validated you as a human
being. Who knew? Maybe Scully was indeed my human credential, after
all.

"You're a lucky sonofabitch, you know that?" This time there was a
definitive note of jealousy in his voice.

I couldn't help but smile at that one.  Yep, her brother thinks so,
too.  Not that I'm lucky, though.  Just the part about being a
sonofabitch. A sorry sonofabitch.  I know I deserve that one. All in
all, Bill Scully behaved very gentlemanly.  Had it been my sister the
one agonising in that bed, I would have killed the bastard
responsible for it with my own bare hands.

The music began to play.  The tune sounded familiar somehow, and I
decided it must be an old song if I could recognise it.  "Lady in
Red".   How becoming.

And, suddenly, there she was.   A vision in red.   My heart jumped
and skipped and soared.  She's perfect to my eyes and to my soul.
Achingly beautiful and distant. Ethereal. I could spend the rest of
my life just looking at her.

Scully was starting to sway to the music.   The red kimono robe
opened a little with every step she took.  I caught a glimpse of her
stockings and the garter belt. My mouth went dry, and I could feel
the beginning of an erection start growing again, against my will.

I know. I know.  I'd been mentally preparing myself for this since I
left the boutique this morning.  But my rationalisation wasn't as
good as I thought.  Heck, even my late night fantasies have fallen
short.

But nothing, no rationalisation, no cognitive knowledge, not even my
wildest dreams (wet dreams, if I should be totally honest), could
have prepared me for this. My arousal was reaching limits I thought I
had reached a long time ago.

But I was wrong.  There seemed to be no limits to what Scully could
do to me. Just looking at her moving in time to that slow sensuous
song was driving me wild with wanton. I was experiencing for the
first time the sweet torture of physical desire for the woman you
love.

As I stared with my mouth open, Scully proceeded to undo the sash of
the robe.  The darn piece of cloth fell slowly to her sides.  The
crowd went wild, cheering her on, applauding, shouting encouraging
words for her to bare it all.

I just sat there, petrified. All traces of rational thought were
quickly abandoning my brain, while feelings were taking over my whole
self. Love, lust, awe ... I didn't even try to sort them out. It
would have been impossible.

Off went the robe. Scully stood still for a second, waiting for the
right note to continue her stripping number.  But a second was all
that I needed to permanently imprint her image in my memory.  She
was now mine forever.  I started taking a mental inventory of the
goddess dancing not 6 feet away from me...

Shit.  I'd turned Scully into a deity.   I'd never be able to work
with her again.   Ever.   I had the distinct feeling that I had
really fucked up our partnership this time.

And this time it really wasn't my fault.  And it wasn't her fault
either.  On second thought, this could be her fault.  She knew I
would hunt her down until I found her.  She had to know.   She
knows me better than anyone, she knows me better than myself,
sometimes.

So, if she knew I was coming, she shouldn't have chosen this attire.
She even had the chance to stop me from watching her performance back
there in her dressing room.  She ...

Whom am I trying to kid?  Scully didn't have the slightest chance to
stop me.  She knew it, I knew it.  That's why she didn't try to stop
me.   Once I make up my mind, not even a freight train at full speed
could stop me.

And I definitively had my mind made up on this particular issue ...

But still, she could have chosen to wear something a little bit more
demure ... Yeah. Sure.   She's supposed to be a stripper, what did I
expect? A flannel night-gown?  Scully was wearing what she should be
wearing to keep up her cover. I was the one who's having a hard time
with it.

Maybe hard wasn't the most appropriate word at the moment. Difficult.
Impossible. Hard was something I already was. Crude? Yes.  But I've
never been one to ignore the truth. And the truth was that Dana
Scully had got me so hard I thought I was going to burst.

And I still had my eyes glued to her feet. It was all I could do to
avoid loosing my restraint. But my libido, my damn fucking libido
decided to make his triumphal entrance in that precise moment.

Well, sanity, it was nice knowing you.

