By The Pimpernel
thepimpernel@waitrose.com
 

Date: November 2003
Rating: PG-13 but I don't want to offend anyone so let's say
R for sexual situations, and bad words.
Summary: An irreverent look at biological imperative and
genetic predisposition -- possibly. Just read and enjoy
Classification: SRA
Keywords: AU -- a 'what if' parallel time line that mangles
the two, angst, MSR sort of.
Spoilers:  YES, but I haven't yet evolved past season 7. Play
spot the reference.
Feedback: Warms the cockles of my heart and other bits of
my anatomy. - thepimpernel@waitrose.com
Archive: I'd be stunned but go ahead. It's written to be read.
Disclaimer: Just five more minutes Dad, then I promise I'll
put them away.
Fanfic is a self-indulgence of the non-fattening type for
neither body nor bank account. In other words any reference
to characters created by Chris Carter real or imaginary is
purely deliberate but they're not mine.
I'm English forgive me my spelling.

Genuflexions to Elsie, a wonderful beta who prods, pats and
moulds my grammar and punctuation into something
comprehensible. That just leaves the plot holes as a
distraction.

Second part of the story. I'm not sure this one makes much
sense without having read the first. More to come, so check
your WIP tolerance before continuing.
 

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

Part 1 of 4
 
 

Frances Aspinal leaned back in her chair stretching her arms
back causing a series of popping sounds as she got the kinks
out of her spine. She glanced at the clock. Twelve thirty she
noted. Twelve thirty on a Monday and she felt like she'd
already been at work for a week already. At least she'd had
the good fortune to find a new pathologist who'd started
today, so hopefully things would ease slightly. She had hopes
for this one. Frances had been surprised when she'd walked
in and introduced herself; she'd appeared... slight. Frances
herself was sturdy verging on strapping, her hair greying, and
her complexion aging. If she were a man, she'd be described
as grizzled. Not that many men had the nerve to say that to
her face; it was not for nothing that she was 'affectionately'
known as 'Sweet FA' behind her back. She just considered
herself a straightforward, no-nonsense type of person. If that
meant she put some people's noses out of joint, so be it. She
didn't have time for the social niceties at work; she needed
conscientious, thorough workers who knew their stuff, knew
where to look it up when they didn't or knew when they
needed a second opinion. And more to the point, knew how
to differentiate the three without having to spout their mouths
off about how good they were. However, as good people
were hard to find, she'd put up with the spouting.

Not that the new girl - she should try not to call her 'girl' to
her face, social niceties she may not have but at the same age
she'd probably have knocked somebody's teeth down their
throat for that sort of comment - seemed to be a spouter. A
name had come down the grapevine, she'd interviewed over
the phone (something her boss would probably have a pink
fit about; not following procedures, blah, blah, blah - but
provided the girl worked out it would get swept under the
carpet), done her usual barking act to make sure there was
more than a polite telephone voice at the other end. Then
offered her a job. The offer has been accepted and the new
pathologist was, at this very minute, working on the backlog
of dead bodies that were piled three deep in the refrigerators.

So a new pathologist, her boss was on holiday, Bob was back
from his nervous breakdown and she'd actually made
progress on the paperwork this morning as the phone had
only rung once, conspired to give Frances a moment of
contentment as she leaned back stretching the stiffness in her
back. She almost broke into a smile. This lasted mere
seconds, and her good mood was shattered as two suited men
walked into her office.

"Oh god! What do you two want? I didn't think we had any
of yours." Then as a more positive thought occurred to her.
"Tell me you're here to take away."

"Well, good morning to you too, Doc," said the larger of the
two men. "I'm glad we've caught you on a good day."

"Quit the smarm. What do you want?"

"Spooky here's got one of his 'feelings'," he said nodding his
head in the other man's direction."

"So you want a body shipped to Quantico?" she asked
hopefully.

"Probably not. I'm just curious in the autopsy results at this
stage," said Spooky, "male, twenty five to thirty, five foot
ten, brown hair, slim build."

Frances snorted, "That probably describes thirty percent of
the bodies in here, Mulder. You must have more than that."

"He was found on West Street late Saturday night, over a
week ago," added Mulder, alias Spooky, helpfully.

