I did not write this.  Please send feedback to bonetree@aol.com

Disclaimer in chapter 0.  This is chapter 15c.
 

*********

THE GREY MOUSE PUB
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA
8:45 p.m.

Scully sat in she and Mae's usual table in the back, watching the
festivities around the pub blithely, willing the fatigue that clung
to her away. Her eyes were once again drawn to the door as it opened,
admitting a new group of people into the throng of the pub. There
were so many people in there now that she was having a hard time even
*seeing* the door at times. But she kept her eye on it when she
could.

Curran wasn't there yet. She checked her watch again, let out a
frustrated breath. She was anxious to get this meeting with him over
with. Her nerves were jangling her badly as she wondered how Curran
was going to take the news of her leaving. She felt very vulnerable
at the prospect of having to tell him, unsure of how he would react,
unsure of how it would affect her cover.

She's always heard that withdrawing from an undercover operation
could be harder than getting into it in some cases. Especially when
there was an informant to protect, like Flaherty. It had to come out
smooth, seamless. She's been rehearsing what she would say for an
hour now, just to make sure it sounded right when it all came out.

Finally, about 10 minutes later, the door opened and Curran and John
Fagan entered, both of them boisterously greeted by those closest to
the door. She sat up straighter, pushing her empty glass of what was
cheap red wine to the side. Curran was looking around the pub, in her
direction. He saw her, started towards her through the crowd.

"Katherine," he said gruffly as he sat in Mae's chair.

"Owen," she replied. "I'd started to wonder if you were going to
make it at all."

"Aye," he said apologetically. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. I had
some business to attend to that couldn't wait."

She nodded. "I understand," she said, and she truly did. She
wondered at the status of the bomb, what he might be up to.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reached into his pocket, pulled out
a sheet of paper. She recognized immediately that it was another list
of drugs and their amounts, plus the fake names.

"Time for a refill?" she asked tiredly as he handed it to her.

"You could say that, yes," he replied, and a strange smile came over
his face, as though he were enjoying a private joke at her words. She
imagined, considering what she now knew the drugs were used for, that
he did indeed find what she said amusing. His smile unnerved her,
however.

As did the fact that she would be obtaining more of this drug to
continue these people's addiction. She didn't like being a part of
this, endangering these people. She knew, though, that without them
they would all surely die. She comforted herself with that knowledge.

"I'll take care of it tomorrow," she said, folding up the piece of
paper and tucking it into her pocket.

"Very good," he said, placing his hands flat on the table as though
he meant to push himself up and away from the table. She reached out,
put a hand on his to halt his upward movement.

"There's something I need to discuss with you, Owen, something
important," she said softly, and he relaxed back into the chair. He
studied her intently.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"

She looked down, as though gathering herself to speak.

Here it goes, she thought nervously.

"Owen, I'm going to have to leave," she said softly, still looking
down. "I have to go back to Boston."

His jaw gaped for an instant. "May I ask why?" he asked finally, his
voice low, but concerned.

"My mother is very ill," she replied, going with the story she'd
decided to fill in Padden's vague "family situation." She shook her
head, feigning sadness and disappointment. "She needs me to come as
soon as I can."

He looked at her, his face unreadable. She could tell he was
disappointed, but there was something else there, something she
couldn't name. "I'm sorry," she said, trying to quell whatever the
emotion was that he was having. It made her uptight, that look he was
giving her.

Finally, he shook his head, shrugged, looked down at the table.
"Nothing you can do, I suppose," he said. "You've got to be there for
your family. I understand that completely." He picked up Mae's nearly
empty glass of Guiness, took the long last swallow, returned his gaze
to her face. "When would you be leaving then?"

He sounded nonchalant now, but she knew he was anything but. Her
leaving presented him with a complicated problem.

"As soon as you can replace me," she said just loudly enough to be
heard over the din of the crowd around them. The band was warming up
for another set, as well, drums pounding haphazardly like an
irregular heartbeat.

He nodded, but again she saw that same look on his face, the one
that unnerved her. There was something...angry?... about it. More
than disappointed. Something else.

"That's fine," he said flatly. "I'll get in touch with Mr. Flaherty
in Boston tomorrow morning and have him begin looking for a
replacement for you. It shouldn't take too long. Can you wait that
long?"

She nodded. "I think so. I'll wait as long as I can. If it takes too
long, I'll write you several scripts for the things you need to hold
you over until a replacement can be found. Would that be all right?"

He nodded. "Sure. No worries. We'll manage." He forced a smile.

An awkward silence hung for a few seconds, both of them looking
down. She saw him glance at her glass, at Mae's beer.

"Well," he said, his voice light and friendly now. "Let me buy you
another drink. We'll drink for your mother's health and for a speedy
replacement for you."

She was relieved that the story had seemed to convince him, that it
was holding. She didn't really want another glass of wine -- her head
was a little heavy from the first one -- but thought that accepting
his gesture would probably be a good thing.

"Sure," she said, and smiled at him. "I'm just having the house red."

He stood, took her glass and Mae's both. "All right, the house red
it is. I'll be right back." And he disappeared into the crowd around
the table.

Every once in awhile she could get a glimpse of him working his way
to the bar. He reached it and the bartender came over instantly.
Curran leaned forward, said something to the man, something that took
a moment. Finally, the bartender nodded, wandered off behind the bar
into the back.

Curran looked back, saw her watching him. He smiled again, nodded to
her, held up a finger. She nodded back.

Finally the bartender returned, handed Owen the glass of wine, the
tall glass of dark beer. Holding them both over his head as he picked
his way through the crowd, Curran made his way back to the table,
placed her glass in front of her as he sat.

"There we go," he said cheerfully, and raised the glass in the space
between them. "To your mum then. And to your hard work for us."

She smiled, blushing. She picked up the glass, clinked it softly
against his. "Thank you, Owen," she said softly, and they drank.

The wine had a bitter taste to it, a strange undertone to its
flavor. Strong and woodsy and almost nutty.

"This isn't the same wine I was having before," she said, looking at
it.

"Oh, no, it's probably not," Owen replied. "He had to go for another
bottle in the back. They were most likely out of what you were
drinking before. Is it all right?"