I couldn't stay watching at her feet forever. Consciously or
unconsciously I was going to take a look at the nude body of my
partner and best friend. And, given the choice, I'd much rather do it
in a conscious way. Therefore, I began the journey into my
self-destruction.

I gazed at her shoes. High heeled and the shade of blood and, by the
looks of it, quite expensive. I'd never imagine I'd get to see Dana
Scully on a pair of stiletto heels, but I guessed tonight will put an
end to all my "nevers" regarding her.

I looked up a little higher.  She's got great legs.  I mean, it's not
like they go on forever, like model legs, but hers are strong and lean
and well-formed, and those heels were doing wonders for them.  Either
that, or the satiny-like sheer of the stockings she was wearing.

I kept working my way up.  Those smooth and shiny stockings were held
in place by a lace garter-belt, which in turn gave way to... oh God.
I had stumbled across her g-string, what little there was of it,
anyway.  I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

It was just too much for me to handle at that time. I decided to
avoid that tempting lace and satin imagery and to settle on her
belly.  I tried getting lost in her belly button, but I couldn't
concentrate properly anymore.

I decided to skip her breasts all-together.  Not that it was easy,
though.   Funny how I had never noticed how full they are.  And they
looked so soft and beckoning encased in that red satin bra. As if
they were begging to be released.  I surprised myself when I noticed
my fingers had been tracing small circles on the bar surface.  My
hands were aching to touch and caress her breasts and to softly
arouse her nipples...

I shook my head to clear my thoughts in an attempt to restrain the
urge that was searing my whole body. I lifted my gaze once more and
settled on her neck to prevent it form wandering downwards. I have
touched it enough times as to feel I had reached a comfortable place,
a warm, welcoming place in her body.  I have always been fascinated
by the way the soft curve of Scully's neck blends into her
collarbone.  It's so graceful, and yet, it has a certain force you
can fail to notice at first sight.  Delicate enough that you can see
her pulse beating underneath it.  I have lost track of the times I
have wanted to kiss her in that spot, feeling her pulse come alive
under my lips.

My eyes darted towards her mouth. Oh, God, I love her mouth!  A mouth
made to be kissed and nibbled and sucked and ravished. More than once
I've imagined how her mouth would look after a hungry and passionate
kiss, her lips swollen and slightly open. And she's got these pouty,
full lips that look so tempting, even when she's not wearing
lipstick.  Not that I'm complaining tonight.  She has on this fiery
shade of red, making them look fuller, more luscious than usual.

You see, Scully has this little habit that would be annoying if it
wasn't so endearing.  It is that sexy nervous tic of licking her lips
when she's nervous.   It can be terribly arousing, even more due to
the fact that she's not doing it in order to seduce me.

But that's exactly what it does for me. This habit of hers has driven
me crazy more times than I've cared to count. More than once I have
lost track of what I was trying to tell her because of it. Her tongue
on her lips makes me ache to feel it on mine, inside my mouth,
running it along my jawline and down my throat. If I were to be
perfectly honest, I would have to say that I had already envisioned
that sweet tongue of hers caressing the length of my shaft.  That's
got to show how deeply engraved in my fantasies is this woman that I
love.

What makes all this more bittersweet is the fact that she doesn't
know how much power she has over me.  She has no idea how long it has
been since that morning in the office when I looked up and instead of
seeing Agent Scully I saw a beautiful woman named Dana. She's
actually clueless to the fact that she drives me wild with desire.

Which was what she was doing to me right then.  I was so aroused that
I was literally gasping for breath as I saw her wet her lips with her
tongue one more time.

To make matters worse, she had decided to highlight the beauty mark
above her upper lip.  I've never understood why she chooses to hide
it under her make-up.   Come to think of it, it's probably better
that she does.  I wouldn't be able to concentrate if I had to look at
it every time I talk to her.

I then decided to risk it all and take a look at her eyes.

Shit.

Oh fuck.

I was doomed.

Scully was looking straight at me.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

STARDUST NIGHT CLUB
AUGUST 10
10:30 P.M.