Frances turned to her computer and started tapping the
keyboard. "You got a name?"

Mulder shook his head.

"So what's so interesting about this John Doe?"

"I think he might be the victim of a serial killer."

Frances got a display up on her screen. "We've got three
matching that description from that area. One with a gun shot
wound, one strangled, one with no obvious cause of death."
She looked up at Mulder.

"The no obvious cause of death is the one I'm after."

"For a serial killer?" she asked, while doing another search
on her computer, "There's every possibility that the autopsy
hasn't been done yet. We're behind with the work." Frances
gave Mulder a scowl as she said it.

Mulder shrugged.

"You're in luck," said Frances scanning the screen, "the
autopsy's scheduled for today. If Bob's doing it, you're
getting nowhere near him, Mulder. He's only just back, he
doesn't need you picking at his work."

Frances strode off towards the autopsy bays. She checked the
clipboard to see where the body was on the rota. Her heart
fell when she realised it was the new girl doing the autopsy.
Glancing over, it looked like she was just finishing up. She
toyed with the idea of not letting the two men speak to her.
Then decided the girl might as well get the trial by ordeal
over with. Although Frances generally adhered to the sink or
swim rule for experienced staff, she wished she'd had time to
forewarn the new girl about Mulder.

In fact, Frances had a lot of time and even a grudging respect
for Mulder, despite his apparent leaps of logic. He had a way
of being uncannily right about apparently unconnected
things. Unfortunately, he came over all mild and amiable but
he had a nasty way with words and didn't suffer fools gladly,
which seemed to encompass all those who couldn't keep up
with him. Actually, maybe the latter was a tad unkind, and
Bob had been lax in that autopsy, already on his way to a
nervous breakdown. But, for one, it was her job to sort her
people out, and two, Mulder could be patient when people
were listening. Nevertheless she turned to the two men,
"Mulder, the pathologist doing the autopsy only started
today. Play nice for once."

He gave her a hurt look, "I'm much maligned, I always play
nice. And isn't that the kettle calling the pot?"

"Mulder," she warned.

"Yes, yes. I heard you, Frankie, but if he survived your
interview technique I'm sure he'll survive a few questions
from me."

Ha, thought Frances, typical stereotyping. Well, he'll see.
It'll keep him on his toes. Frances headed into the bay.
"Dana, it appears you're honoured on your first day. Two
FBI agents are interested in the body before you."

Mulder saw her first, distracted as she was by Frances. He'd
only had a glimpse before Frances' substantial body had
blocked the view of the smaller woman, but he was sure it
was her - not that he'd thought about her very much since the
other night. No, no. Not much at all. His heart fell, his heart
leapt, then thumped loudly trying to escape his ribcage. The
colour drained from his face, then he flushed furiously.
'Well, well, well,' he thought. 'Well, well, well.' 'Well, well,
well,' he thought louder. He couldn't seem to get past that.
Sweat broke out on his brow. Get yourself under control, he
admonished himself. What a stroke of luck. I wonder how
she'll play it? Hope she doesn't make a run for it. He tried to
control the pleased excitement he felt.

"FBI?" came Dana's puzzled reply.

"Yes. They're practically regulars here so you might as well
get the meeting over with. Nobody would think the Bureau
had their own pathology department. This one here with the
funny face is David Rudiger." Frances turned to gesture at
him with a careless wave of her hand. Rudiger nodded, Dana
gave a nod of acknowledgement. "And this here is Spooky
Mulder. Do not be deceived by his air of diffidence, he
develops a shark's fin and teeth when he scents blood.
Agents, our new pathologist Dana Scully."

Dana's smile of acknowledgement faltered as she focused on
Mulder. Something akin to 'oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck' raced
through her mind as her heart jumped into her throat then
plummeted to her feet, before returning to her chest where it
then thumped loudly and forcefully enough to feel like it was
trying to escape her ribcage. All the colour drained from her
face, she felt light headed, then she blushed furiously; sweat
broke out on her brow. Her hand came up to the cross on her
throat as she prayed with sudden fervour that the ground
would open up and swallow her whole or that he wouldn't
bring up that they'd already met - not here. To expect him to
not bring it up at all was a hope beyond praying for. Just
when she thought things were going so well. What possessed
her to go out 'celebrating?' She tried to hide her anxious
dismay.