She nodded, took another taste. She liked it. It had body to it. She
held it in her mouth for a moment, enjoying the dark flavor. "It's
fine. Good. I just wondered."

Owen watched her, smiling, his eyes running over her face in that
way that made her uncomfortable. It was a wistful, almost sad look,
though he tried to hide it with the smile. She found herself blushing
again, which he also noticed. He looked hurriedly away.
 

********

LIGHTFOOT, VIRGINIA
10:39 p.m.
 

The first thing Danny Conner became aware of was that he was
freezing. The second sensation, crashing into him as he came fully
into consciousness, was that he had a splitting headache.

A very familiar headache.

"Oh God...." he moaned, turned his head, his eyes coming open. There
was a big moon out, reflecting off the snow faintly, making the world
an odd shade of blue.

He pulled on his arms, his hands numb in the snow behind his back.
He kicked with his feet, but found himself restrained there, as well.

"Shit," he swore loudly. He began to cry again. He tried calling out
a couple of times, but the snowy world was so silent it was as if he
were the only person left on the earth.

His head pounded and he knew he didn't have much time. The thought
sent a fresh rush of adrenaline through him.

Dr. Black. She would help him. He had to get to a phone. Something.

His breath heaved as he fought down the panic once again. Plus that,
getting moving would at least keep him from lying there freezing to
death.

He drew his knees up to his chest, his ribs still aching from the
kick Owen had given him. Straining, he pushed his arms down as far as
he could, pushing his buttocks back until they rested on the cuffed
palms of his hands. His shoulders screamed from the strain.

"Just a bit more..." he said, his teeth gritting against the pain.

Finally, his arms slipped over his buttocks to his thighs. He
rolled, snow creaking beneath him, until he'd gotten his hands over
his feet and his hands were now in front of him. Sitting up quickly,
he began to tear at the ropes binding his calves together.

"Come on, come on..." he chanted to himself, his head aching with
every fast beat of his heart.

He pulled at the knot, unravelled the rope. Then he pushed himself
up to a shaky standing position, his feet unsure beneath him. In the
moonlight he could see the dark lines of the tire tracks, leading off
into the night.

Slipping now and then, his hands bound in front of him and useless
for balance, he started off at a slow jog down the road. His
breathing, his heavy steps, were the only sounds in the frozen night.

**********

2233 GRACE STREET
JANUARY 13
1:34 a.m.

Scully sat in front of the television, absently flicking through the
channels, the light strobing in the room around her. She sighed
heavily, unable to settle on anything that interested her.

She'd given up trying to sleep an hour ago, had risen in her pajamas
and robe and gone in to make herself something eat. Maybe she was
hungry, she thought, and that was why she couldn't sleep. She'd
heated up and ladelled herself out another bowl of soup, but found
that once she started eating it she didn't want it at all. So that
wasn't it.

She imagined she was having one of those nights like she had in
medical school, after pulling a couple of all-nighters in a row. When
she would get so tired she couldn't sleep. She was certainly wired in
that way, her head buzzing.

Mae was still out, probably spending the night at Owen's place with
Sean at this point. She'd dropped Scully off at around 10:15 and
headed out with the sleeping Sean in the passenger seat of the
pickup, saying she didn't know what time she would be home.

Scully wished Mae was home, though. She would have welcomed the
company.

She was on her way back to the sink with her still-full bowl of soup
when the phone rang. She nearly dropped the bowl in her surprise at
the sound.

Putting her hand over her chest to calm her pounding heart, she went
to the phone, which hung on the wall in the kitchen. She was, after
all, on call. Maybe it was a patient needing her. One good side
effect of the restlessness she felt was that she felt up to going to
the hospital if she needed to.

"Hello, this is Dr. Black," she said into the receiver, standing
next to the stove's small light. The room was otherwise dark.

"Dr. Black? This is Angie with the MCV Emergency Answering Service.
You have a clinic patient with an emergency. May I patch the call
through?"

"Yes, of course, go ahead," she replied, reaching up and pushing her
hair out of her face, shaking herself even more alert. She heard the
line click over, heard the sound of labored breathing instantly.

"This is Dr. Black," she said, immediately concerned. "What seems to
be the problem?"

There were a couple more seconds of silence, then: "Dr. Black..."

She straightened immediately, alarmed. "Danny? What is it?"

"Dr. Black, they know....Owen knows...they...he knows what
I've..what I've done..."

She felt her heart drop about six inches into her stomach, her
breath all but stopping. "What have they done, Danny? Where are you?"

Again, just the sound of his heavy breathing. She heard him sniffle,
a rough sound against the receiver as though he'd brushed against it
with his hand. "I don't know...I don't know..."

"Where did they take you, Danny? Talk to me! Concentrate!"

Another beat. "Somewhere off...Interstate 64. I've been
running...for hours. I finally found...a gas station...a phone
booth...your number was still in...in my pocket. No one's here...no
one's out here..."

Her breathing picked up as well as her adrenaline surged. "What
exit, Danny? Do you know? I can get to the airport, rent a car, be
there in --"

"It's too late," came the whispered reply. He began to sob.

She felt like she had snow in her blood at his words. "Oh God, they
left you without the drug, didn't they? You don't have any with you."
Her hand went to her forehead again. She looked around helplessly.
"Damn it, my sample is at the hospital..."

Her body was taut, poised to move, but she had nowhere to go. "When
was your last dose of the drug, Danny? How long do we have?"

There was only the sound of his crying now, the sniffling, the rough
sound as he wiped at his face. She could picture him so clearly in
her mind. Alone in the night...a phone booth. His nose pouring blood
as he trembled, the headache searing him.

"Danny, stay with me," she implored. "We'll figure this out. We'll
figure something out. Tell me the name of the gas station where you
are." She grabbed for the white pages on a shelf next to the phone,
knocking down several bottles on the counter as she did so.

He continued to cry and she waited, her own breath coming fast as
she stood there, the phone book in her hands.

She felt more useless than she'd ever felt in her life.

Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back, pinching the
bridge of her nose as her lip trembled.

"Dr. Black..." came his whispered voice.

"What is it, Danny?" Her voice shook, though she tried to sound
strong, strong for him It was all she could do.

"I just want...I want to go...home..."

