Ryo Sen
ryo@fanficwithfootnotes.com

SPOILERS:  None
SUMMARY: a Scullycentric piece that was inspired by the Cagney & Lacey episode
of the same name.
CLASSIFICATION:  S, A
RATING:  R
 

Rules of the Game
Ryo Sen
 

Dallas, Texas

Special Agent Dana Scully opened the door to her cramped hotel room
with a weary sigh.  Shrugging out of her suit jacket, she kicked the door shut and
dropped the key card on the bureau with her cellphone.  She stepped out of her
shoes while rubbing the tense muscles in her neck with one hand.

Scully glanced at the clock and groaned when she realized it was already
almost ten back in DC.  She was supposed to have called Mulder nearly an hour
earlier.  Pulling her rumpled shirt free of her skirt, she dropped onto the edge of
the bed and lifted the receiver.

Moments later, a familiar voice greeted her, "Mulder."

A smile caught her by surprise as his husky voice washed over her.  She
sank back onto the bed, the mattress cushioning her weary body.  "Mulder, it's
me."

"Work late?"  he asked, affection lacing his tone.

Scully closed her eyes and relaxed by degrees.  "Yes," she answered,
sliding her free arm up to cushion her head.  "Today was a good thirteen hours.
Still no luck."

She could hear the squeal of leather as  Mulder shifted on his couch.
"So you're not coming back Friday, then,"  he surmised sadly.

Scully's eyes opened, her muscles tensing up again as she levered herself
back into a sitting position.  "Mulder, I can't very well leave with this . . . this
killer out there.  He's already murdered eight women."

"I thought it was seven,"  Mulder commented, a little of the
disappointment disappearing from his voice.

"Another one last night,"  Scully explained, her frustration and fatigue
evident in her tone.  "I did the autopsy this morning and it's the same as the
others--raped, then killed with a blow to the back of the head, blunt object,"
she rubbed her eyes.  "There's still no physical evidence to link Jenkins to the crimes."

"Scully, if you *know* it's him, you have to pick him up before he kills
more women."

"Don't you think I know that, Mulder?"  Scully snapped.  "I'm well
aware of the fact that Sarah Haynes didn't have to die last night."

"Scully, that's not--"

"Mulder, we have nothing,"  She interrupted.  "No evidence, just a
bunch of agents who are 'sure' it's him.  And even if we *did* have something
that would stick, we can't *find* him to arrest him!"

Mulder remained quiet for a moment after her mini-tirade, allowing her
anger to dissipate.  "I'm not accusing you of anything, Scully,"  he said evenly.

She sighed, dropping her chin into her hand.  "I know, Mulder," she
answered softly.  "I've only been here three days and I'm more than ready to
come home."

He hesitated, then whispered, "I'm ready, too."

A smile crossed Scully's weary features, but she kept silent.  This thing
between them was still so new that she had no idea what he expected from her.
Or even what she expected from him.

Mulder cleared his throat, "Get some sleep, Scully."

Nodding even though he couldn't see her, she said, "You, too."  Scully
paused, "Good night, Mulder."

"Night, Scully."

She hung up the phone reluctantly, wishing Mulder had been assigned to
this case with her.  Not that she needed his assistance, but, it would be nice to
be able to discuss the case with someone.   Her temporary partner was not the most
communicative woman, but Scully had to admit that Emma Gryner was a damn
good agent.

Pushing thoughts of the case out of her head, Scully headed for the
bathroom to get ready for bed.
 

***

Scully knocked on SAC Morgan's door, then self-consciously smoothed
her still-damp hair.  Her post-autopsy shower had left her clean, but rather
disheveled without the benefit of her blowdryer.  She half-expected Morgan to
have gone home already, but after a moment, he bid her to enter and she opened
the door.

Morgan, an attractive man ten years her senior, sat behind his large
desk.  His tie was loosened, and his dark grey suit jacket discarded.  He leaned
back in his chair and gave her a welcoming smile.  "Agent Scully, what've you
got for me?"

He gestured to an empty chair and Scully sank into it, crossing her legs
and placing the file she held on her lap.  "Sir, I think we may have caught a
break,"  She said, trying to suppress the excitement in her voice.  "I found a
pubic hair on the victim."

Morgan sat up straighter.  "Not hers?"

Scully shook her head.  "Not likely.  I've sent it off to the labs and they'll
probably be able to determine the gender.  At the very least, they'll be able to
determine it isn't the victim's."

Smiling, Morgan glanced at his watch.  "Good day's work, Dana,"  he
said kindly.  "Go home."

With a wry grin, Scully asked, "To DC?"

A surprised laugh escaped Morgan and he stood, stretching.  "No, I
don't think we're ready to give you up just yet,"  he answered, a smile lingering
on his lips.  "I understand Gryner picked you up at the hotel?"

Scully nodded as she rose and placed the autopsy report on his desk.
"Yes, she was kind enough to drive me to the scene this morning.  I have a rental,
but I was warned not to attempt 75 during rush hour."

Morgan chuckled, "You probably shouldn't attempt 75 ever."

Scully nodded, "It was rather nerve-wracking with all that
construction."

"Yes," he agreed, then changed the subject.  "You're staying at the
Omni, right?"  Morgan asked, grabbing his coat and ushering her out of the office
with a hand on her lower back.

"Yes, it's a bit out of the loop, but it's gorgeous."  She walked out of his
reach, ostensibly to gather her coat and files from the desk she'd been assigned
in the bullpen.

Morgan started for the door.  "I can drop you off, if you'd like.  I live up
in Plano, anyway."  He pulled open the door and turned back to her.

Scully hesitated,  "Thanks."

Morgan flashed her another smile, "You haven't eaten, have you?"

A bit off-center, Scully shook her head.

"Good, we'll grab something on the way."

***

Scully glanced around the large, intimately-lit restaurant, her eyes
lingering on the well-dressed patrons.  She met Morgan's friendly gaze and
gestured at her conservative, chocolate brown suit, "I feel underdressed."

Morgan leaned back, his hands folded over his trim midsection.
"Nonsense," he answered.  "You look gorgeous."

Scully blinked in surprise, unable to form a proper response.  She was
so used to Mulder's silent, appreciative glances that an actual compliment
knocked her off-kilter.  Pulling herself back to the present.  Scully pasted a wan
smile on her face.  "Thank you,"  she replied, ignoring the uneasy feeling pooling
in her stomach.

Morgan shrugged carelessly, "No need to thank me."  He grinned and
leaned towards her, lowering his voice,  "Facts are facts."

Increasingly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken,
Scully attempted to change the subject, "Sir--"

"Dana, please.  It's Wendell."

*Wendell*? Scully thought, fighting to keep her nimble eyebrow under
control.  Focusing again on the issue, she opened her mouth to speak.

A tiny Asian woman approached their table with a smile, cutting off
Scully's protest.  The waitress deposited a basket of rolls on the table and said,
"Welcome to Pappadeux.  I'm Casey, and I'll be your server.  May I get you
something to drink?"

Without even a glance at Scully, Morgan answered, "We'll have a bottle
of Chardonnay."

Scully's discomfort level rose another notch as dinner suddenly
transformed into something approximating a date.  "Sir--"

"Dana," Morgan admonished.  He waved Casey away with a dismissive
flick of his wrist.  "What did I say?  Wendell."

Scully shifted in her seat, trying to control her growing anger.  "I don't
think that's necessarily appropriate, sir."

Morgan mock-frowned at her.  "Wendell.  That's an order, Agent
Scully," he answered playfully.

Scully weighed her words for a long moment.  She spoke as Morgan's
teasing expression began to melt into something much less friendly.  "You're my
superior, and I don't feel comfortable addressing you by your given name."

A slight scowl marred Morgan's distinguished features.  "We're not at
work," he said, gesturing to the diners all around them.

Nodding, Scully started, "Be that as it may--"

"Dana," Morgan interrupted her, his tone harsh.  "We're off duty.  We
don't have to force ourselves into the roles dictated by the job."

Scully's eyebrows jumped as she tried to figure out how to extricate
herself from this situation without arousing Morgan's anger.  In the end, she
chose blunt honesty over tact.  "Agent Morgan," Scully began, her tone
brooking no argument.  "I believe there's been a misunderstanding.  I'm here to
do my job.  Anything else is not possible."

Morgan scoffed, "Dana, I'm not blind.  I know you find me attractive--"

"Sir," Scully reprimanded him sharply.  "I find you to be my superior
officer.  Nothing more, nothing less."  Scully pushed her chair back and rose,
determined to leave before things deteriorated completely.

Morgan's hand shot out and captured her arm firmly.  Scully froze, her
free hand drifting towards her holster.  Morgan sat still, regarding her almost
casually.  "Okay," he said finally.  "If that's how you want to play it."  He
released her arm.

Scully removed her jacket from the back of the chair and folded it over
one arm.  Before leaving, she met Morgan's gaze.  "This isn't a game, sir," she
said, her tone low and intense.  "And I'm not playing."

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

After a brief struggle with the door, Scully managed to force her
way into her hotel room.  She kicked off her shoes, then slammed the door in a
rare display of pique.

Scully stood just inside the dim room for a moment, then struggled out
of her suit jacket.  Morgan's words ran through her head in an endless loop and
her anger grew with each cycle.  She slapped her key card on the bureau and
tossed her discarded jacket towards her open bag, realizing too late that her
cellphone was still nestled in the breast pocket.

The brown jacket plummeted to the floor far short of its intended target.

"Son of a *bitch*!"

Muttering epithets, she stalked the short distance to the offending
garment and plucked it from the floor.  As she retrieved her cellphone, the sharp
chirp of its ring set her nerves jangling.  She yanked up the antenna and
depressed the "Send" button, then barked, "Scully."

Silence reigned for a moment.  "Scully?" Mulder asked tentatively.
"What's wrong?"

Scully glanced up at the ceiling, silently imploring whoever or whatever
was up there for divine intervention.  She was certainly not in the mood to
talk to the most infuriating man on the face of the earth.  Well, the second most
infuriating.  "Nothing," she answered, her voice carefully neutral.

Mulder remained silent, but she could hear movement on his end.

Exasperated, Scully added, "I'm fine, Mulder."

Still, he said nothing.  Scully took a deep, calming breath and managed
to sound almost normal.  "I've had a really trying day, Mulder.  I'm going to take
a hot shower and go to bed."

Finally, he spoke, humor lacing his tone, "Stop, Scully, you're turning
me on."

Knowing he was joking, but unable to curb the anger engulfing her,
Scully muttered, "Gotta go."  She hung up the phone and thumbed the switch to
'Off.'  "Son of a *bitch*!" she repeated, nearly shouting.

She tossed the phone on the bed, breathing hard, and marched to the
bathroom.  She heard hotel room phone ringing, but ignored it.  Wrenching the
knob to hot, she stripped quickly and stepped under the stinging spray.  She
would deal with Mulder later.  Right now, she had to try to get the sound of
Morgan's voice, the image of his cocky grin, and the implication of his words out
of her head.  Her muscles remained tense, even under the warm massage of the
water.

Realizing the shower was doing her no good, Scully grabbed a towel
and rubbed herself dry.  The phone rang on.  She slipped into her pajamas, then
padded over to put the phone out of its misery.

"I told you I was fine, Mulder," she said by way of greeting.

"Why'd you hang up, Scully?" he asked, traces of anger detectable in
his tone.

Scully closed her eyes, sinking onto the edge of the bed and forcing her
muscles to relax marginally.  "I didn't want to take my anger out on you,"  Scully
explained, her voice conveying her sincerity.

Though she couldn't see him, Scully knew Mulder was nodding.  His
husky voice was gentle when he spoke again, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Scully rubbed her temples with her free hand, trying to frame an answer.
"Not right now," she answered finally.  Somehow the silence told her she'd hurt
his feelings.  "Mulder, it's not something I can share tonight.  I need some time
to sort things out."