Fortunately, Rudiger and Frances both seemed to be
watching Mulder, the latter with a look on her face that
should have had him skewered to the wall, something Dana
might ordinarily have shown some curiosity about, had she
not been quite so preoccupied with her own predicament.
Whatever, it gave her a few seconds in which to take a few
deep breathes and pull herself together.

Mulder was aware of a subtle mental adjustment as he
realized that 'Kate' was Dana Scully the pathologist, that
Rudiger and Frances were staring at him and that 'Dana' was
in distress. She was getting herself under control, her features
becoming composed but he'd seen the sudden paleness
followed by the flush. Not that he was doing much better
himself, having just a few seconds grace before the
introduction. It was a sobering thought that while he was
seeing this as a lucky break she was seeing it as a dreadful
doom. For all his faults - yes, he got tightly focused on
things and didn't seem to notice when he trod on a few toes -
he was also good at empathising. That, and there was no
spiteful malice in him. Even had he not just received that
pleading look from her, he wondered if she knew she'd sent
it, he would not have made her uncomfortable - in public. In
private now, he probably wouldn't be able to resist a small
amount of teasing.

As he'd had the longer to recover, he decided to try to put her
at her ease. "Don't take any notice of Frankie, Doctor Scully,
though she scathingly compares me to an emotionally cold
fish she's actually paying me a compliment. She's very fond
of a reverse analogy with a slight twist."

Frances snorted, "I'll twist you in a minute. Get on with it."

"Don't let us detain you if you're busy, Frankie," said
Mulder.

"Not a chance I'm leaving, Mulder. I'm fascinated to know
how this case relates to a serial killing."

"Serial killing?" chimed in a puzzled Dana, by now having
gotten her voice under control, even if her stomach was still
knotted and her heart still thumping, "I didn't find any
evidence of foul play." She glanced back at the body as she
said it, as if it would give her more answers than the ones
she'd found, slightly worried that she'd missed something big
with her first autopsy here.

"No, that seems to be the pattern so far, but there are just a
few anomalies that have been catching my attention. What
did this man die of?" he asked smiling at her, trying to
convey calm and understanding.

Dana swallowed as she constructed her reply; he was still
making her uneasy. He was smiling at her as if she should be
sharing in a joke, but it just made her more nervous expecting
him to carelessly drop their previous meeting into the
conversation. "Well, I haven't written up my notes yet and I
can't make a complete diagnosis until the tox screens come
back."

"I won't hold you to anything yet, just give me your general
opinion at the moment."

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate..."

"It's okay, Dana, just tell him something. He won't go away
until you do," Frances butted in.

"There's no obvious cause of death at this time, my best
guess is his heart stopped. Whether this was drug induced,
caused by physical or physiological factors will require
further investigation."

"Is there any sign of poison or narcotic action?" asked
Mulder.

"No, but the tox screen will clarify."

"Physiological factors - is there any indication of a health
problem?"

"No, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's not the cause of
death."

"So... what's likely to cause sudden death with no
symptoms?"

"I didn't say he didn't have symptoms, just that there isn't
anything observable."  She saw him about to argue the point.
"For example, there's Brugado syndrome, which is a genetic
disease that can suddenly stop the heart beating properly. It
only effects the electrical activity of the heart so is
undetectable in post mortems. Often the first symptom, the
heart failing, is the last, leaving no clue as to the deceased's
untimely demise. There isn't a reliable test, however, it
mostly affects men and an investigation into the family
medical history can assist in diagnosis."

"Okaay," replied Mulder thoughtfully. "Any signs of
physical trauma?"

"No."

"So what further investigation did you plan for that?"

"There are several injuries which can cause cardiac arrest
which don't exhibit any physical signs of injury."

"Such as?"