The sound was louder than she expected, a sudden very wet noise.
Then the receiver dropped, hitting against the phone booth walls. A
crashing as his body hit the glass side of the booth and slid to the
ground.

The knock of the phone as it swung, the sound growing less frequent
almost immediately.

Otherwise, silence.

"No..." she cried into the phone, dropping the phone book onto the
counter. She covered her eyes with her hand, the tears overwhelming
her now as she slid down against the counter, settling on the floor,
curled around herself, her legs drawn up to her chest. She wept
openly.

She felt guilty leaving him alone out there in the darkness,
wherever he was.

It took her a long time to hang up the phone.
 

**********

END OF CHAPTER 15. CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 16.

*********

BROAD STREET
EXXON
2:25 a.m.

Scully heard music.

It was faint and rhythmic, bleeding through the noise of the
occasional car passing by where she sat, huddled on a bus stop bench
in the darkness. She looked for the source of it for a long time, her
eyes wide as she scanned the station, the slick streets.

Finally, she decided it must be coming from a club well across the
wide street, just in sight from where she sat. A blue neon triangle
and the words "The Pyramid" marked the black-doored entrance. The
occasional person milled in and out -- a swaying drunk, a group of
twenty-somethings coming out in a knot and a cloud of cigarette
smoke, a garish prostitute who looked both ways before heading down
the street into the darkness.

She watched all this, but did her best to concentrate on the music,
the pulsing of it, tried to slow her breathing down. Wiping the last
of the tears away with a gloved hand, she swallowed the rest of the
emotion causing them as best she could.

She couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Not now. And he would be
there soon.

The phone booth where she'd called from was ten feet or so to her
right, bathed in the pale light of a street lamp. She'd stood with
her back to her street as she'd dialed the operator, her hand shaking
from cold and distress, and placed the collect call to his cell
phone.

When he'd picked up, the operator clicking her over through a haze
of static, Mulder's voice was clear, alert. She could make out the
sounds of a television in the background. She hadn't woken him.

"Scully, what's wrong?" There was the sound of shifting as she heard
him sit up.

"Mulder," she began, willing her voice to stop shaking. At that
point the tears were still coming, but she kept them out of her voice
as best she could. "I'm on the corner of Boulevard and Broad, at a
phone booth outside an Exxon station. I need you to come get me."

"Has something happened with your cover?" He was clearly alarmed at
her words. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder," she'd replied evenly. Her voice sounded so
normal to her own ears that it was maddening, considering the turmoil
her emotions were in. "I just need you to come get me for a little
while. I need to see you."

A beat of surprised silence. She could hear his breathing. She had
scared him, and she was sorry for that.

"What about Mae Curran?" His voice was terse, urgent. She could hear
him fumbling, moving around the room, the sounds of him getting
dressed.

"She's not home," Scully replied patiently, but her voice trembled a
touch again. "I was on call for the hospital tonight -- she knows
that. I've gotten someone else to cover for me, but left a note for
Mae saying I was called in for an emergency, that I'd be back after
work today at 6:30 this afternoon."

"God, Scully, what's happened?" The question sent new tears welling
in her eyes, a new lump in her throat.

"I don't want to talk about it on the phone," she said softly.
"Mulder, we have a whole day. Please...just come get me. I'll tell
you everything once we're away from here."

She knew what she was doing, what she was asking him to do. But for
now it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but getting away from all of
this for a little while and seeing him, being with him.

"I'm on my way," he'd replied after another beat. "Stay out of sight
as best you can. I'll find you."

"All right," she'd replied, and hung up the phone because she knew
he wouldn't say goodbye.

A bus lumbered to a halt in front of the bench she sat on, the door
swinging open, the bus driver looking at her expectantly. She met his
eyes and shook her head once, then returned her gaze to the street.
The bus grumbled away.

After a few more moments, a dark car arrived in the turn lane on
Broad, coming fast. She could see his profile in the dim light of the
street. He U-turned, bumped into the driveway to the gas station,
seeing her in the dark beside the phone booth immediately. Pulling up
to just behind the bench, he stopped the car abruptly, the vehicle
jerking to a halt, and leaned over to throw the passenger door open.

She took in a deep breath, stood, glancing around nervously to see
if anyone might be watching her, then slipped into the car, closing
the door behind her.

She turned and met his gaze, relief coming over her as she drank in
the sight of him. His hair was slightly mussed from lying in bed, the
dark shadow of a day's growth of beard on his face. She saw the worry
immediately appear on his face as he looked at her.

She hated that it was always so obvious when she'd been crying.

She found herself looking down at the seat, trying to keep her eyes
from him, her hand going up to hide the swelling around her right eye
before he saw it in the darkness.

Too late. His hand came out, pushing hers down. He cupped the side
of her face, his thumb running over the knot softly. She found
herself unconsciously leaning into his touch, into the warmth of his
hand.

"It's all right," she said, catching herself almost immediately. She
shook her head, reaching for his hand and pulling it down, holding it
between both of hers. She wasn't ready for tenderness from him. The
tears were too close. She met his eyes again, which were wide and
worried but still gentle as he looked at her.

"Please take me away from here," she whispered, and was proud of
herself that she didn't cry as she said it.

He nodded mutely, turned to face forward again, removing his hand
from her grasp for the moment. He threw the car into drive, pulled
out onto the Boulevard, heading north away from the city. The ribbon
of Interstate 95, trucks roaring by in flashes of light and color,
appeared in the distance.

"Where are we going?" he asked finally into the quiet between them,
breaking his silence.

"It doesn't matter," she murmured tiredly, leaning her face against
the cool of the car window, closing her eyes for a beat. When she
reopened them, he was on the entrance ramp to the highway. They
merged, a huge sign immediately looming over their lane.

"We'll go towards Charlottesville," he said, taking the ramp the
sign marked. "It's about an hour away. That'll give us plenty of
space away from everything here."

She nodded. "All right," she replied. She had yet to remove her
gloves, to look at him again. She was leaned against the door, as far
away from him as she could get for the moment as she struggled to
maintain her tenuous control.

She could see him glancing over at her, his face glowing slightly
gold in the dashboard lights. "You okay?" he asked softly. "Are you
hurt anywhere else?"