"Is . . ." he faltered, then tried again.  "Is this about us?" he asked softly.

"No," Scully answered immediately.  "No, Mulder.  It's--" she stopped,
wavering in her resolve to keep Mulder in the dark.  "It's work," she equivocated
with a sigh.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" he inquired.  His caring
tone was the only thing that saved him from a tongue-lashing.

"Thanks, Mulder."  She flopped onto her back, pulling the base of the
phone to the edge of the nightstand.  "But, no."

Mulder hesitated, then acquiesced.  "Whenever you want to talk . . . "
He trailed off, and Scully was amazed when the corners of her lips turned up
slightly.

The anger receded slowly, and Scully was able to maneuver her way off
of the phone without raising Mulder's suspicions.  She hung up the receiver and
crawled underneath the covers.

***

Pausing just outside the double doors to the bullpen, Scully straightened
the jacket of her navy pantsuit.  She opened the doors and took a deep breath,
her chin lifting as she entered the room.  Emma Gryner, her temporary partner,
looked up and nodded.

"Morning, Scully," Gryner said with a sympathetic smile.  "Morgan
would like to see you in his office."

Scully's stomach knotted, but she fastidiously placed the files on her
desk, then turned to Morgan's office.  Apprehensive that she'd be subjected to
more of the innuendoes and insinuations of the night before, Scully steeled
herself.

She knocked sharply, then opened the door at his terse, "Come."

"Sir," Scully said, her tone neutral.  "You wanted to see me?"

Morgan didn't look up from the work on his desk, but gestured her in.
"Close the door."

Pursing her lips in irritation, Scully shut the door and turned back to
face him.  If he was trying to intimidate her, he'd have to do a better job.  She
stood utterly still, waiting in silence for him to acknowledge her presence.

Finally, he pushed the folder in front of him to the side and looked up, a
frown marring his features.  "Where's the autopsy report?"

Scully's eyebrow arched and she shook her head, sure she'd
misunderstood him.  "Excuse me, sir?"

Morgan rolled his eyes.  "The autopsy report," he repeated, enunciating
each syllable as if he were addressing a child.

Scully's mouth tightened in irritation, but she forced her tone to remain
neutral.  "I put it on your desk last night, sir."

Leaning back, Morgan crossed his arms.  "Well, Agent Scully, it's not
here.  Rewrite it immediately.  That's important information."

With her jaw clenched against the words crowding her mouth, Scully
nodded.  "Will that be all?"  As hard as she tried, she couldn't keep all of the
anger out of her voice.

Morgan studied her silently for a moment.  "Yes."

Scully opened the door carefully, quashing her desire to send it banging
against the wall.  She closed it behind her so softly that it barely made a sound.
Marching to her desk, Scully forced herself to breath slowly and calmly.  She
fired it up the PC and waited as it booted up.

Gryner glanced up at her.  "Everything okay?"

Scully met her gaze and forced a tight smile.  "Yes, everything's fine."
She settled onto the edge of her chair and selected the correct file.  With an arch
of her eyebrow, she sent the autopsy report to the be printed.

Scully crossed to the printer and collected her report, stapling it in the
upper left-hand corner.  She strode over to Morgan's office and knocked on the
door.  Morgan barked, "Come," and she opened the door.

"Sir, the autopsy report," Scully said as she met his surprised gaze.
With a surge of satisfaction, Scully laid the papers on Morgan's desk and turned
to leave.

"Wait," Morgan said.  When Scully turned, he continued, "I don't need
this.  I found the original."  He picked up the new copy of the report and held it
out for her.  "It was in the wrong box."

Scully gritted her teeth and walked forward, accepting the proffered
papers.  She managed to exit the room without telling him that she knew exactly
what he was doing.

When Scully reached her temporary desk, she tossed down the report
and kept right on walking, not stopping until she reached the women's restroom.
Inside, she crossed to the large mirror and looked into it.  She studied herself,
running a self-conscious hand through her hair and smoothing her suit jacket.

After a moment, she sighed and dropped her head, allowing her
shoulders to slump.

***

Scully paced the sidewalk, ignoring the Dallas heat as she waited
impatiently for Skinner to take her call.

Finally, he answered, "Skinner."

Scully took a breath, unsure exactly how to approach the point of her
call.  "Sir, am I catching you at a bad time?"

She heard movement on the other end of the line.

"No," Skinner answered.  "You're in Dallas?"

"Yes," Scully answered, glancing absently at the JFK memorial, which
looked more like a large cement block than a national monument.  "That's why
I'm calling, actually."

"Oh?"

Scully reached the corner of the monument and swiveled, heading back
the other way.  "Yes.  I feel that my usefulness on this case has come to an end.
SAC Morgan and the other agents on this case know who the killer is.  Any
forensic work I do could easily be done by someone on staff here, and--"

"Agent Scully," he interrupted.  "Is there a problem I should know
about?"

Scully hesitated, still unsure how she wanted to handle the situation with
Morgan.  "Off the record, Sir?"

Skinner agreed, "Of course."

"There is a..." Scully trailed off, searching for an appropriate
euphemism, "communication problem between myself and another agent on the
case."

"Communication problem?" Skinner prompted.

"Yes," Scully answered, unwilling to elaborate.  "Actions are being
misread.  In a potentially problematic manner."

Scully reached the other end of the monument, turning once again and
nearly crashing into two young girls racing after a third child.

"Morgan?" Skinner asked finally.

Scully pursed her lips, weighing her options.  "I'm not ready to discuss
this at length, Sir.  I just feel that my talents are best suited to the X-files, and
my continued assignment here is doing no good."

"Agent Scully," Skinner began in his favorite professorial tone of voice,
"I got a call not twenty minutes ago from SAC Morgan commending your work
on this case.  He says you found a crucial piece of evidence that may well be the
link needed to arrest Jenkins."  He paused to let that sink in, then added, "Your
assignment stands until further notice."

Scully bit back a sharp reply, then snapped, "Fine, Sir."

"Until your communication problem is something you are willing to
discuss on the record, there's nothing I can do, Agent Scully," Skinner said, then
hung up.

Scully jabbed the Power button angrily, glaring at the dull cement before
her.  "Thanks a lot," she muttered, reluctantly turning back towards the Dallas
Field Office.

***

Emma Gryner, who was arguing with someone over the phone, waved
Scully over with a smile as soon as she returned from her 'lunch.'  Scully crossed
to Gryner's desk, accepting the proffered message.

The slip informed her that her preliminary lab results were in.  Suddenly
invigorated, Scully nodded her thanks to Gryner and grabbed the nearest phone.
After a quick conversation, Scully headed for Morgan's office, hoping he would
concentrate on the job.

When he bade her to enter, she took only one step into the room, "Sir, it
appears we've got a break."

Morgan looked up with surprise.

Scully nodded and continued, "These are just preliminary results, but the
pubic hair from the latest victim is male.  I think we should organize a search for Jenkins--"

"Agent Scully," Morgan interrupted with a shake of his head.  "I don't
think that's a wise decision."

Shocked, Scully stared at him blankly for a moment before gathering her
thoughts.  "This is physical evidence, Sir.  If we can arrest Jenkins and get a
sample, we can prove conclusively--"

"That he fucked a prostitute," Morgan tossed a folder towards her.  It
landed on the desk, the sound loud in the sudden silence.  "Got this from DPD.
Sarah Haynes was a whore."

"And that makes her death less tragic?" Scully retorted, incredulous.
"This man, Jenkins, raped her repeatedly, then bludgeoned her to death!"

"Someone did," Morgan corrected.  "But that could be the hair of any
one of her Johns.  And even if we link Jenkins with this death, it doesn't fit the
M.O. of our guy.  He doesn't go for whores."

"Sir, Sarah Haynes was murdered," Scully forced herself to speak
slowly and calmly, biting back her comments on Morgan's humanity--or lack
thereof.  "We have evidence with which we can prosecute her killer, which is
more than we have in any of the other murders.  We can put him away for this."

"Agent Scully, let me explain something to you," Morgan rose, coming
around his desk to stand far too close for her liking.  "This is Texas.  When
monsters rape and kill soccer moms around here, Texans prefer that they go to
Huntsville to await their date with the gas chamber."  Scully opened her mouth to
interrupt, but Morgan raised his hand, continuing,  "And no jury in Texas is going
to put someone on death row for killing a whore."

Scully gaped at him, unable to form a response for a long moment.  "So
your solution is to wait until he kills another woman?  Another 'soccer mom'?
What if he's as clean next time as he has been every other time, except with Sarah
Haynes?"  She shook her head at him, disgusted, "I'm sure your Texans would be
quite interested to hear your suggestion that we allow someone else to be brutally
raped and murdered before we arrest Jenkins."

Morgan's face reddened slightly, and he reached out for the door.  It
slammed shut, the resultant gust of air blowing Scully's hair slightly into her face.
She ignored it, focusing all her attention on the enraged man before her.

"Was that a threat, Agent Scully?" he demanded.

"No, Sir," she answered, defiant.  "That was a promise.  I will not let
you put another woman's life at risk."

Morgan narrowed his eyes, leaning towards her, "Don't make me take
you off this case."  Suddenly, he relaxed, taking a step back to lean against his
desk, his pose maddeningly casual.  "I would hate to have to call AD Skinner
back and retract my earlier praise of your abilities."

Scully paused, stymied.  She reviewed her options silently, then nodded
at Morgan.  "You do what you need to do, Sir," she answered.  "I'm going to
stop a murderer from killing again."

Scully wrenched his office door open and ignored the outraged words
Morgan shouted after her, just as she ignored the agents staring at her as she
walked calmly out of the Dallas Field Office.

Scully got halfway to her rental car before her cellphone rang.  She
glared at it, assuming it would be Morgan.  After a moment of deliberation, she
pressed Talk, figuring she could always claim low battery and hang up.

"Scully," she barked.

"Agent Scully," Emma Gryner began softly.  "Could I have a moment with you?"

Scully continued on, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement.  "I'm
not sure, Agent Gryner.  What's this about."

"I'd rather not say right now.  Can I meet you somewhere?"

Scully slowed as she reached the Camry, digging her keys out.  "I'm at
my car right now.  I can pick you up at the entrance in two minutes."

Gryner agreed and hung up.  Scully slid into the car, still shaking with
anger over Morgan's threats.  She carefully edged out of her space, checked for
traffic, then peeled out with a satisfying squeal of the tires.

She reached the entrance to the Dallas Field Office just as Gryner
exited.  Gryner climbed into the car with a small, nervous smile, then tugged on
her seat belt.

"Where to?"  Scully asked.

Gryner gestured with her hand, indicating that Scully should go straight
for now.  "We had a possible sighting early on.  Jenkins in a grungy little bar in
Deep Ellum.  I figure we could follow up as soon as they open."

Understanding dawned, and Scully flashed Gryner a grateful look.
"You want him as bad as I do?"

Gryner's answering smile faded slightly.  "Possibly more," she answered.
"You didn't see the first few women.  Before he got his 'technique' down."

Scully nodded.  She'd read the autopsy reports.  "Well, let's get this
asshole."

***

"You're sure you've never seen him, Mr. Davidson," Gryner repeated,
pushing the photograph of Jenkins towards the bartender.

"Look," Davidson shrugged, still cleaning the same shot glass as when
they'd entered.  "I just pour drinks.  I don't pay much attention to who comes in
when."

Scully took a step closer to the bar, "So you have seen this man."

Davidson shot a nervous look toward the other bartender, who stood
watching at the other end of the bar.  "Maybe.  Maybe not.  Like I said, I don't
keep track."

Gryner glanced at Scully, then tapped the picture, "He never had a few
too many and started bragging?  Confessing?  Anything?"

Davidson rubbed the shot glass harder.  "I don't know.  I just serve 'em,
I don't listen."