Conscious of being tested and in front of her new boss at that,
Dana spoke carefully as she formulated her answer. "Well,
there's the condition known as commotio cordis or shaking
heart, so named for the way the heart quivers before it finally
judders to a halt. It's frequently associated with baseball,
although other activities, even common everyday activities,
may be involved, just slipping and landing chest first can
cause it. The blow may be so light it doesn't leave any trace,
so naturally, has sometimes been attributed to black magic.
However, it's just incredible bad luck. The blow must occur
directly over the heart between contractions, coming at the
right moment and the right location at the right speed.
There's no predisposition for it, anyone struck on the chest in
exactly the right way can have an attack, although it mostly
occurs in children and young adults where the ribcage is still
springy."
"I hadn't heard about that, all these years I've been playing
baseball, I hadn't realized it was such a dangerous sport... I
don't think it's ever come out in other unexplained deaths
either."

"Are you questioning my credentials?"

"What? No, actually it's given me something to think about.
Apart from the fact, I should obviously wear Kevlar more
often than I do. Do you have any more of these gems of
wisdom?"

Dana took a breath to prepare a response but was interrupted
by Frances.

"This isn't a master class, Mulder. Go and interrogate the
FBI's experts or do your research on your own time."

Mulder smiled ruefully, "I thought you'd be pleased to be
able to laud it over the FBI's finest, Frankie. However, your
suggestion has merit. Would you care to impart your great
wisdom over lunch, Doctor Scully? My treat."

If Dana hadn't been so tense at the outcome of this meeting,
she may have appreciated more, nay succumbed, to the
ingenious, hopeful, smiling look on Mulder's face.

"It's not really convenient at the moment, Agent Mulder. I
still have to finish up here."

But Frances scuppered that, being anxious to get Mulder off
the premises before Bob saw him. "Don't worry about it,
Dana. Take Mulder up on his offer, he always knows the best
burger places in the area, not the most salubrious but
definitely the best."

Dana, having had a few moments to consider, decided she
might as well get the meeting over with. At least he was
taking this outside of work. If she prevaricated, he might start
dropping 'hints' which would require some embarrassing
explanations. There was always the faint hope, based on the
fact that he hadn't mentioned anything yet, that something
might be salvaged. Unless he was going to try blackmail.

Whatever, she nodded her head in agreement, "Just give me a
minute to change."

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

Frances and Rudiger looked at each other as the other two left.

"You're not going with them?"

He shook his head. "I know when to step back, besides I've
got better things to do with my lunch hour. What were you
worried about, it looks like she can take care of herself?"

"I thought she would be able to do, but she only started today
and you know what Mulder can be like, I felt like I was
throwing her to the wolves."

"Well, I think the wolf met the tiger, and size apart, the teeth
and claws should remind him to show respect."

"Yeah, I think he was impressed or maybe he was just lulling
us, so he could take her apart in private. Maybe I should go check?"

"You know Mulder's not like that, he may be brutal but not
scheming. Anyway I'm off."

"You visiting your wife?"

"Yes, I try to go by a couple of times a day if I can."

"There's no improvement?"

"No. The cancer's got too firm a hold, it's just a matter of
time now."

"I'm sorry, David." She felt she should say more, but she'd
never met his wife and they were only casual acquaintances.
It's not as if she could do anything useful.

"Thanks. I'll be off now. See you soon, if Mulder has
anything to do with it."

************
 

Part 2 of 4
 

Agent Mulder and Doctor Scully set off walking, and when
he didn't say anything she gave him furtive looks. They had
passed a couple of restaurants when she finally asked,
"Where are we going?"

He turned his head and smiled, he could see she was anxious,
he just wasn't quite sure why. Surely Frankie's comments
hadn't unnerved her. "Not too far, it's just the best burgers in
the area are made at a diner a couple of blocks away. It's
worth the walk."

They carried on in silence for a few minutes before he asked,
"Frankie said this was your first day. Are you new to the area
also?"

"Yes."

Here we go with the drawing teeth again, he thought. She
couldn't just say 'yes, I was in Blanksville but they made me
a better offer here,' or 'I needed a new start after a broken
relationship' - oh no, that would be far too informative. Who
ever said that man's encephalization came from more
complicated social interactions between individuals? "So,
you don't know the area?"

"No," she said hesitantly, wondering what she was letting
herself in for.