I'm a wreck.   I'm a total, absolute wreck.  Now I finally feel I
deserve that 'Spooky' nickname. I'm scaring even myself as it is.
And it hasn't been an easy task.

I'm definitively headed for a nervous breakdown. This time I'm
certain I have reached the end of my rope. My sanity rope, that is.
I've finally lost it, and it wasn't a mutant, or a Reticulan, or one
of those mysterious 'men in black' from the government who should be
held responsible for my demise.

Turns out Professor McAddy was absolutely right about my fate. The
only thing that could bring Fox Mulder down was Fox Mulder himself.
With a little help from his partner. His female partner.  No wonder
the Professor had been so adamant about my working with a woman.  But
it's too late for regrets now.

I never thought Scully would upset my carefully studied composure
with such a simple gesture as staring into my eyes.  Except that it
wasn't so simple. And I didn't have that much composure to begin
with.

She had caught me staring at her while she performed her stripping
act.   And you don't have to be a genius to figure out what she saw
in my eyes. Pure and primal desire. I'm a man, after all. I had
broken the Bureau's 3rd Commandment, thou shall not lust after thy
partner. So sue me, I'm only human.

But back to what happened that night at the club. While I was busy
undressing my partner with my gaze, she had been busy watching me as
I watched her.  And only when I managed to tear my eyes from her body
is when I noticed that she knew I was doing it.  I felt like the kid
who got caught with his hands inside the cookie jar, but somehow that
comparison lacks certain strength. I felt more like the guy who has
been caught with his pants down while pursuing some extramarital
interests.

And I blushed. Heck, that's an understatement. I could feel my cheeks
burning in a mixture of embarrassment and lust.  I must have been
quite a sight.  Heavy breathing,  dried lips, eyes full of wanton,
T-shirt drenched in sweat... the perfect image of a guy caught in a
hormonal frenzy.

And Scully never dropped her gaze.  She didn't falter, not for a
second.   Her facial expression was totally neutral.  Whatever it was
that she was feeling was so guarded, that even I couldn't read it.

Without skipping a beat, she undid the clasp of her push-up bra.  And
then, she removed it. Very slowly.  Her hands were caressing the
exposed skin, just as she did during the rehearsal.  And her eyes
never left mine.

I was breathing in ragged gasps by then. My throbbing erection was
painfully pushing against my jeans, and I couldn't bring myself to do
anything to relieve the pressure.

Clyde Bruckman said that I'd probably die from autoerotic
asphyxiation.   I wonder if my present situation could be catalogued
as that particular condition.

Scully is still looking at me.  I'm transfixed by her gaze.  She
bites her lower lip.  I shudder.  Her hands are now caressing her
thighs.  My hands are holding the glass as if my life depended on it.

It is then that she turns around.  And I catch my breath again.  I
had completely forgotten about her tattoo.  Her "revelation" is met
with whistles and wolf howls.  Scully throws a look at me over her
shoulder, trying to assess my reaction.

I can't stand it any longer.  If I keep holding the glass like this
I'll end up breaking it.   I got up abruptly and headed for the men's
room.   Never once did I look back at Scully.   I didn't dare.   I
couldn't.   If I looked at her again I might have done  something I'm
sure I'd regret the rest of my life.  So I kept on going without
looking back.

Once inside the bathroom I splashed cool water on my face and arms.
It wasn't enough to subdue my desire, but damn if I was going to
masturbate in this place.   I took deep breaths and pressed my
forehead against the cold tiles of the wall.

I heard the door open and I watched as Carlbadier walked in.  Great.
Just what I needed.  Well, I guess there goes my reputation as a cool
guy.  I was anything but right then.  And you didn't need to be a
rocket scientist to figure that one out, either.

"Mulder?" Stan's voice was hesitant.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound at least twice as confident as I looked.
Which wasn't that much to begin with, anyway.

"Are you in trouble now?"

I laughed out loud.  I couldn't help it. Not that it was funny.

"Yeah... I guess you could say that... " I tried hard not to snort
my answer, but it was somewhat difficult.