"No, nowhere else. I'm all right." Now she did turn to look at him,
though she had to face forward again almost immediately as her eyes
burned. She stared out the windshield as the car moved from the
outskirts of the city into the rural area beyond, the no-man's land
of farm country between Richmond and the mountains.

"Are you going to tell me what's happened?" He was gently
persistent, trying not to push her too hard. But she could feel the
concern coming off him in an almost tangible wave.

She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself, glad for the dense
darkness that now pressed in around the car. "Danny Conner is dead,"
she said quietly.

His face shot towards her. "What? When?"

"Just a little while ago," she replied. Her voice was soft, but
tight as a fist. "I was on the phone with him when it happened."

"Jesus, Scully..."

"Owen killed him," she continued, cutting him off. "He's found out
that he was seeing me for the drug addiction. He killed him for it."

She could hear a slight squeak as his fingers tightened on the
steering wheel. There was a knot in his jaw as she looked over at him
again.

"When's the last time you saw Curran?" he asked, his eyes locked
forward.

"Earlier tonight, at the Grey Mouse." She leaned her face against
the window again, relishing the cool against her cheek.

"How did he act towards you?"

"About the same as usual," she replied. "The problem is...I didn't
know about Danny at that point, and went ahead and told him I needed
to leave, to go back to Boston."

Mulder shook his head. "Shit..." he swore under his breath.

"I know," she said softly. "If he chooses to look at it the wrong
way, it could look bad." She sighed. "Let's just hope he doesn't look
at it that way. My cover isn't in jeopardy, but he does know that I
know one of his secrets."

"What did he say when you told him you were going to be leaving?"
Mulder pressed.

"He was disappointed, but he was all right with it. He said they'd
try to find a replacement for me as soon as possible."

Mulder shook his head again. "He's going to try to keep you from
leaving," he said tersely.

She accepted what he said, knowing he'd been profiling him for all
this time, studying him. She sighed again, ran her hand through her
hair tiredly, closed her eyes. "I'm going to be careful, Mulder.
Don't worry. I'm going to be wary of him, more than I have been. Just
play it out. He hasn't shown any indication that he was going to hurt
me. I understand why he killed Danny -- what Danny did was disloyal.
What I did could be construed as just part of me being a doctor."

"I'm not as sure as you are," he replied, passing a truck on the
right, hurling them faster through the darkness, as though the city
itself were chasing them now.

She looked down, hesitated, then said it anyway. "I think...I think
he has...feelings for me."

Mulder's eyes were on her again. "How do you know? Has he tried
anything?"

She wanted to smile at how protective he sounded. What he said
sounded like the question of a jealous boyfriend, not an FBI profiler.

She shook her head. "No, nothing," she soothed. "But I did see him
get in a confrontation with John Fagan at the pub one night. Fagan
has been a little...interested, as well."

His jaw muscles were flexing again. He shook his head, swinging back
into the left hand lane. "We need to get you out of there right
away," he said.

"You know we can't do that," she replied. "I can't just disappear.
Flaherty's life would be in danger."

"Fuck Flaherty," Mulder spit, anger and frustration overwhelming him
for an instant.

"Mulder..." She reached over now, put a hand on his leg to calm him.

He blew out a frustrated breath. She could feel from his thigh how
tense he was.

"It's going to be okay," she said softly. "We just have to be
patient, and careful."

He turned to her again. "And what is this?" he asked, his voice
rising. "You and me out here like this? Is this ^^careful'?"

She looked down at her lap, silent for a moment. "Are you saying you
wouldn't have come if you'd known all that you know now?" she asked
finally, her voice just above a whisper.

"Maybe," he said instantly, haughty.

Though a part of her knew he didn't mean it, that he was just
speaking out of his fear, another part of her was sorely stung.

She turned and looked out the window, removed her hand from his leg,
her eyes shining with tears. "I'm sorry I called you then," she said
flatly, struggling to hold the emotion that welled up in check. "Take
me back."

Despite her best efforts, a single tear escaped down her cheek. She
wiped it away quickly. She kept her face turned away from him to hide
it.

An exit was looming up ahead. He changed into the right lane. Her
heart sank as she resigned herself to going back, alone again.

They passed it without him even slowing.

She felt his hand curl around the back of her neck, his long fingers
caressing her beneath her hair.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean that. Of course I would
have still come."

She still couldn't look at him, her lip trembling. It was too much.
First Danny. Now this between her and Mulder. When she needed him so
badly. She struggled against the sadness in her, the nearly
overwhelming sense of frustration, of grief.

Cupping her forehead in her hand, she moved closer against the door,
her body stiff, meeting his attempt at connection, at apology, with
silence.

Eventually, he removed his hand, trailing it across her leg on its
way back to the steering wheel.

"Scully, I'm sorry," he repeated softly. "I didn't mean it." There
was something almost desperate in it this time.

She shook her head, kept her face turned away. The tears raced down
her cheeks. She brushed them away, concentrated on the faint outlines
of trees in the moonlight. She stared at them until the tears
stopped, feeling as though some part of her were freezing over,
burying itself in an almost welcome, numbing cold.

"Why don't you try and get some rest," he said into the stony
silence, his voice showing his regret, his hurt. "I'll wake you up
when we get to Charlottesville, when I find a motel. Then we'll both
get some rest, figure this out in the morning."

She bit her lip. She could not bring herself to answer him once
again. She heard him sigh, saw him shake his head in frustration from
the corner of her eye.

Finally, she leaned the side of her face against the window, despair
settling over her. She pretended to fall asleep.
 

***********

THE OVERLOOK MOTEL
AFTON MOUNTAIN
AFTON, VIRGINIA
4:39 a.m.
 

The motel had been visible from some distance, a small island of
light on a high rise just off the highway. Mulder had watched it
approach for several miles, saw the signs on the highway promising
"The Best View on Afton Mountain." Though it was dark and the view
wouldn't matter now, he wondered if some scenery would do Scully good
when they woke up in the morning.

He had found himself smiling as they neared Charlottesville and he'd
seen the signs for Afton, only a few miles beyond the college town.
The distance between them now, the quiet that had stretched for so
many miles, had made him immediately nostalgic when he'd seen the
signs for the Afton, for the mountain of the same name.