"In that case, the best Italian is Luigi's just over there, the
best Chinese is the Peking Palace..." he continued to regale
her with all the best and worst places to eat until they got to
the diner. Having been seated and perusing the menu, he
recommended the cheeseburger but then remained silent
while she chose. Once they'd ordered, which she did half
heartedly, not expecting to be able to eat it let alone enjoy it
from the knot her stomach was in, Mulder referred to the
baseball deaths.

"You can stop making small talk. Just get to what you want
to say."

He looked disconcerted, then smiled wryly. "Actually, I
really did want to talk about adult sudden death." She huffed
in disbelief. "However, I admit to hoping to be able to switch
the subject should a suitable opening have appeared later," he
continued.

An eyebrow raised, her lips pursed. "You really expect me to
believe that you want to talk about work?"

"Actually, yes. My work is very important to me and
experience has taught me it's more rewarding than personal
matters. And I do wish you'd stop projecting actions and
opinions on me that are not my own!"

She looked uncomfortable but continued, "I think it would be
unusual for someone in your position, not to try and take
advantage of the situation."

"Situation? What situation would that be?"

"Are you being deliberately obtuse?"

"Kate... Dana... What should I call you anyway?"

"Dana. Katherine's my middle name, that's where the Kate
comes from." Part of her hadn't wanted to discuss or reveal
anything; another part acknowledged that he was probably
entitled to some information, especially if she was to
persuade him into keeping quiet about Saturday night. And
really concealing her name at this point was pointless. "What
about you, Spooky? Marty?"

He grimaced. "Neither. Spooky's my nickname at work.
Marty's a name I use occasionally when I'm undercover." No
need to mention that the undercover bit was to certain
entertainment phone lines.

"So, you were undercover on Saturday?"

"No. It just seemed appropriate to use that name. I thought
that concealment was what you wanted."

The word concealment made her squirm. Dana Scully was
not by nature a sly person; she was truthful and forthright.
She tried to pass over that and redirect.

"But you were surveilling the place. That man who was
dealing..."

He shook his head. " No. It's just... I guess I never really shut
down from work. Sometimes it's just an unconscious reaction
to what's going on around me." He shrugged as if brushing it
off.

"So what do I call you?"

"Ahh. Just Mulder will be fine."

She was irritated; she'd disclosed her name. She felt
vulnerable. The least he could do was tell her his name.
"Fine!" she snapped.

He noticed her annoyance. He didn't want to make her feel
disadvantaged. "Look, I try to get everyone to call me
Mulder. I don't like my Christian name... so Mulder." There
was an awkward pause. "And to get back to your original
question. Despite my overwhelming curiosity, I was trying to
respect your wishes for... privacy." He tried to find an
appropriate word but he wasn't quite sure what it was she
was hiding or hiding from. "So how could I take advantage
of this situation?"

He couldn't be blind to the opportunities presented to him.
"Oh, I don't know... maybe a bit of blackmail and coercion,
or just the opportunity for embarrassment," she said in
exasperation.

Mulder was puzzled more than insulted by her response. He
supposed it was possible she was embarrassed or just caught
unawares by the situation, making her defensive. He deduced
her reflex action to feeling threatened would be to attack but
still he expected her to be a bit subtler in her response. "I'm
going to ignore the bit about blackmail and coercion. I'm
going to assume that you are feeling threatened in some way
by this meeting and that you're being defensively stupid and
move on to the embarrassment. I admit that finding you in
the autopsy bay this morning engendered some surprise, but
it was hardly embarrassing."

She snorted. She'd been in dread that he would mention their
prior meeting but she wasn't going to admit to that. "And I'm
sure you won't mention it your colleagues or mine?"

"Why should I?"

"Because that's what guys do. Boast about their 'conquests'
to other guys. Point their friends in the direction of an easy
lay." She knew she was saying the wrong things, but she was
flustered, angry and embarrassed.

"I see. What are we - in high school?  Are you regretting
your actions on Saturday?"

And it didn't help he seemed so calm and collected. "No. It's
just... What I do is my business. My private life is private but
some people would misconstrue my actions... my reasons."