"I thought bartenders always listened," Scully commented, watching him
closely.  He knew something.

"Not all of us," Davidson replied, his eyes again drawn to his coworker.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Davidson?"  Gryner asked, rapping her
knuckles sharply on the bar to regain his attention.  "We could do this downtown
if you're too distracted here."

"No," Davidson answered quickly.  "I don't want no trouble."

Scully took a slow, calming breath.  "And there won't be any if you just
tell us what you know."

Davidson stared at her for a long moment.  "What if--hypothetically--I
knew something and I didn't tell no one?" he asked quietly.

Scully grit her teeth, letting Gryner answer.

"Mr. Davidson," Gryner explained patiently, "If information you give us
leads to the arrest and prosecution of Jenkins, I'm sure we'd be willing to
overlook any knowledge you didn't feel the need to share earlier."  Scully could
hear the undercurrent of anger as Gryner added, "Hypothetically, of course."

Davidson looked back and forth between the two agents, then
apparently came to some sort of decision.  His shoulders slumped and his words
came out fast and furious, "He said he did it, but I didn't believe him."

"Did what?" Scully asked, outrage pooling in her stomach.  How many
more women died because this man was too cowardly to come forward?

"Killed that woman.  Darlene McCrae."  Davidson dropped his eyes, his
face reddening slightly.  "It was all over the news."

Scully clenched her jaw tightly.  Darlene McCrae was victim number
five.  Three dead women whose deaths could possibly have been prevented.

Gryner glanced at Scully, then turned back to Davidson.  "Can you give
us any more information?  Where Jenkins is staying, why he's doing this, how he's
choosing his victims?"

He shook his head emphatically.  "No, I don't know nothing else,"
he protested.

Scully placed her hands on her hips, letting her suit jacket part to reveal
her gun.  She fixed Davidson with a disdainful stare, "What you've told us so far
only confirms what we already know about Jenkins and implicates *you* as an
accessory after the fact.  If you have no more information for us, I'm afraid we're
going to have to place you under arrest."

Davidson's eyes widened and he nearly dropped the shot glass in his
hands.  "But, I told you he did it!" he stuttered.  "I didn't do nothing!"

Scully remained silent.  Beside her, Gryner crossed her arms and glared
at Davidson.

With no reaction from either agent, Davidson continued to talk, "Look,
I didn't do nothing.  He didn't tell me he was gonna kill any more girls,
so I didn't have nothing to do with that.  He only came in here twice, but
the second time..."
Davidson paused, wavering.  "He used a credit card."

Scully leaned forward, her forearms resting on the bar as she invaded
Davidson's personal space.  "In his name?  Jenkins?"

Davidson looked down, "I think it was stolen."

Gryner snorted.  "You think?"

Sighing, Davidson added, "He said something about stupid people
leaving credit cards lying around."  He paused, placing the shot glass down on
the bar.  "That's *all* I know.  Really."

Scully regarded him silently for a moment, then glanced at Gryner, who
nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Find me the credit card number," Gryner demanded.

Davidson's eyes widened.  "What?  I don't know--"

Scully made a show of reaching for her handcuffs.

"Okay, okay," Davidson squealed, backing up slightly.  "I'll see what I
can do."  He glanced at the other bartender again, then turned towards the back
room.  The two agents accompanied Davidson into the back and stood silently as
he rummaged through the credit card transaction sheets until he found the right
date.  "I'm not sure which one is his, though," he said sheepishly, handing the
receipts over to Gryner.

Scully glared at him. "Can you make an educated guess?" she asked,
unable to suppress the sarcasm lacing her tone.  "Maybe give us a time frame?"

"I think... he had a few drinks, so it would be over twenty bucks.  And I
think he was here pretty late.  We close at two."

Scully fished out a business card and slapped it down on the battered
desk.  "You remember anything else, you call me.  If he shows up, you call me or
call 911.  You understand?"

Davidson nodded fearfully.

Scully nodded, then she and Gryner headed for the door.

***

When Scully and Gryner returned to the field office, they avoided their
assigned desks altogether and headed straight for the Records suite.

"Chuckie," Gryner greeted the thin black man working at a computer
terminal.  "I've got a couple credit cards to run."

"Self-serve, Emma," Chuckie instructed, not even glancing up from his
computer screen.  "I've got an ASAP for SAC Lucifer."

Scully quirked an eyebrow.  "Let me guess:  Morgan."

Chuckie whirled to face the two women at the sound of Scully's voice.
"Sorry, I thought it was just this one," he explained, gesturing towards Gryner.
He stuck out one gangly arm.  "I'm Chuck Willardson."

Scully shook his proffered hand, "Dana Scully."

"Ah," Chuckie nodded.  "The other agent whose work I've been
assigned to 'go over with a fine-toothed comb.'"

Scully's eyebrow shot higher.  "Morgan asked you to check our work?"

With a sympathetic look, Chuckie nodded again.  "Of course, he framed
it as his desire to catch Jenkins ASAP."

"Asshole," Gryner muttered.

Determined not to dwell on the implications of Morgan's actions, Scully
gestured towards a vacant computer terminal.  "May I?"

"Of course," Chuckie answered.  "It's your basic plug-and-chug."

Scully smiled her thanks and slid into the seat, Gryner taking the
terminal to her left.  The women divided the receipts into two roughly equal piles
and started entering numbers.  They called up a year's worth of charge records
for each possibility, trying to establish spending patterns to contrast against the
card's usage after being stolen by Jenkins.

The work was tedious, and the three occupants of the room worked in
silence--save the sounds of typing--for a long time before the ring of Scully's
cellphone interrupted.

"Scully," she answered quietly, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

"Agent Scully, what is going on down there?"

Scully grimaced:  Skinner.  That could only mean one thing.  "Sir," she
began, rising to move away from Gryner and Chuckie.  "I can assure you that
whatever SAC Morgan told you is false."

"So you didn't storm out of the office and disappear for the rest of the
day?"

Cringing, Scully weighed her words carefully.  "Not exactly," she
hedged, feeling Gryner's curious gaze.  "It's only 3:30 here," she pointed out.

"Scully," Skinner warned. "Don't play word games with me."

"I'm not, Sir," she insisted, stepping into the hallway.  "This is a bad
time."

"I've got a SAC reporting you for insubordination and this is a bad
time?"  Skinner asked incredulously.

"There were mitigating circumstances when I 'disappeared,' Sir," Scully
answered.  "And I can't discuss this right now."

"Agent Scully," Skinner replied, his concern for her lending an edge to
his words.  "This is going to become a matter of record--one over which I will
not be able to exert control--quite soon.  If you don't explain these mitigating
circumstances to me, you're going to end up explaining them to a review board."

"Just give me twenty-four hours, Sir," Scully requested.  "We've got a
possible lead on the case, and I'd much rather expend energy getting this
asshole."

After an interminable pause, Skinner reluctantly agreed.  "Fine.  But I
expect a phone call by this time tomorrow, Scully."

Scully let out the breath she'd been holding, "Thank you, sir."  She
dropped the phone back into her pocket and reentered the Records room.  Two
heads turned towards her.  "My boss from D.C.," she explained.

Gryner tapped her fingernail on the computer screen.  "Scully, I think
this might be it."

Scully leaned over Gryner's shoulder and examined the credit card
records of one Ian S. Kingsley of Pasadena, California.  The record showed an
upsurge in charges after sporadic usage for the previous eleven months.  Scully
nodded, "Could be.  Let's call him."

A short phone call to a distraught Kingsley proved that his card was,
indeed, missing.  Kinglsey--who traveled on business rather frequently--couldn't
recall seeing his card since his recent trip to Dallas and accounted for all of the charges except five trips to restaurants and gas stations over the past three
weeks.

After instructing Kingsley to inform Mastercard of the situation and
cancel his card, Gryner called the restaurants while Scully contacted the gas
stations.  Only the two gas stations had security cameras on the premises, and
Scully arranged for the footage from dates and times corresponding to the
charges on Kingsley's account to be waiting for herself and Gryner.

No sooner did the two agents split up to collect the security camera
footage than Scully's phone rang.  She fished it out of her pocket, "Scully."

"Agent Scully," Morgan barked.  "I want you in my office in fifteen
minutes."

Scully bit back a curse.  "I'm afraid that's not possible, Sir," she
answered, struggling to keep her tone neutral.  "I'm in the field."

"Well, then you'll just have to get your ass back to the office, won't
you?" he retorted.

"Fine," Scully spit out.  "I'll be back in 45 minutes."  She hung up
without waiting for a reply and thumbed the power switch to avoid any further
conversations with Morgan.

***

Scully dropped the tape she'd retrieved from Chevron off to Gryner--
who was cloistered in the Audio-Visual suite--with only an enigmatic "Start
without me."  Gryner gave her an odd look, but refrained from comment.

Scully steeled herself on the way up to Morgan's office, knowing he
would be alternately threatening and seductive.  Or at least his version of
seductive.

Unfortunately for her, the collection of desks in the bullpen stood
ominously empty, which meant there would again be no witnesses to Morgan's
behavior should Scully decide to file a formal complaint.  Cases of 'he said, she
said' were notoriously stacked in 'his' favor.

Gritting her teeth, she marched to Morgan's door, which stood ajar, and
knocked.

"Come," Morgan barked, rising and circling his desk.  He regarded her
calmly as he leaned on the corner of his large desk.

"You wanted to see me," Scully prompted flatly, remaining in the doorway.

"Agent Scully," Morgan began gruffly, "I don't want to have to contact
AD Skinner--again--about your insubordination.  So let's settle this right here,
right now.  Just the two of us."

Scully bridled at his turn of phrase, but nodded stiffly.

"Good," Morgan said, easing back into his Lothario persona.  "Now,
why don't you tell me where you were all day."

"Doing my job," Scully answered shortly.  "Investigating."

Morgan's smile faltered, but his tone remained amicable.  "What were
you investigating?"

Struggling not to reveal any more than necessary, Scully answered, "A
longshot lead on the Jenkins case."

The smile vanished.  "Specifically?"

After a lengthy pause, Scully averred, "I'd rather not say, as it would
compromise my source."

"Are you trying to make this difficult?" Morgan exploded, slamming his
fist into his desktop.  "You've been doing good work, Dana, and I don't want to
put a reprimand in your file."

"Is that a threat?" Scully took an angry step towards him.

Morgan sucked in a breath, visually bringing his temper under control.
"Look," he said, his tone lowering to one implying intimacy.  "If you would let
me be your friend, we could help each other."

Scully's eyebrow shot skyward.  "Define 'friend,'" she demanded, icicles
forming on her words.  "For that matter, define 'help.'"

"What?" he asked, willfully misunderstanding her meaning.

Scully narrowed her gaze.  "Your words imply a level of intimacy that
does *not* exist between superiors and their subordinates, Sir," she stated.

Morgan jerked to his feet, throwing his hands in the air.  "What is your
problem?"

"*My* problem?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, *your* problem," Morgan answered.  "You keep bringing up sex,
yet you refuse to explore the possibilities between us."

"There *are* no sexual possibilities between us, *Sir*," Scully
reiterated.  "You're my superior."

"You've been fucking your direct superior for years, so don't give me
that bullshit about not getting involved with your superiors."

"My direct superior?" Scully sputtered, an image of Skinner's bald pate
coming, unbidden, to her mind.

"Yes," Morgan nodded.  "You and Spooky have been making the beast
with two backs in hotels all around the US of A."

Scully bristled immediately, trying to ignore her sudden panic.  "Mulder
is *not* my superior--"

"Sure he is; he's head of the X-Files division, which is the division you're
attached to."

"No," Scully denied, shaking her head.  "Agent Mulder and myself are
*partners* on the X-Files.  His status as head of the department is nominal, at
best, and superseded by our *equitable* status as partners."

"Nice try," Morgan smirked.  "I doubt OPR would see it that way."