"Does she know?" This time he sounded concerned. His tone of voice
was starting to make me feel uneasy.

I shot Carlbadier a glance.  I wasn't sure I was following his line
of thought.

"What are you talking about?"  This came a little bit harsher than I
intended, but I couldn't have cared less...

Carlbadier just sighed.   "Does Dana Scully know that you're in love
with her?"

"What?!" If I hadn't been so embarrassed about the whole situation I'd
be enraged by his question.  Back then I only felt surprise and shock
for letting my feelings be so obvious.  I had finally got careless
and the careful facade of professionalism that I had built around my
feelings for Scully was falling to pieces.

"Oh, come on, Mulder, cut the bullshit.  You know you love her.  It's
written all over your face.  The way you were looking at her... "

I felt the urge to save some face. The only thing I wanted to do was
take what little left was of my dignity and hobble out of the place.
And fast.

"Yeah, me and the other 200 guys out there... " I replied, my voice
oozing with sarcasm.

"Mulder, the other 200 guys were leering at her,  lusting after her.
They'll forget her the minute the next dancer steps into that stage.
But you... you were regarding her with a mixture of adoration and
awe... "

"That's a long way from love, pal."

Flat-out denial. You don't work for the Federal government for over a
decade and not learn to exercise it.

"Is that so?" Carlbadier gave me this amused look and I experienced
an overwhelming need to justify my actions.

"Look, Stan.  Scully is a great agent. Heck, she's the best agent
I've ever worked with.  She is a beautiful woman, as well.  What am I
supposed to do? Not notice it?  Christ, you'd need to be blind not to
notice it!"

"I'm not telling you that you're an idiot for not noticing it. Hell,
Mulder, I had 58 agents wanting to come out here tonight, and that
included three female agents!  I already confiscated 3 video cameras
and suspended 6 agents for unbecoming behaviour."

I couldn't help but smile at this. "Are you planning to suspend me
too?"

"You're officially not here, so I can't do that.  Honestly, Mulder, do
you think it was wise of you to show up here tonight?"

Once again, Stan's voice was filled with concern. It threw me out of
balance. For years my motto had been to trust no one. Then along came
Scully and I had let her in, closing the door shut as soon as she got
inside.  The paranoiac side of me said I didn't need to trust anyone
else.  But my gut instinct was telling me I could count on Stan
Carlbadier to stand by my side, no matter what.

Worst thing of all, he was right.  Coming into the club that night
had been a mistake. A very big mistake.

I bowed my head, defeated. "No. It was probably the most stupid thing
I could have done."

"What are you planning to do now?"

Now, THAT was an interesting question. Too bad I didn't have a
fucking clue on how to answer it.

"Honestly? I don't know."

Carlbadier moved closer and put a hand on my shoulder. "Mulder, we're
not exactly friends, I know.  But I do appreciate you and I admire
the partnership you and Scully have developed.  I'm way out of line
here trying to give you some advise, but I definitively think you
need to define the nature of your feelings for her.  Why don't you do
everyone a favour and marry her?"

I stared at Stan Carlbadier as if he were an alien. "What the hell
are you talking about?"

"Ok. Mulder. Have it your way.  But I know what I saw.  You're hiding
in here trying to get a grip on your physical reactions before
meeting her outside.  You left the show before she finished stripping
out of respect for her.   And she had eyes for no one else but you.
And her eyes spoke volumes.   If that's not love,  then as sure as
hell I don't know what it is.  But suit yourself.  It's not my life.
I just feel you owe it to her to figure what is going on in your
heart.   You two deserve to be happy.  Don't let stupid bureau
regulations screw your chance at happiness."

I sighed deeply. "If only it were that easy... "

"Just think about it, ok?" Carlbadier turned around to leave. "And,
Mulder? As far as I'm concerned, you were never here."

"Why are you doing this, Stan?" I hated the suspiciousness in my
voice, but I couldn't help it

"Like I said before, I appreciate you. And her.  And I really enjoy
pissing Colton off." Carlbadier smiled as he held the door open.
"Besides, I'm betting well over 500 bucks that you two'll end at the
altar... I'd really like to get my money's worth on that particular
bet."