He'd spent the time to himself thinking about their time on the
mountain a year ago. Though the experience had been terrifying in so
many ways, he found he could think only of the fact that they'd
shared their first kiss somewhere on the side of that mountain. It
seemed fitting that he drive the extra 20 miles to find their way
back to that place.

Or so he hoped as he looked at Scully pretending to sleep beside
him. She'd kept her eyes closed, her face angled away from him, for
the rest of their drive, avoiding any further conversation with him.
It had made him profoundly sad.

The snow was deeper here, as he'd expected, but the parking lot was
neatly plowed. He pulled into a parking space in front of the two
story building, all the rooms with sliding glass doors and balconies
facing the valley behind him. The red "vacancy" sign glowed in the
dark beside the office doorway.

Putting the car in park, he unhooked his seat belt, turned to
Scully. He put a hand out gingerly and touched her shoulder.

"Hey," he called gently. As he expected, she opened her eyes
immediately, looked at him almost warily. The sadness of the events
of her night and the hurt he'd caused was still in her eyes. He found
her gaze hard to meet, but managed it.

"I'm going to go in and get us a room," he continued. "I'll be right
back."

"All right," she said softly, looking away. He was relieved that she
had at least spoken to him.

He climbed out of the car, keeping it running so the interior would
stay warm. Pulling his leather jacket closer around him as a wind
blew over the parking lot, he made his way to the office, the door
jingling softly as he entered.

Within minutes, he was back outside, a key to one of the second
story rooms dangling from his hand. The sleepy manager had promised
the room would have the best view of the sun coming up, and that it
would have everything they would need. "Even one of them little
coffee makers," the man had said proudly. Mulder had thanked him with
a tired smile and headed out the door.

He came back to the car, opened the door. Reaching in, he turned the
car off. Scully seemed frozen in place, her eyes staring out the
window, as though she were mesmerized by the full, golden moon.

"You with me?" he asked gently. She turned, shook her head slightly
as though trying to clear it.

"Yeah," she murmured, opened her door, climbed out. He met her in
front of the car, walked beside her up the staircase, up to the room.
She kept her hands in her pockets and her body just out of his reach.
He did manage to touch her back with his palm as he opened the door
and ushered her in.

He flicked on the light, surveyed the room. It was fairly large but
simply furnished -- a queen-size bed and a night table on one side,
two chairs in one corner around a simple round table, on which sat
the promised four-cup Mr. Coffee. A bureau with a mirror beside the
doorway to the bathroom, then two cheaply upholstered wing chairs
gathered in front of the sliding glass doors that, for now, looked
out onto only the dimly lit parking lot and a sea of night beyond.

He closed the door as Scully went to the bureau, pulling off her
gloves finally and laying them down on the surface in front of her.
He could see in her reflection that her head was bowed, her eyes down
as though taking off her gloves required all of her attention. Slowly
she began to unbutton her long dark coat, revealing a white work
shirt, black pants. She'd dressed for work the next day, he realized.

He peeled his jacket off, went to the table and chairs, draping it
over the back of one of the chairs. The room was cold to him, even
though he wore jeans, a thick turtleneck, heavy socks and boots. He
went back to the door, turned the heater, which was already running
on low, up a few notches. He held his hand over the vent, satisfied.

Then he turned back towards her, his hands on his hips. She stood
still, her hands on the top of the bureau as though she were bracing
herself. Her back was still to him, though he could still see her
face in the mirror. It was blank, her gaze remaining down, as though
she didn't want to even look at her own reflection.

He blew out a tired breath.

"Scully, please talk to me," he murmured into the space between
them. Now she did look up slowly, at his reflection in the mirror,
their eyes meeting on the smooth cold surface.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm so sorry for what I said."

She nodded, bit her lip. "I know," she said quietly. "I know you
didn't mean it." She averted her eyes again, and he saw a suspicious
shine begin in them. She shook her head, stood up straight, tugging
her shirt down as though trying to put herself back together in some
way.

"Look," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice was
trembling. "I'm just going to take a quick shower...get cleaned up."
She reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. He
noticed that her hand was shaking slightly.

"Scully," he implored. "Please don't walk away from me."

"I'll be right out, okay?" she said, sniffed. "I'll just be a
minute."

And she fled, closing the bathroom door behind her. He heard the
water start up almost immediately, a soft hiss filling the room.

Looking down, he shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair in
frustration, rubbed at his eyes, stood there for a long moment, at a
loss.

He could feel the space between them stretching further and further,
wide and silent.

He had to do something to reach her. He would do something, even if
it meant risking doing more harm. The distance was that intolerable
to him.

Knowing he was taking a chance, he crossed the room, sat on the edge
of the bed, removing his shoes one at a time, then his socks. He
pulled his shirt over his head, tossed it carelessly to the floor,
ignoring the cold in the room that struck his bare skin. He stood,
unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down over his hips, stepping out of
them, leaving them in a hunkered mass at the foot of the bed.

Clad only in grey boxer briefs, he went to the door to the bathroom.
He hesitated, his palm on the smooth surface, then his forehead, as
he listened for any sound besides the running water. He heard
nothing.

Pulling in a deep breath, steeling his nerves, he reached for the
knob, turning it quietly, and stepped into the billow of steam on the
other side.

*********

End of chapter 16a.  Continued in 16b.

***********

She stood beneath the stream, the water almost too hot to stand.

The cheap, sharp smelling motel shampoo ran down her body in
rivulets of bubbles as she smoothed her hands over her hair again and
again, trying to smooth the turmoil of feeling out, as well. It
reminded her of the way her mother had stroked her hair to soothe her
when she was a little girl, and she took great comfort in the motion.

Bending her neck, she angled her head so that the water ran down her
forehead, the top of her head, sending it over it her eyes, down the
back of her neck. She let herself drift in the rising steam, in the
gentle sound of water running as it echoed on the tiles around her.

For a moment, she lost it all. Danny on the phone. Mulder outside
the door. For a moment she lost even herself, her mind as clear as
the water, as blank as the walls.

Then, a hand on her shoulder, fingers closing down gently on her
skin.

She jumped, gasping. She hadn't even heard him come in through the
flimsy curtain.

"Shhh..." he whispered, his lips on her ear, his other hand coming
down on her other shoulder. "It's okay..." He pulled her gently
against him, his body pressing against hers from the back.