Mulder came to the sudden realization of why she was
behaving oddly, badly, whatever. She had no control over the
conversation. On Saturday, she'd held all the cards - he could
take it or leave it. But now... now he had the control and she
didn't like it. She obviously feared exposure and was at his
mercy.

"What are your reasons?"

"Personal."

"Personal? Okay. Why would I talk about Saturday to
anyone? Once again, Spooky Mulder was taken for a ride by
a woman! Once again she tossed him over after one night!
And in my experience 'Dana,' it's the woman who cackles
about a man's performance in the restroom, discusses his
physical attributes around the water cooler. Is that what I can
expect next time I walk into your office? Everyone looking at
me, smirking openly?"

"No. No, I don't... I wouldn't..."

"Then why do you assume that I would?"

There was a stunned silence. As Dana rapidly tried to re-
reference, re-catalogue, re-analyse everything he'd done and
said today against what she'd actually expected him to do,
while trying to come up with a stalling answer without
actually backing down. She was usually good at multi-
tasking but this was causing her brain to overload.
Mercifully, their food arrived providing a natural break in the
conversation and giving her valuable thinking time. She
mechanically thanked the server while her mind raced.

The cool, logical part of her was pointing out that he hadn't
actually said that he wouldn't say anything, merely implied
that he wouldn't and that she should get confirmation. The
political side of her was screaming at her to do no such thing
as it just might trigger the response she was hoping to avoid.
She had to admit that all her dealings with him so far pointed
to him being a reasonable human being. And somewhere in
there was a confession she should probably be paying more
attention to, if she wasn't so obsessed with her own problem.
She should change tack; she was feeling very defensive and
had tried to hide it. How to word this so she didn't sound
pathetic?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you were shallow or
low... and if I did... I guess I lost track of my point."

"The point being?"

"This job's important to me, Mulder. I wouldn't want... want
something personal to interfere with my work." She paused
to think of something else to explain.

"And you think if I 'brag' to Frankie, about having had one
of the most pleasurable nights in recent memory with you on
Saturday, this will somehow put a spoke in your wheel?"

She nodded tentatively.

"You know, Frankie's much more likely to howl with
laughter and clap you on the back."

"Possibly, but her boss would probably not view it in the
same light."

The light bulb went off in Mulder's head. The thought rushed
into his head, that she shouldn't have put herself into this
position by going to a bar in the first place, but he just as
quickly realized how petty that was and squashed it.

"Ahh. Your career path could be suddenly stunted or,
possible worse, may become dependant on how well you
perform on the autopsy table while on your back?" That latter
thought sent a shiver down his spine that caught him
unawares. He hadn't initially thought it erotic but well...
better not think about the possibilities.

She nodded again, somewhat relieved that he understood,
somewhat feeling exposed and vulnerable that he did, while
still anxious about what he was going to do.

It was also apparent that he'd connected the dots elsewhere.
"That's what you meant by blackmail and coercion isn't it?
You thought I might demand some sort of recompense from
you for my silence?"

"No. Well... I didn't really... it wasn't..." she stumbled,
striving for some politically correct, noncommittal answer,
while not outright lying. There was no way she could refute.
She had thought that, and not just fleetingly.

Mulder's anger mounted. "How could you think that? How
dare you think that?" his voice rising in righteous indignation
as the full impact of what she'd thought hit him. He saw
other diners turning to look their way but he didn't give them
a thought. "I don't think any one has accused me of such
despicable behaviour with absolutely no grounds..." he tailed
off.

Dana had lowered her eyes when she could think of nothing
to say. She had had no reason to think as she had, she had
excuses but she wouldn't put them forward. She could
understand his anger; an honest man had every right to such
an emotion. Her head sank as his tirade increased, she bit her
bottom lip and willed the tears away as she realized there was
no way out of this. She'd fucked up royally and provoked
exactly the opposite response to what she wanted, to what
had seemed almost within her grasp seconds ago. She almost
didn't register that he'd stopped mid rant.