And with that, he was gone.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

STARDUST NIGHT CLUB
AUGUST 10
11:05 P.M.

I feel like an idiot.

One minute everything was okay, and the next everything is absolutely
wrong.

The worst part is, I don't know what the hell happened.

I remember leaving the bathroom after my conversation with Stan
Carlbadier.  I'm still not sure if I should thank him or shoot him.

I never thought that my feelings for Scully were so ... well, so
obvious.  I know I've been in love with her for a long time.  I'm not
really sure how long.   It took me a long time to realise it, though.
It wasn't until that night in the hospital, when she lay there dying
from cancer, that I realised this woman was the most important part
of my life.

Given the choice, I'd rather have Scully than my sister.  And it is a
choice I already made.

But this was supposed to be something no one else knew about. I guess
I was wrong.  It seems like half of the Bureau knows about it.   And
the other half is placing bets on it.

How stupid can you get?  How blind can you be? How come everyone but
her knows I love her? How can she not know? And why hasn't  she done
something about it?

<You know why>
<No, I don't>
<Whom are you trying to kid?>
<Talk about living in denial...>
<You want to know why she hasn't done anything? Do you?>
<You know why>
<She doesn't love you, Fox Mulder>
<Why would she love you? You're a loser>
<You're worthless>
<You couldn't even protect your sister>
<You don't deserve love>
<You don't deserve her>
<She doesn't love you>
<She never will>

<No, no no ... no!!!>

I smashed my fists against the wall.  I couldn't let my inner demons
take over. I couldn't.  If I kept listening to them I'd definitively
go crazy.  Not that it would take much.  I've been threading the fine
line between reason and insanity for a while now.  And there was only
one thing that's kept me sane.

Scully.  She's my anchor, my bastion, my home.   My beginning and my
end.   My strength and my weakness.   My heart, my soul, my inner
self.

I don't want to loose her.  I can't loose her.

I can't stand it anymore.  I know I promised I'd never tell her my
true feelings.  Fuck that promise.  I needed to tell her. And I
needed to know what she felt.

If she didn't love me, or if she didn't care for me, fine. I'd rather
die tonight than agonise for another couple of years. I'd rather make
a fool of myself and damn to hell our present relationship.  I could
live with it.  What I couldn't live with is going on without telling
her.  Not knowing for sure.

And if she loved me ...

It's funny. I don't know what I'll do if she loves me.

<Kiss her>
<Hold her>
<Make love to her>
<Marry her>
<Be happy.  Be finally happy>

I sigh. It seems that, after all, I do know what I'll do if she does
love me.   Whoever said you can't fool yourself was definitively not
a psychologist.  We perfected self-denial. Heck, we "invented"
self-denial!

I stand outside her dressing room, mustering enough courage to knock
on her door.

"Scully?"

"Go away, Mulder"

I'm shocked at this response. "Why?"

"I don't want to see you."

"Scully, please, open the door.  We need to talk."

"There's nothing to  talk about"

I could feel my heart tearing.  I could feel the tears welling in my
eyes. I stood closer to the door. "Scully, please. Talk to me.  Don't
leave me standing outside. Please"

No response.  I could hear her trying to stifle her sobs.  I'm such
a bastard.  How could I do this to her?  "Scully, please. Forgive me.
I-I shouldn't have come. Please.  Let me in. I promise I'll try to
make things better..."

Still no response for her.  What the hell. I've ruined everything so
far, why not screw it up for good?   "Scully? Please let me in.  I
need to talk to you.  Please? Dana? You don't have to say anything,
just listen to me, ok?  And then I'll go. I promise.  Please.  Don't
leave me out here.  I need to tell you the truth.  You have to know
the truth. Please, Dana. I...I love you, Scully.  Please let me in..."

Nothing but silence greeted my words. I sighed and leaned against the
door.  I had given it my best shot, and it hadn't been good enough.
I didn't know what else to do.