A cold fury washed over Scully.  "And how do you think OPR would see sexual harassment?" she retorted, pressing her trembling hands flat against
her thighs.

"Sexual harassment?"  Morgan scoffed.  "Where do you get off?"

Scully bit back an unproductive stream of curses and forced herself to
calm down.  Taking a step back towards the door, she glared at Morgan.  "You
can read all about it in my complaint."

"Hey!--"

Scully slammed the door closed on his loud complaints, nearly running
through the bullpen toward the hallway.  She heard Morgan exiting his office as
she reached the doorway.  Looking up, Scully met the shocked countenance of
Emma Gryner as Morgan's angry shouts died abruptly.

***

"Were you coming to tell me something?"  Scully asked, brushing past
Gryner to avoid any questions.

"Yes."  Gryner's heels clattered as she caught up with Scully.  "Agent
Mulder on line three."

Scully held in an exasperated sigh--he kept calling when her patience
was at an absolute minimum.  And when Mulder sensed she was keeping
something from him, he kept at it.

She pushed open the door to the Audio-Visual suite, which was rapidly
emptying of the day shift.  Gryner continued to a bank of monitors while Scully
grabbed the nearest phone.

"Scully."

"How's it going?"  Mulder's scratchy voice did nothing to soothe her
abraded nerves.

"Not great," Scully answered, trying not to be curt with him.  "I'm in the
middle of something."

Mulder hesitated a long moment.  "Scully, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Scully glanced at Gryner, who was diligently scanning the
surveillance video for Jenkins.

"It doesn't sound like nothing," Mulder answered, irritation creeping
into his tone.

Scully took a deep, steadying breath.  "Mulder," she said, not unkindly.
"It's nothing that concerns you."

"If something is upsetting you, that concerns me."

A small smile blossomed and Scully's tone softened further.  "Mulder, I
really can't talk about it right now.  We're working on a lead."

"Go to it, then," Mulder said.  "Just promise you'll update me later."

"Will do," Scully pledged, then disconnected.  She crossed to Gryner,
absently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.  "Anything?"

Gryner nodded.  "I think so," she answered, excitement lacing her
words.  She glanced over her shoulder at Scully as she pointed out a figure on
the monitor.  "This indistinguishable blob is the person using Kingsley's card.
There's not clear shot of the blob, so I'm working on the plate."

"Good," Scully nodded, scrutinizing the slightly fuzzy image of what
appeared to be a mid-80s Nissan Sentra.  It was a dark shade of grey, but the
black and white tape made determining the exact color impossible.  "I'll start on
contestant number two."  Scully popped the second video tape into the adjacent
booth and pressed play.  Digging out the corresponding credit card receipt,
Scully checked the time, then fast-forwarded.

First, she watched the relevant ten minute segment of tape in normal
time. Then she paused it at the exact minute of the transaction and examined it
frame by frame.  Sure enough, a Nissan Sentra tanked up at the correct pump.
Unfortunately, the figure pumping gas was again indistinguishable.

"Got it," Gryner said, rolling her chair over to Scully's booth.  "Nissan
Sentra, Texas, PS9192."

"Give me one second," Scully murmured.  Disregarding the blurry
figure, Scully selected the Sentra's license plate and magnified it.  Scully
manipulated the shades of grey until the plate number was legible.  She printed
the adjusted picture, then turned to Gryner.  "It's a match.  Let's run the plate."

***

"Mark Anthony Osmon," Scully read as the text scrolled up the screen.
She scanned the rest of the information, then glanced to Gryner.

"Never heard of him," Gryner answered Scully's unspoken question.
"Friend of Jenkins, maybe."

Scully nodded, "Or Jenkins stole Osmon's car."

Gryner conceded the point, but added, "Osmon should've called the
police about it if that were the case."

"Maybe he's out of town," Scully countered.  "Doesn't know it's
missing."

Gryner shrugged.  "Hell, he might be dead."

The two women shared a comfortable silence as they evaluated the
evidence independently.  Scully jotted down Osmon's address.  "Check it out?"
she queried, standing.

"Sure," Gryner answered, exiting the database and powering down the
computer.  "What's the plan?"  She rose, heading for the door as she pulled her
hair back and fastened it with a bright blue clip.

Scully followed, checking for the extra clip in her pants pocket.  "I'm
not really sure," she answered.  "Let's just go see what the address looks like, and if no one's there, we'll hang around for a while."

"Two agents can't technically do 24 hour surveillance," Gryner said.
"And Morgan sure as shit won't give us any help."

Scully nodded, holding open the door to the stairs.  "That's about what I
figured."  She started down the stairs.  "It's your case.  Your call."

Gryner sighed as the two women reached the landing, glancing out the
window at the sun hanging low in the sky.  "How do you feel about staking out?"

Scully considered briefly, then met Gryner's gaze, "Let's do it."

***

Gryner slid back into the passenger seat and handed Scully a wrapped
sandwich.  "Grilled chicken, no tomatoes."

"Thanks," Scully answered, unwrapping her meager dinner.  "You didn't
miss a thing."  Gryner nodded and the two women dispatched their meals quietly,
save for the crinkling of the wrappers.

As Scully swallowed the last of her sandwich, Gryner began to chuckle.
Scully shot her partner a questioning look, which only seemed to amuse Gryner
further.  She slid down in her seat, covering her face with her hands to muffle her laughter.

"Dare I ask?" Scully sipped her spring water.

When Gryner brought herself back under control, she shook her head,
"It's nothing."  In answer to Scully's skeptical look, she elaborated, "Okay, it's
something.  But it's certainly not funny."

"Which would adequately explain the laughter," Scully remarked dryly.
"Spill."

Suddenly sober, Gryner shrugged.  "It's ridiculous, that's all."

"What is?"  Scully shifted to face her more fully.

"This," Gryner answered, gesturing around them.  "The fact that we're
out here without backup because the boys' club is too concerned with penis size
to worry about women being killed if they aren't virgins or mothers."  She
paused, a bitter smile surfacing.  "Or both."

Scully acknowledged Gryner's words with a small nod.

"It's disgusting,"  Gryner continued, warming to her subject.  "Men
butchering women all over the country.  We get one asshole dead to rights, and
Morgan cripples the investigation because he thinks prostitutes are less than
human."

Scully nodded again, a grim expression on her face as Gryner voiced the
same thoughts she'd been having since her arrival in Dallas.  "I get the feeling he thinks *all* women are not quite human," Scully commented.  "Or at least not as
human as him.  More like prey, if you follow me."

"Oh, trust me.  I follow you," Gryner answered bitterly.  "Morgan has to
turn every investigation into some alpha-male contest.  And, sadly, it's not just
him, a lot of the male agents see investigations as games of wit.  Who can
outsmart whom."

"Which neatly removes the victim from the equation," Scully observed
darkly.  "Her pain.  Her family's pain--"

The shrill ring of Scully's cellphone cut off further discussion.  Scully
fished it out and pressed Send, flashing Gryner an apologetic look.  "Scully."

"Hey," Mulder said, his voice warm.  "Just wanted to touch base.  I'm
off for a run and didn't want to miss your call."

Scully masked her surprise at his open admission, sensing Gryner's gaze.
"I'm on a stakeout, actually," Scully answered.

"Really?"  Mulder replied, an undertone of excitement in his voice.
"Jenkins?"

"A friend of his, but we think Jenkins' has his car," Scully explained.  "I
really can't talk."

"Understandable.  Just get the asshole," Mulder answered, then paused.
"Tomorrow?"

"Morning," Scully agreed.  "I'll--"

"Scully," Gryner interrupted.  "White male, 30s, entering the house."

"Be careful, Scully," Mulder instructed.

"Always," Scully said, disconnecting.  She slipped the phone back into
her pocket without taking her eyes from the man on Osmon's porch.  "You think
it's Osmon?"

Gryner shrugged.  "One way to find out."

As the man disappeared into the house, the two women shared a look,
then reached for their guns.

***

Gryner and Scully flanked Osmon's front door, waiting impatiently for
an answer to their knock.  With an annoyed look, Gryner pounded again and
shouted, "Publisher's Clearinghouse!"

Scully shifted her weight slightly, readying herself.

The door swung open suddently, and a skinny white man appeared,
shrouded in shadows.  "What the fuck do you want?"

Her gun pressed against her thigh, Scully stepped into the doorway.
"Mark Osmon?"  He narrowed his eyes, but nodded slightly.  Scully flashed her
badge with her left hand.  "FBI.  We have some questions--"

The grubby man started to slam the door, but Gryner pivoted and threw
her weight against the heavy wood, halting its progress with a small grunt.
Osmon fled into the dim interior, and with a quick glance, the two women
followed.

The agents swept the hallway, working effortlessly as a team.  A drawer
squealed somewhere to their left, and they approached the only closed door.
After a silent count, Scully kicked open the door and went in low.  Gryner came
behind, yelling "Freeze!"

Osmon whirled, a Glock aimed at them.  "Get the fuck out of my house!
You got no right to be here," he yelled, desperation lacing his voice.

Scully evaluated Osmon quickly.  He stood not more than five feet from
them in the small, cramped room.  Behind him stood a decrepit desk, one drawer
of which gaped open.  He had wild eyes and trembling limbs.  Great, Scully
thought.  A junkie with a gun.

She eased herself up, keeping her eyes on his trigger finger.  "Mark,"
she said, waiting for his gaze to shift to her.  "Mark, we don't want to hurt you."

"No," he answered, swinging the gun towards her.  "Get the fuck out of
here!"

Gryner took a step towards Osmon, who jerked his gun back towards
her.  "Stop it right fucking now!" he yelled, fumbling with the safety.

Scully glanced at her partner quickly, but Gryner's gaze remained on
Osmon.  "Mark," Scully repeated, trying to get his attention away from Gryner.
"Mark, no one's going to get hurt here."

"Shut up!" he yelled, turning to Scully, his gun arm following sluggishly.
"Just get out and leave me alone."  He managed to release the safety, and
brandished the Glock at Scully.

"We can't do that, Mark," Scully answered, willing him to keep talking.
She heard the unmistakable click of a safety being engaged, and fought the urge
to ask Gryner what the fuck she was doing.  Scully forced herself to continue.
"We just need to ask you a question."

Osmon took two steps towards Scully, nearly bringing his Glock into
contact with her Sig Sauer.  "I'm not answering your fucking questions!"

"Mark," Gryner said softly, drawing his attention, but not his aim.
"Look."  She loosened her grip on the gun, allowing it to rotate until it dangled
precariously from her forefinger by the triggerguard.  With a tiny smile, Gryner
tilted her hand and dropped the Sig.

As Osmon watched the gun clatter to the hardwood floor, Gryner took
a small step forward and slammed her right fist into his cheek.  Osmon flew
backwards, his Glock arcing away from him as he hit the floor hard.

Immediately, Scully holstered her Sig and rolled Osmon onto his
stomach before he could regain his breath.  She cuffed him, then turned to
Gryner, who had retrieved her Sig and bagged Osmon's Glock.  "Nice move,"
Scully grinned.  "Risky, but effective.  I'll have to remember that."

"Nothing to it," Gryner shrugged, smiling.

***

Scully and Gryner stood silently side by side, regarding Mark Osmon
through the one-way glass.  He fidgeted constantly, his eyes darting around the
room as his leg jiggled in an ever-changing rhythm.  Scully couldn't quite repress
a smirk as she noted the darkening bruise on Osmon's cheekbone.

"Ready?"

The two women turned to face Detective Joren, a small Hispanic man
with thick, dark hair flopping over his forehead.

"Yes," Scully answered.  "And thanks for the loan," she nodded towards
the interrogation room as the trio moved out into the hallway.

"No problem," Joren demurred, holding open the door to the room
containing Osmon.  "After you."

Scully swept past Joren, Gryner on her heels, and marched towards
Osmon.  She glanced over her shoulder at Joren, who remained in the doorway.
"Yes," she said, picking up the thread of an imaginary conversation.  "Have it
searched right away."