"And I've given some ample grounds in the past to be
accused of some dastardly things." He continued in a softer
voice, outrage dissipating at her obvious distress. It wasn't
her posture that had given him pause for thought; it wasn't
even the tears he could see glistening in the corner of her
eyes that she was trying to hide and valiantly trying to
prevent. It was when he saw the hope die in her eyes. That
stopped him cold. What did she know of him anyway? He
wouldn't be the first law enforcement officer to be out for
what he could get. He wondered, not for the first time, who
had hurt her and how. It obviously went deep. What she had
implied hurt, but he was a big boy and no stranger to
criticism or false accusation. He didn't want to be the one
that pounded her into the ground or put out her flame of
hope. She'd obviously been so cheerful at the weekend;
everything pointed to her making a new start. Well, some
people deserved a second chance, and it wasn't in him to
deny her that opportunity. He wouldn't be the one to kill her
spirit.

"I suppose, it might be entirely possible, that I would stoop to
blackmail."

She registered that his tone had changed but had been so
absorbed in self recrimination, didn't quite understand what
had triggered it or what it was he'd actually said... well,
meant.

She lifted her head at the prolonged silence, a confused look
on her face. "What?" was the only thing that occurred to her
to say.

He wasn't sure if she hadn't understood him or was asking
what he wanted. He went with repeating himself. "I said 'I
suppose, it might be entirely possible, that I would stoop to
blackmail.'"

She licked her lips and swallowed trying to decide if he was
taunting her. He seemed to have a wry questioning smile on
his face. It seemed to reach his eyes. Maybe that was just
because he was enjoying himself at her expense. She wasn't
sure what to do now. She hadn't dealt with this well so far.
Maybe the best defence was to let him lead but she wouldn't
let someone else control her again no matter what the cost.
She swallowed again. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Now who's being obtuse? You know I had no intention of
telling anyone about Saturday night, except maybe to say I'd
had a drink with someone nice. It's my memory to savour.
All you had to do was ask. Now however..." he paused. He
saw her shoulders slump again as she waited for the
inevitable.  "Now, I want you...." Dana looked away. "Are
you listening carefully, Dana?" She nodded. "Then please
look at me." She looked back at him, face blank. "Now, I
want you to eat your burger, otherwise we are going to have
Martha over here on the war path for spurning her food. And
I want you to tell me everything you know about adult
sudden heart stopping triggers, especially this killer baseball
thing." With which he picked up his own burger and
nonchalantly started eating, carefully watching her face and
hoping the burger wasn't going to turn to ashes in his mouth.

Her face was blank for several seconds, then her mouth
opened and closed several times. He wasn't sure what to
expect. It could be anything from a 'bastard' with a slap
round the head, to a burst of tears. He was hoping for a smile,
at least of relief. She didn't appear to have gotten that far in
her processing, however. She woodenly reached out for her
burger and started to raise it towards her mouth. Then she
stopped and looked at him again. He gave her a smile of
encouragement from around a mouthful of burger.

She hesitantly brought the burger up towards her mouth
again, then stopped, put it back on her plate and said, "You
finished?"

"Naaw," he mumbled through his mouthful of burger, then
gestured at what was left in his hand.

"No, I mean your... your... terms."

He nodded.

"That's it, I eat the burger and tell you everything I know
about undetectable cardiac arrest?"

He swallowed his mouthful of burger. "Well... yes. It's not
too onerous is it?"

"No, but what else..."

He sighed, "Dana, it's just as it appears. It's not going to
come back to haunt you later. Well, not from me. Don't ask
me to pretend it never happened because I can't do that, but I
will not be telling anyone else about Saturday. I give you my
word. Provided you stick to your side of the bargain and eat
your burger and start talking. Those are my terms. Take it or
leave it."

She was being stupid. She knew she was being stupid. She
just couldn't seem to get her brain in gear from when it had
stalled a few minutes ago. Hell, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
She needed to do something before she fucked it up again,
before he lost patience with her and stopped being charitable.
And there she went again attributing faults and actions to him
which weren't necessarily his. She could trust him or not,
those were her two choices. She didn't want to trust him.
She'd trusted someone once and it had not turned out well,
she thought, skirting a most painful memory, but as he kept
pointing out, not everyone was the same. It was just so
difficult. However, as she made her decision the knot in her
stomach relaxed. She was supposed to do something. The
burger - she mechanically took a bite. Despite the fact it had
cooled considerably it tasted good. Suddenly, it was very
appetising and her stomach rumbled in agreement. She took
another bite and another.