She knew that she should resent the intrusion. She even stiffened
beneath his hands for a few seconds as a hint of the feeling washed
over her.

But just after that feeling came the realization that she hadn't
really wanted to leave him in the room at all. That she just didn't
know what to say to him, and she didn't want him to see her should
she begin to cry again, to lose control.

Now his lips were beneath her ear. He nuzzled at her gently, his
hands slipping down her arms, then beneath them, until they rested on
her waist and in the stream of water.

It was too much, this closeness to him. His touch. The feelings rose
up in her like a breaking wave. She tilted her head back against him,
tears coming. Her breath caught in them. She bit her lip, her brow
creasing down as she shook her head in frustration.

"I don't want you to see me like this," she whispered, and his grip
on her waist tightened.

"It's okay..." he repeated, his lips on her throat, sending a shiver
down her body. She leaned back into him, turned her face into his,
her lip still between her teeth as she shook her head again.

"Yes, Scully," he murmured. "I'm here..."

Her body shook, the tears mingling with the water still on her face.
His arms went around her waist now, his palms flat on her belly. He
pressed his face against hers as she cried openly now, her hands
gripping his forearms.

"I can't do this anymore...I can't..."

"Yes, you can," he replied, his lips against her cheek, then gently
brushing the bruise beneath her eye. "You're doing so well. You're
doing great work on this."

"But Danny--"

He pulled her tighter. "That's not your fault. You did everything
you could to help him. You know you did."

She wanted to believe him so much, but she couldn't. Not completely.
Her head dropped forward to her chest, the tears still coming, and
she said the words she had needed to say for weeks now, but could
not.

"Mulder, I'm so scared..."

He nodded. "I know you are," he whispered, leaning over her shoulder
to press his lips to her cheek again. "I know. It's going to work
out, though. You're going to make it through this. You are..."

She turned in his arms now, the water coursing down her back as she
buried her face beneath his chin, her arms locking around his
shoulder blades. She brushed her lips against his throat, pulling in
a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheek against him now. She held onto
him tightly.

He pulled back a bit, reached up and cradled her head between his
hands, his thumbs brushing her temples gently. He met her eyes, his
expression serious.

"Don't ever apologize for showing me how you feel," he whispered. "I
don't want anything to be between us like that. Anything left
unsaid."

She closed her eyes slowly, nodded. He smoothed her hair with his
fingers, and she turned her head a bit, leaning into one of his hands
dreamily. When she opened her eyes, she couldn't tell if he was
crying or not. His eyes shone.

He leaned down, pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there.

She closed her eyes, unable to speak. When he pulled away, she
turned her face up to him as his mouth came down again. Her lips
parted beneath his, the kiss like a secret passed silent between
them.
 

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

6:39 a.m.
 

There was a beacon, the light on a high radio tower on the other
side of the mountain, and Scully watched it, hypnotized by the sight
of the lazy red light blinking on and off in the waning darkness. The
stars were still out faintly on one side of the sky, the other side
glowing, filled with snow clouds. The storm was moving in from the
west, backlit by the dawn, the clouds like a heavy lid over the sky's
grey-blue eye.

She was curled in one of the maroon wing chairs in front of the
sliding glass door, her knees drawn up against her chest, her small
nude body wrapped in Mulder's leather jacket.

She hadn't moved a muscle in over a half an hour. Her eyes never
left the view outside, the light on the radio tower, the storm moving
in over the Blue Ridge Mountains, edging its way towards the bluff
the motel was perched on. Moving eastward towards the city an hour
and a half away that she was desperately trying to forget.

Behind her, Mulder slept.

She craned her neck to look at him. The covers were folded across
his waist, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. It didn't
matter though -- he slept heavy, his breathing audible even over the
faint rattle of the motel's ancient heater. One arm was draped across
his belly. The other lay out beside him, palm up, his fingers curled
slightly inward. Light from the dim lamp on the night table was
cupped there in his palm, pooled in the shadows of his fingers like
water.

She'd lain beside him for over an hour after he'd fallen asleep,
waiting for sleep to come to her, as well. But she was jittery -- her
body tired, but her mind busy, filled with random, anxious thoughts.
Even his warm presence beside her had done nothing to calm her mind,
even when she molded herself into his side, one of his legs trapped
between both of hers, her arm tight around his chest, her cheek
resting on his shoulder. He'd turned his lips to her forehead,
caressing her hairline, murmuring softly to her that he loved her as
his eyes finally drifted closed.

She'd stayed pressed close to him, waiting as she listened to his
breathing slow and grow deeper, the arm he had draped over her
shoulder growing heavy. Sensing that she would not wake him, she'd
risen up on an elbow, her fingers smoothing down the sparse hair on
his chest, taking comfort in the full, even rise and fall of his
breathing beneath her hand. She watched his face for awhile. It was
turned toward her and away from the lamplight, sending his features
into velvet shadow.

Thoughts went relentlessly through her head like cars on an endless
train. Curran's face when she'd told him she would be leaving. Sean
going through the deck of cards at the Cathedral. Danny's last words
on the phone, just before he slipped away from her. "I want to go
home...."

She'd closed her eyes against the thoughts, wincing at that final
memory. The peace she sought with Mulder fled her. She worried, too,
that she was bringing something dark and unwelcome into their space,
the space they'd worked for a year to hold only for them. Wracked
with a tumult of feelings, one of which was guilt at not finding some
peace with him here when their time was so short, she'd risen and
padded softly away.

Which brought her to where she was sitting, shivering despite the
thick jacket, her gaze moving over his still form on the bed.

The tears came suddenly again and she squeezed her eyes closed
against them, which only sent them down her cheeks more quickly. A
hand, slightly trembling, went to her mouth, covering it as though
she meant to silence herself.

She could not understand why the emotions were so close to the
surface, how she had so little control of them. She must just be so
tired, she thought, the strain of the past few days making her raw,
edgy. That must be it.

For the first time in her life, she could not seem to fathom her own
heart.

It would be over soon, she reminded herself, pulling in a shaky
breath that caught in her throat. All of this. She looked around the
motel room, the sight of the strange room and the familiarity of
Mulder painfully juxtaposed, making her feel unreal, lost and out of
place.