Joren nodded, playing along.  "Top to bottom," he confirmed, then
pulled the door shut.

"Well, Mr. Osmon," Gryner began, yanking out a chair and turning it
backwards.  She swung one leg over and sat down, resting her arms on the back
of the chair.  "You're screwed."

"What?" Osmon asked, glancing to Scully for help.  Scully crossed her
arms, glaring at him sternly.  Osmon looked back at Gryner.  "What the fuck are
you talking about?"

"You kiss your momma with that mouth?" Gryner demanded, her tone
still casual.  "Keep it clean, asshole."

Confused, Osmon's gaze shifted to Scully again, who merely stared
back, impassive.  Osmon slapped his hand on the table.  "I'm gonna sue your ass,"
he pointed at Gryner.

"I don't think you can sue just a body part, sir," Gryner answered dryly.
Scully choked back a snicker.

"I got a bruise!" Osmon protested angrily.  "You assaulted me,"

"No, I didn't," Gryner answered mildly.  "I disarmed you."

"You nearly broke my jaw!"

Gryner snorted.  Scully stepped forward and leaned on the table, "Mr.
Osmon, I'm not sure you fully understand your predicament."

"Yes, I do!" Osmon answered.  "You bust into my house, violating my
first amendment rights, and then assault me!"

"You opened the door, after which we can legally enter.  Then you drew
down on us after we identified ourselves as federal agents," Scully explained
patiently.  "But you're missing the point."

Osmon shifted in his seat, scratching at his uneven stubble.  "What the
fuck are--"  Gryner rapped sharply on the table.  After glancing at her, Osmon
rephrased his question, "What are you talking about?"

Scully and Gryner shared a glance.  "Oh, nothing," Gryner sighed,
propping her chin on her hand.  "Just that Detective Joren and his partner are
currently searching your house.  Think they might find some smack, Osmon?"

Osmon sat up straight, eyes wide.  "I don't have no fucking drugs in my
house.  I swear," he insisted, his pleading gaze shifting between the two agents.
"If they find drugs, they're not mine."

Scully held up a hand, and Osmon halted midstream.  Pushing herself
back up to a standing position, Scully turned and meandered away from the table.
"Of course they're not yours," she commented sarcastically, facing the window
but watching Osmon in the reflection.

Osmon shook his head vehemently. "No.  Please," he turned to Gryner,
leaning towards her.  "I don't have any drugs.  A friend of mine has been staying
at my house.  I think he's a junkie."

Scully turned back, feigning sudden interest.  "Really?" she asked.
Osmon nodded, eyes wide.  Scully drifted back toward the table.  "Who might
this friend be?"

"Jerry," Osmon answered, twisting in his chair to face Scully.  "Jerry
Jenkins.  You gotta believe me."

Scully regarded him silently for a long moment, then glanced over at
Gryner.  "What do you think?"

Osmon's gaze flew to Gryner, who shrugged one shoulder.  "Doubtful,"
she answered.  "We'd have to go track this guy down, bring him in, question
him..." she trailed off, her tone conveying just how much she detested the
thought.

"We might as well give it a shot," Scully offered, her tone resigned.

Gryner considered for a moment, then shook her head.  "I don't feel like
wandering Dallas in search of some asshole junkie.  We already got this one for
assault--"

"No," Osmon interrupted eagerly.  "He's at work.  I can tell you where
he is."

Scully and Gryner shared another look, pretending to think it over.
Finally, Scully turned to Osmon.  "Fine," she said, sliding a small pad of paper at Osmon.  "Write down the address."

***

"What do you think?" Gryner asked as Scully joined her in the hallway.
Gryner paced in tight circles as she tugged her reluctant curls into a braid.

"Jenkins is not an addict," Scully declared.  "He's far too organized to be
doped up.  Osmon's just covering his ass."

"Yeah," Gryner agreed, "but do we trust Osmon's info?  I mean, he *is* a
crackhead."

Scully shrugged, leaning back against the wall.  "I don't think we have much
choice," she gestured at the wall separating them from Osmon.  "If he doesn't show
up, Jenkins could spook."

"True," Gryner nodded.  "But do we go in alone or notify Morgan?"

Scully grimaced, her body tensing.  "Good question," she conceded.  After a
moment, she turned to Gryner with a satisfied smile.  "We do both."

"Huh?" Gryner shot Scully a skeptical look.

"We go--just the two of us--and if we spot Jenkins, we call for backup,"
Scully explained.

"But what about--?"

"Morgan?" Scully interrupted.  "We leave him a voice mail."

Gryner wandered a few steps away, mulling it over.  When she turned back
to Scully, she was smiling.  "I like it," she said, then lowered her voice.  "You're devious."

Scully chuckled, pushing away from the wall.

Gryner nodded.  "In the best possible way."

"Joren," Scully called.  The detective glanced up from his desk.  "Sit on
Osmon for a couple hours?"

Joren nodded.  "Sure thing."

"Thanks," Gryner grinned.  "We'll be back."

***

"What's the plan?" Scully asked as she pulled into a parking lot adjacent to
Jenkins' place of business.  Not surprisingly, Jenkins worked as a security guard for a small strip mall; many serial killers were obsessed by the police, and any link to The Job, however tenuous, was pursued.  Of course, Scully thought darkly, the uniform also give Jenkins an air of authority with his victims, which probably made it easier for him to abduct them.

"Nice place," Gryner remarked, tilting her head to indicate the Moonlite
Reader, a small shop specializing in, as the sign said, "XXX Hot XXX Girls."  Gryner undid her seatbelt as Scully killed the engine.  "I'm not sure," she admitted.  "He may bolt."

Scully shrugged, "So what do you suggest?"  She slid her gun from its
holster and checked the clip.

Gryner did likewise.  "This guy is smart.  Real smart," Gryner muttered.
"And he definitely thinks he's smarter than the police," she noted, sarcasm lacing her tone.  "Especially female police."

Scully nodded, but didn't speak, allowing Gryner to elaborate, using her
profile to come to a conclusion about Jenkins likely reaction.

Gryner narrowed her eyes, searching the length of the strip mall for a sign of
Jenkins.  "He may just go quietly, assuming he'll talk his way out of any suspicion.  Or he may attack, or run," she sighed, irritated.  "You see why I stopped profiling?"

Scully nodded again, remembering a long ago moment of terror in Mulder's
gargoyle-strewn apartment.  "Yeah," she answered.  "My partner was a profiler, too.
It's tough."

Gryner grimaced.  "Tough," she repeated.  "It is that."  Gryner shook herself
out of her funk.  "Okay, we'll go in easy, customers until we find him.  Then we pull the badges and go with it," she stated, her tone decisive.

"Sounds good," Scully agreed.  "Ready?"

Gryner glanced at her and flashed a weak grin, "As I'll ever be."

***

After browsing in a thrift shop and a pawn shop, then poking their heads into
a "family" restaurant, Gryner and Scully spotted their quarry in Moonlite Reader.  The store was empty save for the clerk, Jenkins, and the rapturous faces of women in various stages of degradation who watched the two agents' every move from the
covers of porno magazines and video cassettes.  Scully noted with disgust a section marked "Snuff" and made a mental note to have the local PD investigate.

The bell over the door drew both men's attention, and Jenkins gaze swept
over Gryner and Scully with an appreciative leer, "Nice."  His attention snagged on their no-nonsense suits and his eyes narrowed.  Jenkins stood at the counter, one hand resting casually on his nightstick, as he chatted with the overweight clerk behind the counter.  He was dressed in the requisite rent-a-cop outfit, all dark blue authority and brass buttons.  In the absence of a gun, Jenkins hung two pairs of handcuffs from his utility belt and an oversized dispatch radio.  His dark hair hung down, nearly obscuring his piercing blue eyes, and he had wide, generous lips.  Altogether a rather attractive man, if one could disregard the fact that he raped, mutilated, and murdered women as a hobby.

Gryner moved forward, Scully a bit to the right.  Gryner reached the counter
and stopped, one hand casually planted on her hip, conveniently near her weapon.
"Howdy, fellas," she greeted, her eyes never leaving Jenkins.

Scully stepped sideways, blocking Jenkins path to the door.  She nodded to
the clerk, sparing him only the quickest of glances, then returned her attention to Jenkins.  "We're looking for a Jerry Jenkins," Scully said, keeping her tone
conversational and her expression open.

Jenkins stood up straight, nearly squinting at them as he clutched at his
nightstick.  "What for?" he demanded, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet.

Neither agent moved closer, not wanting to crowd him.  Gryner shrugged
easily, "Just have a couple of questions about a Mark Osmon."

Jenkins relaxed almost imperceptibly.  "He's a junkie, if that's what you're
after," he answered, disdain in his voice.

"That's a start," Scully nodded.  "What else can you tell us?"

With a lopsided grin, Jenkins elaborated, "He's an alcoholic crackhead who
can no longer get it up and takes out his frustrations on small animals."

"What does that mean?" Gryner demanded, inching forward.

"You're a cop," Jenkins said, pleased with himself.  "You figure it out."

Scully flashed her badge, "Actually, we're FBI."

Jenkins tensed again, "FBI doesn't do drugs."

"Not regularly," Gryner remarked dryly.

Glancing back and forth between the two women, Jenkins backed up a step.
"What do you want?" he demanded.

Scully moved forward, inching her hand towards her Sig Sauer.  "We need
you to come with us."

Jenkins shook his head.  "Fuck you."

"That's no way to talk to a lady," Gryner took hold of Jenkins arm and
reached for her gun.

Jenkins whipped out the nightstick and managed to strike a glancing blow to
Gryner's head.  With a yelp, Gryner relinquished her hold on Jenkins and sagged
against the counter.  Jenkins bolted.

Scully pulled out her gun, but Jenkins disappeared into the back before she
could get off a shot.  She glanced at Gryner, who held her head with one hand and
gestured furiously after Jenkins with her gun.  "Go!"

"Call 911," Scully commanded, giving the whimpering clerk a hard glare
before taking off after Jenkins.  Scully proceeded carefully through the disgustingly sticky hallway in the back, on either side of which were small 'viewing' cubicles.  After quickly checking each, Scully slammed through the back door into the alley behind the strip mall.  She spotted Jenkins and sprinted after him, cursing her heels as she nearly slipped rounding a corner.

Jenkins barreled into her, knocking her onto the rough pavement.  He
brought the nightstick down hard just above her right hand, which still miraculously held her Sig Sauer.  Scully squirmed underneath Jenkins, whose weight pinned her to the ground on her left side.  Unable to get free, she rolled beneath him onto her back, as he attempted to get the nightstick into position to choke her.  Dimly, Scully heard Gryner calling her name.

Jenkins settled his bulk on her hips and stomach, half-sitting on her to get
leverage.  But he forgot, as most men do, that a female's strength resides in her legs.  Still fighting off the nightstick with her free hand, Scully braced her right arm on the
ground and kneed Jenkins in the spine as hard as she could.  With a strangled cry, he arched his back and twisted, allowing Scully to wriggle out from underneath him.

"Scully!" Gryner cried, her voice growing louder as she approached the corner.

Scully scrambled to her knees as he launched himself at her, fending off the
nightstick to land a firm blow on the back of Jenkins head with her gun.  He crumpled a second time, still moving, but much more sluggishly, as Gryner rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, her gun at the ready.

The two women cuffed Jenkins and hauled him to his feet.  Gryner surveyed
Scully's shredded suit and mussed hair, "Nice work, Dana."

Scully nodded, a small smile curving her lips.  "You got the last one.  Guess
it was my turn."

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

Scully waited somewhat impatiently for Dr. Radford to complete her exam
of Gryner, who hadn't lost consciousness but was most likely suffering from a
concussion after her close encounter with Jenkins' nightstick.  Gryner endured the
entire examination with a stupid grin on her face, still overjoyed that Jenkins hadn't gotten away.