I heard a commotion down the corridor.  I turned around just in time
to see Stan Carlbadier and another agent running towards me.

"Stan, what's going on?"

"We had the guy, but he knocked Williams and ran away. Where's
Scully?"

"In there" I motioned towards the still closed door, "Is there
anything I can do to ..."

"Got you gun?"   I nodded, reaching for my ankle holster "Then stay
with her! We're following him through the alleys.  And keep an eye
out for him. White male 25-35, about 5'10" and 160 pounds. Red hair,
green eyes, scar on the left cheek"

And with that, both agents were gone.  I took a mental note on the
suspect.  Except form the scar, it was more less what I had expected
when I did his profile.  I turned back to the door.

"Scully? Did you hear that? Our suspect is around here"

Silence. I was beginning to get nervous.

"Scully?"  I tried turning the knob.  It wouldn't turn. I considered
my options. I took two steps back and kicked the door open.

I went inside, holding my gun and  looking to both sides.  "Scully?"
She was nowhere inside.  A quick glance at the dressing room told me
she was gone.

I began searching the connecting rooms.  Empty.  I checked the back
door. Closed and locked.  I retraced my steps and stumbled into
Candy.

"Where is she?" I demanded

"Ruby?" she asked, sort of confused

"Yes, Ruby. Where is she?"  I was practically barking at this woman.

"Why, she left a few minutes ago ... she seemed a little bit upset."

Figures, I thought harshly to myself.  "Which way did she go?"

"She went through the stage door." Candy said, pointing to an entrance
on the right side.

I nodded my acknowledgement and headed for the door.

"But you shouldn't worry about her much.  I mean, her brother came to
pick her up."

I felt a chill run down my spine. "Her brother?"

"Well, I guess it was her brother. I mean, how many redheads can you
meet on the same day?"

I dashed towards the door, leaving a bewildered Candy behind me.
 

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*
ALLEYS BEHIND THE STARDUST
AUGUST 10
11:15 P.M.
 

I know I shouldn't have claimed it was self-defence.

According to the regulations, I should have waited at least 30
seconds before shooting, and I had to give the suspect a warning
shot.  Fuck the regulations.

It wasn't self-defence, either.  But he was hurting Dana Scully.  In
my books, that's a federal offence.   One punishable by death.

In other words, I shot the bastard without warning.   But I
did everyone involved a favour and claimed it was self-defence.
There are only two people to say it wasn't so, and one of them
is dead.  Scully is so grateful that it is over that she
doesn't give a damn about my statement.   For all she cares, I
gave the guy the whole Miranda before I even pulled out my gun.

It's all right by me. Really.   Except it isn't over. It
really is far from over.

I'm driving her home once this whole business of statements is
finished. And then we're going to have the nice little chat we
should have had by now.

And Dana Katherine Scully is going to have to answer to me this
time around. She'd better not try to run away, cause I'm not
going to let her go.  No this time.  Not ever.

Never again.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

I stumbled out of the Stardust, my gun in my hand, my heart
beating wildly. I looked right and left, trying to ascertain
which way could the killer have gone.

I was scared shitless.  This guy wasn't merciful.  On the
contrary, he was quite vicious.  And fast.  I figured I had
half and hour, forty-five minutes tops, to find Scully and
nail the bastard.  I didn't want to think of what would happen
if I was late.

Following instinct rather than logic, I chose to go to the
left, keeping my back to the wall.  I kept glancing over my
shoulder hoping to see any other agents.  I kicked myself
mentally  for not bringing my cell phone, but I didn't expect
I would need it.

<Some FBI Agent you make>
<What did you expect? He wasn't using his head>
<You bet he was.  Except he was using the wrong head...>
<Yeah ... party time!>
<Shut the fuck up!>

Gross. I needed to get a grip if I wanted to help Scully.
Ha. I couldn't even get a grip on the tug-o-war that was
going inside my head. Pathetic.   Really pathetic.