Her eyes settled on him again, and her mind grasped onto the sight
of him as though she were holding onto a rope. She remembered how
she'd felt when he'd come into the shower, following her, refusing to
let her push him away. The way he'd held onto her waist so tightly,
as though afraid she would slip away from him.

Away from him completely, into that other, secret world.

She wiped her eyes roughly, as though shaking herself awake from the
threat of a deep sleep. There had been another time when she knew
they'd both felt her drifting away. It felt like a lifetime ago --
her sitting at the stern of a wooden boat, attached to him by a thin
line as he stood on that seemingly impossible shore.

She had not let herself go then. And she would not do it now.

With that thought she rose, shedding the jacket on the chair. She
walked towards the bed.

Lifting the covers, she slipped beneath them, moved towards him
until she was flush against his side once again. Then she reached
down and lifted the blankets off his waist, pulling them down, past
his hips, then his thighs, then his knees. He did not stir.

The tears came again as she pressed her lips to the column of his
throat, his breastbone. The scar on his shoulder. The other over his
ribcage, in the thin space between his ribs. The bump of his hipbone.
The soft hair beneath his navel. The inside of his thigh.

He began to move in his sleep, drawing in a deep breath as his legs
shifted slowly.

Outside a gust of wind creaked against the flimsy door frame. She
pushed the sound away, curled an arm around his calf, grasping him
behind the knee gently to halt his leg's movement, her other hand
smoothing over his hip.

She lowered her head, her hair falling across his abdomen...

A sudden intake of breath. She could sense by the tenseness of his
body that he had awakened. She did not have to look up to know his
eyes were on her, his gaze like a sudden heat. Her cheeks flushed
with it.

After a moment, he whispered her name into the quiet, his hand
coming up and stroking her hair, brushing it back behind her ear,
giving him, she knew, a view of her face as she moved.

It only took a few more moments for his breath to hitch again, now
with desire, his legs shifting despite her grasp. He moaned softly,
his right hand coming up to join the left, alternately smoothing down
her hair and caressing the side of her face.

As much as she loved giving him this kind of pleasure, a pleasure he
couldn't contain or hide, it wasn't enough for her. Not now.

Pulling back, she trailed soft, open-mouthed kisses up his body now,
over his side, across one dark nipple. His arms went around her as
she rolled slowly on top of him, her thighs coming down on either
side of his hips. She kissed his chest, then lifted her face so she
could look into his eyes.

As in the sky outside, a storm was moving into his eyes as well, one
filled with rich desire. But she saw concern there, too, felt him
stroking her back as if in comfort. It wasn't until she saw this in
his expression that she realized she was still crying, her lower lip
trembling.

He started to speak, but she reached up and covered his lips with a
finger, shaking her head. He swallowed back his words, and after a
few seconds nodded. She then replaced the finger with her lips, his
mouth opening beneath hers, the kiss immediately deep, searching.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, still mussed from the shower,
drawing him up from the pillow. His hands cradled her head between
them, his fingers caressing her brow.

They stayed that way for a long time.

Finally, she leaned back on her knees, watched his face as she
guided him inside her.

He bit his lip, his eyes squeezing closed as he held back a moan,
honoring her desire for silence. As she leaned back a bit, her hands
on his belly, his own hands found her breasts, and she arched her
back, pushed herself against them, her head tilting back. Tears raced
from the corners of her eyes, down her temples. She was helpless
against them as the world narrowed to sensation, to image.

His knees drawing up behind her, deepening their contact so much
that she gasped with the suddenness of it, shuddering...

His dark eyes watching her so intently, so much so that she felt as
if she encompassed, for him, the entire world...

Sweat dewing them both despite the chill in the room, single drops
running slowly down the length of her spine, the center of her chest,
down his forehead, his temples...

Then Mulder's eyes clenching closed as she leaned down, her lips
trailing down his face, his hands on her hips, pushing into her with
such intensity.

Her head fell back as she thrust against him, waiting for the
tightening of her muscles, waiting for the readying of her body for
release.

After several long moments, she realized that it would not come.

She could see the look of questioning, concern in his eyes as he
looked up at her, wordlessly urging her to let the pleasure take her.
But she knew that her body was not responding as it usually did to
him. Something -- fatigue, anxiety -- was getting in the way.

Though a part of her was a bit disappointed, she refused to let it
take away from the experience of being with him.

She could sense his concern, as well, especially when his hands left
her hips, his thumbs moving down to the place where their bodies were
joined. She reached down, shaking her head, and took his hands in
both of hers, bringing them up to her lips. He looked at her,
puzzled, again, but accepted what she wanted. She released his hands
and they returned to stroking her waist, her breasts, her hips.

Leaning forward onto her hands on either side of his head, she
increased the rate, the depth of her movements, her face over his
now. She had not had the experience of watching him like this, of
concentrating completely on his pleasure and being able to see it
play over his face. There was something about being able to do this
that made their lovemaking that much more intimate to her.

His eyes were wide, his breathing laboring. He was trying to hold
back, struggling for control, waiting for her. She smiled to him,
shook her head, then kissed him. She kept her face close as she
continued to move, her own breath fanning his hair.

She could feel his entire body tightening, shaking with his need for
release.

"Mulder, let go," she whispered breathlessly, breaking the silence.

He shook his head, his fingers digging into her hips. "No..."

"Yes....please. For me." Tears began again in her eyes as she said
it. She meant what she said so much it tore at her.

She could see his brow crease down as he saw the tears, but he had
heard what she said.

He pushed up hard against her, his hands cupping her breasts now.
She moaned, leaned down further to allow him access to them with his
mouth, and he nuzzled against her chest, his teeth nipping, his
tongue smoothing over the silken skin of her nipples.

Then he leaned his head back against the pillow, his eyes squeezing
shut once again as he gasped.

A few more thrusts and then he was shaking, his hips moving in slow,
instinctual thrusts. He moaned deeply, said her name in a trembling,
deep voice. She held his face between her hands as he shook beneath
her, his eyes coming open and meeting her tender smile and gaze.
Color flushed his face suddenly as his hips slowed their movements
beneath her.

Finally she felt him beginning to relax, his eyes closing, his
breathing still hard but evening out. She leaned down and kissed his
mouth, lingering there. She moved her lips to his forehead, his
cheek, his temple. His hands stroked her back.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, pushing her hair behind her ears and
meeting her eyes.