Scully herself had refused treatment, knowing that although she would have
a nasty bruise on her arm, there was nothing the doctors could do besides prescribe painkillers.  And she'd need a clear head for the upcoming interrogation of Jenkins.

Dr. Radford stood, pushing her long dark braid back over her shoulder.
"You're very lucky," she said.  "Mild to moderate concussion."

Scully nodded; Radford's diagnosis matched her own, made on the scene.

"Okay," Gryner answered.  "Can I go now?"

Radford shook her head, amused by Gryner's attitude.  "Sure, but no
sleeping the night through.  You need to be woken every hour."

"Every hour?"  Gryner's ever-present grin wilted into a grimace.

Moving to the door, Scully said, "I'll make sure she's good."

Radford nodded, "You're free to go.  And nice job."

Gryner's smile reappeared.  "Thanks."

Scully hissed as she pushed open the door with her injured arm.

"Careful," Gryner cautioned, eager as Scully was to relieve the DPD officers
who had Jenkins in custody in an isolated treatment room.

Scully shot Gryner a look over her shoulder, "Says she with the concussion."

Gryner laughed, still giddy, "*Mild* concussion."

"Borderline," Scully corrected, smiling as she rounded the corner.  She
stopped short when she caught sight of the familiar form standing guard outside
Jenkins room.

"Yes, Doctor," Gryner teased, then jerked to a halt beside Scully.  Her gaze
shifted to the man who had caught Scully's attention and she grimaced, her good
mood dissipating rapidly.

Scully met Gryner's gaze, "Guess he got our voice mail."

***

Gryner shot Scully a look over her shoulder, then slid into the front seat of
Morgan's bureau-issue sedan.  With a slight sigh of relief, Scully took the backseat.
Although he'd been remarkably civil in the hospital, Scully knew he wouldn't want
witnesses to the inevitable explosion caused by his bruised ego.  Not only had she
spurned his advances, but she'd teamed up with another agent to bring in the killer he'd been hunting for months.

Morgan slammed his door shut, snapping Scully out of her musings.  He
pulled away from the curb in silence, trying to catch Scully's eyes in the rearview mirror.  When he began speaking, his voice was tight with suppressed rage, "I don't enjoy reprimanding my agents, but as you two have joined forces to take insubordination to a new level--"

"Sir--" Gryner interrupted, only to be cut off by a slash of Morgan's hand.

"Don't," he ordered, glaring at his subordinate too long, almost slamming
into the pick up in front of them.  "Your actions in this case were foolhardy,
irresponsible, and dangerous.  You were both assigned to this task force, but this is *not* your case.  You went after a dangerous criminal without backup, for God's
sake."

Morgan paused for breath, and Gryner jumped in, "There was no time--"

"Gryner," Morgan warned.  Then he glanced at Scully in the rear view
mirror, "You ignored my direct order, Agent Scully.  And Gryner, you participated in an unauthorized surveillance--"

Gryner shifted in her seat, "Your task force couldn't even *find* the suspect
to surveil him."

"Agent Gryner," Morgan snapped, taking a corner much too fast.  "I don't
want to have to write you up."

Puzzled, Scully asked, "You're not going to write us up?"

Morgan's mouth tightened.  "I didn't say that," he answered, his words
measured.  Scully's stomach twisted in trepidation.  Morgan continued.  "Obviously, you have had an adverse influence on one of my best agents.  In light of her excellent record, and taking into account *your* questionable behavior since your arrival, I will be placing a reprimand in your file."

"What?" Gryner snapped.  "That's ridiculous.  We both decided to--"

"Gryner," Morgan yelled, his patience at an end. "Don't push me!"

Gryner fell silent, her arms crossed and her expression defiant.  Morgan,
apparently satisfied with her reaction, looked again into the rearview mirror.  Scully met his gaze, her face devoid of any emotion and her eyes cold.  Morgan commanded, "I'll need to speak to you further when we get back to the office."

Scully merely stared at Morgan until he returned his eyes to the road.  She
spent the remainder of the silent car ride planning her phone call to Skinner.

***

Although Jenkins arrived at police station shortly after Scully, Gryner, and
Morgan, he was left to stew in an interrogation room for almost two hours.  In the
meantime, Gryner called out for pizza, then compiled and reread all the information they'd gathered about Gerold Russell Jenkins during the course of the investigation.  Scully slipped away as Morgan retreated to the Bureau field office, ostensibly to start on her reprimand.

It was after midnight in D.C., but Skinner answered sounding alert and awake.

"Sir," Scully began, oddly nervous. "It's Agent Scully."

"Scully," Skinner acknowledged.  "Something break on the case?"

"Yes," she answered, pacing in the small restroom.  "Agent Gryner and I
took Jenkins into custody about two hours ago.  We're going to interrogate him, but I wanted to apprise you of a certain situation beforehand."

A rustling noise drifted down the telephone line, then Skinner prompted,
"I'm ready."

"Do you want to tape this, sir?" Scully queried as she stared at herself in the
large mirror, noting the bags forming under her eyes from lack of sleep.  Skinner
paused, then agreed.  When she heard the telltale click, Scully said, "I need to file a sexual harassment complaint against ASAC Morgan."

Skinner drew in a quick breath, but didn't speak, allowing her to tell the tale
in her own time.

Scully turned her back on her image, staring absently at the grimy blue tile
on the far wall.  "He has repeatedly asked me to begin a..." she paused, trying to find an appropriate phrase, "romantic--presumably sexual--relationship with him.  When I refused, he retaliated by threatening to place a reprimand for insubordination in my file."

There was a short silence, then Skinner asked, "Have you documented each
instance?"

"I've been working on a serial murder case, sir," she answered, exasperated.
"I haven't had a lot of free time."

"Agent Scully, this is not a matter to be taken lightly."

Scully scowled, "Believe me, sir, I'm not."

Skinner hesitated, then asked, "Has he tried any... physical advances?"

"No," Scully answered quickly.  She pushed away from the counter,
suddenly restless.  "I'll write up a detailed report and get it to you tomorrow."

"I'll contact OPR," Skinner answered, then added, "Be careful."

Scully hung up, and immediately dialed another number.  "Mulder, it's me."

"Scully," Mulder answered warmly.  The sound of the TV faded as he
thumbed down the volume.  "I didn't expect to hear from you until the morning."

Scully smiled, warmed by his familiar voice.  "It's going to be a long night.  I
may be spending tomorrow in bed."

"You're killing me," Mulder moaned playfully.

Scully shook her head, bemused, then sobered.  "We got him."

"Jenkins?" Mulder asked, surprised.  "When?"

"Two hours ago," Scully answered.  "Gryner followed a lead that everyone
else ignored.  It panned out."

"You're okay?" Mulder's voice softened.

Scully's smile resurfaced briefly.  "Yeah.  I'm okay."  She paused, then took a
breath.  "And I've made a decision that may affect our relationship."  Mulder's silence eloquently conveyed his panic.  Scully rushed to end the suspense, "I'm filing a sexual harassment complaint against Morgan."

"ASAC Morgan?" Mulder choked, still anticipating the worst.

"Yes," she answered.

"What happened?" he asked.  "Did he threaten your job?"

Scully hesitated.  Although she'd decided to tell Mulder about the situation
with Morgan, she wasn't ready to divulge the details.  "I'm okay," she repeated, "but the situation is no longer something I can contain."

Mulder paused, digesting the information.  "How does this...?"

"Affect us?" she finished for him.  "The hearing.  I assume that our private
relationship will no longer be private.  I know that my decision affects you, too, but this is something I have to do."

Without a moment's hesitation, Mulder agreed, "Yes, it is.  Whatever
happens, we'll deal with it."

Scully's smile returned, much stronger.

***

Gryner was waiting for Scully outside the interrogation room, her grin still
lingering even though it was fast approaching the witching hour.  She offered a cold piece of pizza to Scully, who devoured it quickly.

"You ready?" Gryner asked.  She straightened her suit and reached for the
doorknob.

Scully wiped the grease from her lips, took a swig of Sprite, and answered,
"Sure."

Jenkins sat at the table which occupied most of the space in the small room,
his cuffed hands interlaced on top.  He glanced up as they entered, a bright smile in place.  "Did I mention he sets fires?"

Scully's eyes narrowed as she regarded him, trying to process the non-
sequitur.  "Who?"

"Osmon," he answered, looking quite pleased with himself.

Gryner dropped casually into the chair across from Jenkins, "Let me guess:
he wets his bed, too."

Jenkins laughed, which set Scully's teeth on edge.  She remained standing, a
step away from the table, and let Gryner take the lead.

"I wouldn't know," Jenkins answered, a smirk still in place.

Gryner nodded slowly.  "Pre-crime stressors?" she prompted.

"Wife left him with nothing but that shithole of a house and a Nissan.  I'd kill
her, too."

Scully crossed her arms, thoroughly irritated with his attitude, but didn't say
a word.  Osmon's wife wasn't dead.  She hoped.  Her face remained impassive.

Gryner leaned back, slouching in her chair.  "Right," she said.  "Osmon killed
those eight women."  She pinned Jenkins with an icy look.  "Or was it more?"

Jenkins shrugged, insolent.

Scully made a disgusted noise, shifting his focus to her.  "You expect us to
buy that bullshit?" she scoffed.  "Osmon's a coke fiend."

"Exactly," Jenkins shifted in his chair, scraping his cuffs along the tabletop.
"He's out of it, can't control his baser instincts."

"Okay," Gryner sat up and fixed him with an intense gaze.  "What makes you
think he's a killer?"

Jenkins regarded her for a moment, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Well, from what I know of this case--which is only what gets to the papers, so I'm working at a disadvantage," he pointed out.  Scully squelched the urge to slap him.  Jenkins continued after a moment, "You've got someone out there with a real attitude towards women, killing 'em."

Scully made an impatient gesture, "Osmon?"

"Mark can't get it up," Jenkins stated, letting his gaze slither down Scully's
body.  "Maybe he just needs to be in a room with the two of you."

Gryner snorted, "We'll take that into consideration."  She moved to stand,
"If that's all you have--"

"Wait," Jenkins implored, reaching his cuffed arms towards her.  Gryner
stared at his outstretched hands, then sat back down.  Jenkins smiled, "He knew one of 'em."

Scully cocked an eyebrow.  "Who?"

"Andrea Krasowski.  He had a thing for her a few years back."

Scully stood stone still, sensing that Gryner was about to change tactics.
Silence reigned for a long moment, then Gryner relaxed slightly in her seat.  "You get migraines," she stated, her tone matter-of-fact and a little sympathetic.

Jenkins eyes narrowed.  "What are you talking about?"

"Migraines," Scully answered.  "Severe headaches accompanied by nausea,
extreme sensitivity to light and noise."

Warily, he glanced back and forth between them.  "Yeah.  So?"

Gryner nodded, her hand moving in a circular motion under the table, out of
Jenkins sight.  Scully stepped closer, not sure where her partner was going, but
willing to go along for the ride.  Gryner's gaze never wavered from Jenkins.  "You
have trouble sleeping, insomnia.  You need a lot of sleep, but you just can't get it."

"What are you talking about?" Jenkins demanded, his voice losing most of its
former cockiness.

Scully stepped closer.  Gryner rose to her feet, leaning over the table
towards him, "If I took a sip from your Coke, you'd never touch it again.  You can't *stand* the thought of people touching your food."

"So what?" he exploded, pushing his chair back to regain his personal space.

Gryner straightened abruptly, mirroring Scully's stance.  They stood side by
side, silently staring at their foe.  Finally, Gryner shrugged, feigning nonchalance.  "Nothing," she answered, then turned towards the door.  Scully held it open for her partner.  Gryner turned back to Jenkins, who didn't seem able to take his eyes off of her.  When she spoke, her voice was low and confident.  "I know you."