The layout behind the Stardust reminded me of a labyrinth.
The back street gave way to 10, maybe 15, alleys both
left and right.  I noticed that some of them led into
another alley.   My mind was racing.  There was no way I
was going to be able to search the whole damn place in
less than half an hour.

The only thing that gave me hope was his MO. He had
always killed his victim in a ratio of, approximately, three
blocks from where he had taken them.  Therefore, he had to
be around here, somewhere. He HAD to.

A flash of red caught my eye at the entrance of another
alley to my left.  It was a piece of clothing.  I recognised
it almost immediately.  In my hands I was holding the front
pocket of Scully's robe.

Glancing back one last time I went into the alley. No
backup for me this time. Perhaps it would be for the best.
If I was late I didn't want witnesses.  If I had failed
Scully for the last time, I'd shoot the bastard and then
I'd shoot myself.

<Coward>
<Martyr>
<Wimp>
<Weakling>
<What did you expect?>

Funny how this last voices reminded me of my dad ...

Who cares? As much as I seemed to enjoy my guilt-trips,
I could never live with this specific one.  I could never
go on living without her, period.

When I joined the FBI I thought nothing would hurt me more
than loosing my sister. Now I know I was wrong.  As much as
Sam's disappearance created a havoc in my life, nothing
was more devastating than loosing Scully. Not once, but
twice.  Duane Barry and cancer.  And now a third time.

There was only a certain amount of grief and heartache a
man could bear.  I've met my quota for this and two other
lifetimes.  I don't think I could resist another blow.
And yet ...

I'll have to.  Scully doesn't want to talk to me.  She
doesn't love me.  And I'll have to learn to live with
that.  That is, if I get to live at all after this.

I hear a voice coming from the second alley and my body
tenses.  I also hear noises and a muffled groan.  I'd
recognise that sound anywhere. It's a sound that breaks
my heart over and over again.

I had found Scully.  And she was alive.

Carefully approaching the entrance of this second alley,
I begin making out the words I'm hearing.

"Sarah, Sarah, what am I going to do with you?  You keep
running away every time I find you, and every time I find
you again.   Won't you ever learn?  Can't you understand?
There's nowhere to go. You're mine"

The voice is strained, yet calm.  It reminds me of an adult
scolding a little child that's misbehaved badly.

I peer into the alley. A couple of boxes at the entrance
give me some nice coverage, without blocking my view
entirely.  And abandoned car is lying some ten feet from
me.  Huddled against it is Scully. She's gagged and
handcuffed and her right eye is rapidly swelling.

I feel anger boiling up inside me.  The bastard hit her,
harmed her.  And then he comes into view.  Although he's a
couple of inches shorter than me, he seems to tower over
her.  I'm about to open my mouth to give my FBI speech when
I notice the switchblade in his left hand.

He's too close to Scully.  He might try to attack her. Make
that a will. He will attack her if he feels he's treathened.
And he could very well fatally wound her before I put a
bullet or two trough him.  I couldn't risk it.

"Oh, Sarah.  Why do you do this?  Isn't my love for you
enough?  Why do you keep running away from me?", his voice
is now wounded, hurt.  He's stroking Scully's hair ever so
gently, a loving gesture.

But then he turns violent.  He grabs her shoulder and smashes
her against the car.  Scully winces and I cringe inside. He's
too close to her, I can't risk taking a shot at him now ...

"Slut! Whore! Two-face lying bitch! I gave you everything I
had and then some more, and what do I get back for it?
Nothing! Absofuckinglutely nothing! And why?  Because I married
a whore! A slut who's got pussy for brains!"

He was getting mad now.  I could see him digging his fingers
into Scully's shoulders and screaming right at her face.  I could
try and shoot him on the forehead, but my present angle is all
wrong.  To get a clean shot I'll need to get out from behind
these boxes, making my presence known to him.

But the way he was holding the hunting knife made me hesitate.  It
was too close to her neck.  Even if it was the perfect shot he
could slash her while dropping dead.

On the other hand, he was so worked up by now that he was going
to attack her very soon.  I