She shook her head. "Don't be," she murmured, and smiled to him
again through her tears. With that, she draped her body down on top
of his, shifting her legs so that they lay between his, her head
under his chin.

They lay still for a long moment, their breathing settling, relaxing
against each other. He kissed the top her head, rubbing his cheek
against her still-damp hair.

Suddenly, her pulse pounded in her ears. The fatigue that had clung
to her before settled in hard and she thought for an instant that she
might fall asleep right there on top of him. A vague sensation of
vertigo gripped her.

"Mulder..." she whispered into his throat, a touch of fear in her
voice as she held onto his shoulders.

"It's all right..." He nuzzled at her, kissed her forehead.

"No..." she breathed. "I'm dizzy..."

He held onto her and gently rolled her to the side, then on to her
back, taking a place beside her, his upper body over hers so that he
could look into her eyes. His eyes were serious, concerned, taking in
her face. He stroked her hair softly as she closed her eyes against
the wash of fatigue and dizziness.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. He put an arm around her,
gripping her ribcage just below her breast as though trying to
balance her.

Almost immediately, the feeling began to ebb and she opened her
eyes, looked up at him. His expression was so tender and worried that
she gave him a small smile. "I'm okay," she murmured. She stroked his
cheek. "Just tired, I think."

It was the only explanation she could come up with for the strange
feelings, and though he looked dubious, he accepted what she said,
reaching down to bring the blankets up over them. He lay down next to
her, pulling her into the crook of his arm so that her head rested
beneath his chin. Craning his neck, he kissed her forehead. She
relaxed, her body curved around him.

She smiled to herself as she felt the peace settle over them. The
distance that had been between them before was finally gone,
exorcised. Now it was just the two of them, their private space
returned to them.

"I love you," she whispered against his skin, and she felt rather
than saw him smile, his lips on her hair.

"I love you, too," he replied gently. "Now I want you to sleep,
okay? You need to get some sleep."

He was already halfway there himself. She could feel his body
growing warm and heavy.

"I'll try," she whispered, curling her arm around his chest and
settling down completely against him.

As she felt him drift on into sleep, she looked out the glass door
she'd been sitting in front of before. It had begun to snow, huge
flakes that glowed almost blue in the dawning light.

Like the snowglobe Mulder had given her for Christmas. She had a
sudden, very real vision of herself, sitting on the bed in Mae's
apartment, shaking the globe, the flakes swirling, identical to the
ones before her in the window.

She shook off the strange vision, blinked it away and pulled Mulder
closer.

An inch of snow had collected on the balcony railing before she
finally fell into a light, dream-filled sleep.
 

*********

END OF CHAPTER 16. CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 17.

**********

2233 GRACE STREET
10:37 a.m.
 

Owen Curran had arrived early at the apartment Mae shared with
Katherine Black, and had decided without a moment's thought to go
ahead and let he and Sean in with his key.

Sean made straight for the television, flicking through the cable
television channels with an ease that Owen found decidedly American
and thus a tad unnerving. He eventually settled on some channel that
advertised itself as the Cartoon Network, proceeded to sit a foot and
a half away from the screen, kneeling, his hands still jammed in his
coat pockets. Then he sat in rapt silence, mesmerized by the
multicolored creatures playing across the small screen.

Curran watched all this from the counter in the kitchen where he was
sipping a glass of orange juice from the fresh carton he'd found in
Mae's refrigerator.

"So this is what Mae lets you do when I bring you over here?" Owen
grumbled, and Sean turned, looked down like a puppy who'd been caught
with a shoe.

"Sometimes, Daddy," he replied. "Only sometimes."

Owen grunted at Sean's attempt to cover his sister's ass. He'd have
a talk with her about this when she got in. With Sean not being in
school, and having not been for some time, Owen didn't want his son's
mind being rotted out. He wanted his son outside, out in the world.
At least as much as their lives could allow. He sighed at the thought.

For now, he reminded himself. Just for now.

Taking the glass of juice with him, he wandered down the shotgun
hallway of the ancient apartment, passing Mae's room, the door opened
and revealing a riotous mess of clothes strewn across the floor, an
unmade bed. Dull white light was coming in the two windows, the snow
still falling outside from the storm that had begun earlier that
morning.

The sight made him smile a bit. One thing about Mae, he thought. She
was predictable. Even in her tendency to scatter a mess everywhere
she went.

Going down the hallway a bit more, he passed the small bathroom,
then came upon what could only have been Katherine Black's room. The
closed door alone told him that.

He reached for the door knob, pushed the door opened with a creak,
peered inside.

The first thing he noticed was the light aroma in the room, a
slightly stronger version of the faint fragrance he picked up from
Katherine when he sat across from her, a clean, bright scent that
managed to permeate even the dense fog of cigarettes at the Mouse. He
found himself inhaling deeply, savoring the unique, utterly feminine
smell.

The second thing he noticed was that the room was impeccably neat,
the bed made smooth, the two cheap pillows placed just so at the base
of the metal-slatted headboard. There was nothing on the floor
anywhere, save the cheap, mismatched rug. A small cosmetic bag
centered on the dresser, a gathering of bottles of creams and things.
On the night table, a small travel alarm and something else,
something he couldn't identify from the doorway. He stepped inside
the room further to investigate.

Picking up the snowglobe, he peered at the scene inside, wondered at
why someone as no-nonsense as Katherine would have something so
trivial and frivolous. It wasn't even a nice one, he thought, giving
it a rough shake, listening to the sound of the water sloshing.

It must have sentimental value, he decided, placing it carefully
back down on the night table. The thought bothered him for some
reason he couldn't name.

Emboldened now that he was inside the room, he went to the closet,
looked at the neat rows of shirts, pants, jackets, shoes. The two
dark suitcases stacked on the shelf at the top.

Everything had a place, and was in it, he thought wryly, closing the
door.

Just then, he heard a noise below him, the front door to this side
of the duplex opening. It would have to be Mae -- there was no one in
the other apartment on this side, and only one occupant on the other
side, a young man who was gone sometimes for weeks at a time
travelling for work. Mae pretty much had the place to herself, which
was why she'd chosen it in the first place.

They