***

"What was that?" Scully asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Just a sec," Gryner answered, heading for the observation room.

Scully made a short detour to the bullpen to get someone looking for Maria
Osmon, then joined Gryner.

The two women approached the glass, watching Jenkins closely for any signs
that he was ready to crack.  "He looks a little rattled," Gryner noted with a satisfied smile.

"Yes, he does," Scully agreed.  "What was all that about migraines and
insomnia?"

Gryner's gaze didn't waver as she pulled a folded piece of paper from her
pocket and handed it to Scully.

Scully turned sideways so that the light from the one-way mirror would
illuminate the paper as she unfolded it.  A large circle, divided into portions with slightly crooked lines, had been drawn in the center of the paper.  Familiar symbols were sketched into each segment.  Scully pointed to what looked like a stylized four and asked, "Is this an astrology chart?"

"We're both Geminis," Gryner said by way of explanation.

Scully glanced up, "You and Jenkins?"

"Yup," Gryner met Scully's skeptical gaze.  "But we have different
acsendants."

Scully nodded slowly.  "Right.  Which means...?"

"I won't get into all the planetary influences, but I'm a Gemini with Virgo
ascendant," Gryner explained.  "Which means I'm persistent, I've got a lot of common sense, I tend to pick things up pretty quickly, et cetera.  Jenkins, on the other hand, has a Scorpio ascendant.  Among other things, he's repressed, suspicious, deceptive, and likes to think all of his actions are highly mysterious."

"Okay," Scully handed the paper back to Gryner.  "What does that have to
do with migraines.  Or with the murders, for that matter?"

"He's smart," Gryner answered.  "He's not going to just give it up."

Scully nodded, "Unfortunately."

"So we have to trick it out of him," Gryner paced the dimly-lit room,
anticipation making her restless.  "He's a suspicious little fuck, but he thinks he's Jack the Ripper."

"Uncatchable," Scully gestured at the man in the adjoining room.  "We
caught him."

"Right, but he thinks we'll never make it stick."

"We've got DNA evidence.  If we can get a court order for a sample from
Jenkins, we'll have irrefutable evidence--"

"O.J. walked.  I don't want to hang the entire case on that," Gryner
interrupted, her eyes glinting in the dim light.  "I want an admission."  She paused midstep.  "I want him to fry."

"I can't disagree with that," Scully answered, glancing again at the handsome
man responsible for the brutal deaths of eight women.

"I wanted to rattle him," Gryner stopped her pacing.  "I did up his chart.
Geminis are prone to migraines and insomnia.  Unfortunately," she grimaced.  "I made an educated guess on the hygeine stuff.  But now he's trying to figure that out.  How I knew all of these ridiculous details about him."

"So we go back in--"

The shrill ring of her cellphone cut off Scully's words.  She took a step away
from Gryner, not able to go far in the small room.

"Scully."

"My office," Morgan commanded.  "Now."

"Sir--"

"No arguments, Scully," Morgan interrupted, his tone dangerous.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Scully answered.

"Pardon?"

"In light of recent events--"

"What the hell are you talking about, Scully?" Morgan demanded.

Scully hesitated, knowing she shouldn't be the one to tell Morgan, but that
she also shouldn't be in contact with him.  With a quick glance at Gryner, Scully
answered, "I've filed a sexual harassment charge against you."

To her credit, Gryner managed not to pepper Scully with questions when she
hung up on Morgan.  Scully took a steadying breath, then turned back to her partner, "Long story."  She switched her cellphone all the way off, then met Gryner's gaze.

Gryner regarded her silently for a moment, "Understood."  She looked
down, worrying her sleeve for a moment.  "If you need anything--"

"I'm fine," Scully interrupted.  "Really.  All I need is ten hours in a
comfortable bed and some decent food."

Gryner nodded, her lips quirking slightly, "I can't help you with item number
one, but I propose a celebratory meal tomorrow.  My treat."

Chuckling, Scully noted, "Isn't that a bit premature?"

"Nope," Gryner smoothed back her hair, wincing slightly when she reached
the spot Jenkins hit.  "Just call me confident."

Scully nodded slowly.  "You've got a deal."

The two women glanced back at Jenkins through the glass, noting with
satisfaction that he looked a bit more uncomfortable.  Scully checked her watch and groaned.

With a knowing grin, Gryner patted Scully's shoulder, "Don't worry, you'll
be in bed by, oh, three a.m."

Scully arched an eyebrow, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Gryner gave an appreciative snort, then grabbed a bulging file folder that lay
on the table.  "Let's do this."

"What, exactly, are we doing?" Scully asked, pausing at the door to the
interrogation room.  "Is there a game plan?"

Shrugging, Gryner reached for the doorknob. "Crack him," she said, then
handed Scully the folder.  "Whatever works."

***

Gryner slid back into the chair she had abandoned, and Scully took up
her previous position, standing slightly behind her partner.  Jenkins merely
stared at them, a hint of his previous smirk still lingering.  But his false bravado was betrayed by the way that his dark eyes darted around the room.

The two agents remained silent for several moments, just watching
Jenkins.  When he couldn't stand it any longer, he spoke, "I don't know what
your problem--"

"What happened on June 18, 1996?"  Gryner interrupted.

Jenkins protest stumbled to a halt.  He glanced to Scully for help.  She
opened the folder, took out a sheaf of photographs, and tossed them on the table.
The pictures hit the surface with a harsh slap and slid, resulting in an impressive photo array of violent pornography.  "You like seeing women strangled?"

"Where'd you get those?" Jenkins demanded, his face flushed.

"Your dog died?" Gryner pressed, leaning forward, drawing Jenkins
attention from the pictures of naked women tied up, beat up, cut up, and
otherwise brutalized.

"What?" Jenkins asked, confused.

Scully took a step forward, selected a particularly nauseating photo, and
held it up in Jenkins face.  "Does this turn you on?"

Pushing the picture away, Jenkins yelled, "No!"  He took a calming
breath, then sneered, "Does it turn you on?"

Gryner snorted, sifting through the glossy magazine pages
dispassionately.  "Ooh, here's a good one."  She showed the photograph to
Scully, who nodded.  Gryner shoved it at Jenkins, "Look, Jerry, she's being
strangled.  That get you hard?"

Jenkins leaned back, averting his eyes.  "Stop it."

Scully slammed her hands down on the table and Jenkins jumped.
Scully remained leaning over, invading his personal space, "How did Maxie die?"

"Hit by a car," Jenkins growled, his eyes narrow and mean.

"You sliced and diced your dog," Gryner countered, her tone casual.
"Then you ran over it to keep up appearances for... oh, what was her name?"

Jenkins glared at Gryner, his hands clenching in his lap.

"Lila?"  Scully straightened and crossed her arms.  She shrugged,
"Leyla?"

"Lisa?" Gryner studied Jenkins.

"Linda," he corrected, jaw clenched.

"Right," Gryner nodded.  "You killed her dog, and she dumped your
sorry ass."

Jenkins pointedly ignored the two women, staring at the wall to their
right.  "Can I get a cigarette?"

Scully quirked an eyebrow, "You like fire?"

"Yeah, and I still wet my bed," he answered sarcastically.

Silence descended for a moment, then Gryner moved, pulling a half-
empty pack of Marlboro Lights out of her suit jacket pocket.  She handed it to
Jenkins, "Lighter's inside."

He had some trouble, but Jenkins managed to light his cigarette after
colorfully cursing the handcuffs.  He took several long pulls from the cigarette,
exhaling long streams of smoke.  Gryner and Scully observed him, looking for
cracks in his facade.

Scully retrieved the folder from the table.  She flipped it open, leafing
through its contents as she walked in a slow circle behind Jenkins.  He shifted in
his seat, uncomfortable.

Scully pulled out a small glassine envelope, which contained several
short brown hairs.  She frowned, examining the label.  Realization dawned, and
she reached over Jenkins shoulder and dropped the envelope on the table.

Jenkins glanced up at her, then stared at the hairs, brow furrowed.

"You can touch it," Gryner said, an encouraging smile on her face.  "It's
yours, anyway."

Jenkins frowned and picked up the envelope.  He read the label, "What
the fuck is this?"

"Remember our little struggle in that alley?" Scully asked, leaning her
hip against the table.  "I ended up with some of your hair."

With a disdainful chuckle, Jenkins tossed the evidence back onto the
table.  "So what?"

"So," Gryner answered.  "We've got your DNA.  And we've got DNA
evidence from the women you killed."

"Bullshit," Jenkins took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the
ashes onto the floor.  Scully slid the ashtray towards him, hard.  Jenkins caught it before it plummeted off the edge of the table.  He glared at Scully, "I didn't kill nobody."

"Exactly," Gryner smirked.

"Look," Scully began, lifting the glassine envelope into Jenkins line of
sight. "We've got DNA evidence right here.  We know that you killed at least
eight women.  We've got you dead to rights."

"No you don't."  Jenkins shook his head.  "If you did, you wouldn't be in
here harassing me."

Gryner sighed, "Jerry, you're going to jail.  Either you can play dumb
and go to the chair, or you can help yourself.  Tell us what happened, and we'll
make sure the DA plays nice."

Jenkins smoked the rest of his cigarette, a skeptical look on his face.
He stubbed the butt out in the ashtray.  "You don't know anything.  You know
nothing about me."

Gryner quickly glanced at Scully, conveying her intentions.  Scully
pulled away from the table and walked towards the wall, crossing her arms.  She
leaned back and glowered at Jenkins, putting on her best bad-cop face.

Gryner sat up, folded her hands on the table, and began a calm
recitation of Jenkins life, "You hate your mother.  So typical.  But not because
she abused you.  You hate her because he abused you.  And it's too scary to hate
him, so you hate her for not protecting you.  For being weak."

Jenkins stared at Gryner, shocked.

"He could be so charming.  He'd take you with him hunting, fishing; he
probably let you drink beer when you were ten.  But he always got mad.  Didn't
matter how stupid a mistake you made, he jumped on it.  You couldn't do
anything right.  Couldn't shoot a gun straight, couldn't gut a fish, couldn't do
anything.  So he beat you."

She paused, holding his gaze.  "It started with neighborhood animals.
You could control them, the cats and dogs you killed.  And just to prove to your
father how tough you were, you'd torture them.  He tortured your mother, so you
tortured Fluffy and Spike."

Scully watched Jenkins, but he remained silent.

"But then one of them died," Gryner cocked an eyebrow and Jenkins nodded, almost involuntarily.  "You didn't mean for it to happen, but it felt good," she continued.  "You had complete control over whether or not the animals lived."

Scully remained still, knowing that Jenkins was mesmerized by Gryner's tale, and had forgotten her presence.  She glanced at Gryner, whose muscles were incredibly tense even though she still appeared calm.

Gryner's tone remained conversational as she told Jenkins about himself, "You've always had... urges, but you could control them.  You found some willing women, women who enjoyed being tied up.  Until it got too real, too painful, too scary.  Then you left.  Probably fucked them one last time first, to punish them for defying you.  Lucky for them you weren't killing yet.  Then Linda left."

Gryner paused again, letting her words sink in.  "She found out about
the dog.  She knew you killed Maxie, so she left you.  That was the final straw.
You saw a woman who reminded you of Linda, of your mother.  Andrea Krasowski.  Osmon's girlfriend.  She was weak, like your mother.  She let Osmon tell her what to do.  You hated that, and at the same time, you loved it.  You wanted to be the one to control her.  So you did."

Jenkins nodded, his expression intense.

"You waited until she was alone, and then you talked your way in.  But
she didn't like you that way.  She was a tease.  A whore.  She was fucking
Osmon, so why wouldn't she fuck you?"  Jenkins was nodding now.  Gryner
continued, her words coming faster,  "So you made her.  You tied her up, and
you fucked her.  And she was screaming and crying and begging you to stop.
And you loved it.  That just made it better."

Scully's stomach threatened mutiny at the remembered bliss on Jenkins
face.  She glanced at Gryner, who was still talking.

"It was the best sex of your life.  And her death was the icing on the cake.  You strangled her with your bare hands and it was ten times better than with the animals.  Feeling her life draining out of her, knowing it was your decision.  She was powerless."

"Yes," Jenkins murmured.  He dropped his hands into his lap, and Scully noted with revulsion that he was actually aroused by the memory of raping and killing someone.

Gryner stopped talking, letting the sudden silence fill the room.  Jenkins
pulled himself out of the past and focused on her.  Gryner nodded at him.  "I
know, Jerry.  I understand.  Tell me the rest," she encouraged.

Scully held her breath.

Jenkins stared at Gryner for a long moment.  "They were all whores."

***

Jenkins rambled on for 87 minutes, recounting with relish how he brutally raped, tortured and murdered 11 women, three victims more than they'd attributed to him.  Gryner had played him perfectly, striking just the right note of understanding and sympathy to win his trust.

His bragging was nearly too much for Scully to take.  The urge to punch him--or do something a bit more permanent--to end his tales of bloodlust was strong.  But Scully bit it back, her jaw aching by the end of the interrogation.

Jenkins signed his statement, and Gryner grabbed it, her demeanor shifting suddenly.  She stood, towering over Jenkins.  Scully watched curiously,
expecting Gryner to explode, but she said only, "Thank you."

Scully pushed away from the wall, unable to look at Jenkins for another
second.  She pulled the door open and held it for her partner, who was still
engaged in a staring contest of some kind with Jenkins.  After a long moment,
Gryner turned, handed the signed statement to Scully, and walked quickly from
the room.

Scully glared at Jenkins, then followed her partner, slamming the door a
bit harder than necessary.  Gryner disappeared into the women's room while
Scully summoned a nearby agent, requesting that Jenkins be jailed immediately.

Scully placed Jenkins confession in her locked drawer, pocketed the
key, and entered the bathroom.  She was greeted by the sounds of Gryner
vomiting and crying.

"Gryner?" Scully asked, crossing to stand just outside the closed stall.
"Emma?  Are you okay?"

After retching a few more times, Gryner emerged from the stall.  She looked like hell.  Her eyes and nose were red, her face pasty and very, very pale.
She managed a weak smile, "You see why I quit this shit?"

Scully nodded, "Do you need anything?"

"Ten hours in a comfortable bed," Gryner answered, repeating Scully's
earlier words.  She blew her nose, then turned on the sink and rinsed her mouth
out thoroughly.

Scully's lips quirked slightly, "No requests for decent food?"

Gryner groaned, "Very funny."

"Are you sure you don't want me to get you something?" Scully asked,
suddenly sober.  "A glass of water?  Breath mints?"

"No," Gryner mumbled, splashing her face with warm water.  "I hate
puking.  I did this every single time I had to do that," she waved her hand in the
general direction of the interrogation room.  Scully handed her a paper towel.
"Thanks," Gryner mopped the moisture from her face.  "I can't get their faces,
their sadistic pleasure out of my head, so I puke.  A different type of purging, I
guess."

Scully and Gryner locked gazes in the mirror.  "Does it work?" Scully asked, a tinge of despair in her tone.  She couldn't get Jenkins excited voice out
of her head, bragging about turning his sick, twisted fantasies into nightmarish
reality.

"Not once," Gryner answered with a slow shake of her head.  She crumpled the paper towel into a ball and tossed it overhand, executing a perfect banking shot off the wall.  "And it became a thing."

Scully asked the question with a mere lift of her eyebrow.

"I got disgusted with blaming the victim to feed these men's psychoses.  I mean, I understand the reasoning, and it does work more often than not, but it was just too much.  So I puked a lot.  And I'm a woman."  Gryner paused, her expression turning bitter.  "Some of my coworkers at ISU--male coworkers--assumed a causal connection."

After a moment, Scully asked quietly, "Is that why you left?"

"Hell, no," Gryner answered, her tone fierce.  "If anything, that's why I
stayed as long as I did.  Too long.  To prove a point."

Scully accepted her words with an empathetic nod.  The two women
shared a comfortable silence until Gryner glanced down at her watch.  "Oops,"
she said.

Scully checked the time and groaned.  She sighed as she headed for the
door, "Who needs sleep?"

Gryner grinned, some of her color returning, "Sleep is overrated."

***

Morning dawned bright and entirely too early, as far as Scully was
concerned.  She made it to the Field Office by ten a.m., and dug into the
mountain of paperwork required to document Jenkins arrest and subsequent
confession.  Luckily, Morgan didn't make an appearance at the office.

Gryner arrived at noon, still looking a bit worse for the wear.  She
inclined her head towards Morgan's office, "With his lawyers."

Scully's stomach twisted, but she merely nodded.

The two women worked efficiently and finished the paperwork by two-
thirty.  Gryner disappeared for an hour, presumably to EAP, and Scully used the
time alone to write up her statement for Skinner.

She included everything she could remember, some direct quotes and
some paraphrasing of his come-ons, innuendoes, and veiled threats.  She called
Skinner's office and was promptly connected with his voicemail.  After leaving a
short message, she sent Skinner the file via encrypted email.  Gryner returned not
long afterwards, and tossed the Dallas Morning News on Scully's desk.  "You
see this?" she asked.

Scully opened the paper and read the two-inch headline:  "FBI Nabs
Dallas Killer."  She scanned the article, noting the numerous quotes from
Morgan and the DPD.  Gryner's name was mentioned near the end of the article.
Scully, however, was referred to as "another agent."  She shook her head, "Not
one to miss a photo op, is he?" she commented, indicating a shot of Morgan at
the late-night press conference.

Gryner snorted, "It's rumored that he has his very own Ego Wall at
home; all his press clippings and awards."  She hesitated, then gestured towards
Morgan's office.  "If you need a witness for the hearing, I'd be happy to testify."

Scully shook her head, unsure what to say, "Thank you.  I appreciate the
offer, but I hope it's not necessary."  Gryner's brow furrowed.  Scully elaborated, "I don't want you to have to testify against your superior officer."

Gryner nodded slowly.  "Point taken.  But the offer stands."  She retrieved her suit jacket from the back of her chair, then gazed expectantly at
Scully.  "You coming?"

Scully looked at her askance, "Where are we going?

"Dinner," Gryner answered.  "Remember?"

"It's not even four," Scully observed, laughing.

"Duh," Gryner adopted a bad Valley Girl accent, "The place I'm taking
you has, like, you know, a Happy Hour."  She dropped the affected speech
patterns.  "A celebration requires good food and a lot of fabulous drinks."

Scully chuckled, "This is going to be an interesting night."

"I sure hope so," Gryner answered, heading for the door.

***

Scully fumbled with the plastic key card, then stumbled into her hotel
room, a bit unsteady from the alcohol she'd consumed with Gryner.  The two
women had dined on spicy Tex-Mex and sampled most of the drink specials at
La Cahuenga.

Scully wiggled out of her rumpled suit jacket, which fell to the floor in
a heap.  She kicked off her shoes and moaned with relief.  After turning on the
faucets to fill the tub with warm, bubbly water, Scully dropped her skirt and
peeled off her nylons.  She shed her blouse, then her undergarments.

As she was about to step into the water, a loud knock sounded at her
door.  Scully groaned, pulling on the thin robe she'd packed.  She weaved to the
door and attempted to look out the peephole, but there was something blocking
it.  Adrenaline pumped through her body, temporarily clearing her pleasant
alcohol haze.

Scully grabbed her gun from the nightstand and stood to the side
cautiously.  She unlocked the deadbolt, then swung open the door.

Morgan stood there, regarding her with cool, icy eyes.  He slid his gaze
down her body, eyebrows raised in appreciation.  "I see you were expecting me."

Scully held her Sig casually, allowing him to see it in her hand.  "This
isn't the time or place, sir."  That said, she tried to close the door, but alcohol had made her somewhat sluggish, giving Morgan enough warning to stop its progress and step into the room.  "I don't remember inviting you in."

"You opened the door," Morgan observed, his gaze hovering over her
breasts. "And, frankly, I can't think of a better place."

Scully fought the urge to pull her robe tighter and answered, her tone
poisonous, "Get out."

"I don't think so," Morgan countered, a small smirk in place.  "We're
going to have a little talk first.  Unless you can think of a better way to pass the time."

"I told you to get out."  Scully let go of the door, which slammed shut,
and eased towards the bed, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.  Morgan
followed her quickly slapping his hand down onto the receiver to prevent her
from making a call.

"Not until I say what I came to say."

Scully regarded him angrily, utterly determined not to back down.
"Then spit it out."

Morgan stayed where he was, his body only inches from hers, "I've done
a little checking on you, Agent Scully."  He paused for effect.  Scully quirked an
eyebrow to urge him on, her expression one of distaste.  Morgan leaned in
slightly, "You've got quite the checkered past."

"What are you talking about?"  Scully demanded, pushing past him and moving towards the bureau.  She scooped up her abandoned suit jacket on the way.

Morgan crossed his arms, "You fuck anything that walks."

Scully froze, then turned to him, flushed with anger, "Excuse me?"

"Your superior, a murderer, your partner," he listed, ticking them off on
his fingers.  "I wouldn't get up on the stand if I were you."

Scully glared at him, "Is that a threat?"

Morgan smiled, looking entirely too pleased with himself, "Let's call it
friendly advice."

Scully eased her hand into her suit jacket pocket, fishing for her
cellphone.  "It's time for you to leave."  She pressed speed dial one while she
spoke to muffle the beeps.

Morgan shook his head.  "You certainly are anxious," he said, his tone playful.  "You got Jenkins in there?"

Scully snapped, "Get the fuck out of my room, you sick bastard."  She advanced on him, gun in one hand, activated cellphone in the other.  "I am not recanting my statement and I am not dropping the charges.  I will testify against you, Morgan, and I will expose you for the cretin you are."

Morgan shook his head at her, bemused.  "You really think anyone will believe you?"

Scully marched to the door and opened it, nearly dropping her cellphone in the process.  "Get out."

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then strolled casually to the door.  "I don't want to ruin your reputation, Dana, but I will if I have to."  He towered over her, "Don't make me."

Scully glared up at him, unintimidated.  "This is your doing.  Now, get out."

Morgan finally left and Scully slammed the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt.  She stood staring at it for a moment, then realized the faint sound of Mulder calling her name originated in her cellphone.

"Please tell me you heard all of that," she said, still trembling with rage.

"Scully, are you okay?" Mulder sounded panicky.

"I'm fine," she answered automatically.

"Scully--"

"I'm furious, Mulder, but I'm okay."

"I heard some of what he was saying, Scully.  That man is dangerous."

Scully waved her hand at the door, even though he could not see it.
"He's gone now."

"Scully..."

"I'm leaving in the morning.  Let it go for now."

Mulder stayed silent for a long moment, then offered, "You could leave
tonight."

"It's nearly ten o'clock," Scully answered, incredulously.  "I'd have to
take the red eye."

"You could sleep on the plane."

"I don't sleep on planes, Mulder."

"You'd be out of his reach," Mulder pointed out.

"I am out of his reach.  That's his whole problem."  Scully ran a tired
hand through her hair, heading back into the bathroom to drain her unused
bathwater.  Mulder didn't reply.  Scully sighed, "I've got an early flight, Mulder, I need to shower and get some sleep."

After a slight hesitation, Mulder said, "I'll be at the airport tomorrow."

Her lips quirked slightly, "Thanks."

They shared a companionable silence, then Mulder said, "It will be fine once you get home."

Scully's smile faded.  "I know."  She answered, staring at herself in the
mirror.  Her eyes were shadowed, her face pale, and her overall demeanor just
slightly tarnished.  "Everything will be fine."
 

END

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