Mulder watched her with pleasure, he could see as she started
to unfold, to accept that the end of the world had missed her
or she'd missed it. She finished the burger and glanced up at
him. Then she was suddenly conscious stricken. "I'm sorry, I
didn't say thank you. It's not that I don't appreciate your
generosity..."

"Buying you a burger can hardly be classed as generous -
even by my standards."

"No, not for that. Well, yes for that, but I meant for the other.
For..."

"No thanks are necessary. I know your head was tangled in
all the possible scenarios, and this one probably wasn't in
there because you feared the worst. This has slowed your
usually startlingly smart mental processes, but I'm expecting
a full recovery any minute now. Drink your coffee, maybe
the caffeine will help."

"Are you going to start ordering me about now?"

He smiled, "No, it was merely a suggestion - badly phrased."

She smiled back, "Thank you anyway. And I apologise for
my... slanders. I..."

"That makes it all worthwhile," he butted in.

"What?" she asked puzzled.

"Your smile."

She found it very disconcerting when he said things like that.

"So shall we start from the top?" he prodded.

"Name, rank and serial number?" she asked.

He smiled, "Not that top. The killer baseball thing."

"You want the details?"

"In gory Technicolor minutiae."

"I don't think I have time for that now."

"Just make a start, I'll catch more later if I need to."

"It's important to understand how the heart 'beats' in order to
understand what's going on. Should I elaborate?"

He nodded.

So she did, with much gleeful medicalese and techno babble.
"Each beat of the heart is triggered by a sudden flow of ions
through channels that cross the membranes of heart tissue
cells, altering the potential difference across the membranes.
Before the next contraction can occur, pumps embedded in
the membranes must restore the distribution of ions to their
previous levels."

He seemed to take it all in his stride.

"The 'recharging' doesn't occur instantaneously across the
whole heart. The left ventricle, taking oxygen-rich blood
from the lungs, recharges gradually, starting at one side of
the ventricle and moving to the other. If an early contraction
is triggered before the entire ventricle has recharged, say with
a blow which causes a blood pressure spike, the muscle's
contraction can degenerate into chaos, leading to commotio
cordis."

 "So, do you think if someone 'thought' punched someone's
heart it would cause this commotio cordis?" he asked in all
seriousness.

He was teasing her, right? "Thought punched? Are you
implying some sort of telekinesis?"

He wasn't teasing. "Yes, that'll do for starters."

"Such 'powers' have never been proved."

"But what if someone could?"

"Surely it would be more likely to be someone throwing or
jabbing something. These cases have involved baseballs,
softballs, hockey pucks, lacrosse and soccer balls, even
snowballs. Children play-boxing with friends, even parents
disciplining their children, and a really sad case of a child
struck by a friend trying to cure his hiccups... and another
who was thumped in the chest by the family dog."

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

Dana Scully rushed back into the office. Late back from
lunch her first day. She was mortified. Of course, she ran slap
into Frankie. She started to apologise but Frankie just waved
her off.

 "Don't worry about it, Dana, I know how Mulder gets. And
he's no respecter of time or other people's commitments. I'm
sorry about foisting him on you your first day, but that's just
the way things go. You seem to have survived anyway, and
that's a good thing, believe me."

"Does Mulder come here a lot then?"

"Once is a lot, he seems to have this presence. Still, you seem
to have gotten on his good side, which is no mean feat."

"I think I might have upset him. I disagreed with one of his
theories."

"Oh, don't worry about that, so long as you put up a good
fight and a logical argument he won't hold it against you. In
fact, that's more likely to get him coming back for more. He
seems to appreciate someone arguing with him."

"We certainly had a... discussion. I don't think he'll want
anything else to do with me."

Frankie snorted,  "We'll see" as she walked off.

Dana wasn't sure how she felt about that. They'd certainly
parted mid-argument but he hadn't seemed to be angry
more... just intense. She'd never really thought about the
small difference between a heated debate, a disagreement, a
dispute, an argument and an outright slanging match. She
thought maybe she and Mulder had covered them all over
lunch.

***********

Part 3 of 4

"Rudiger, have you seen the flukeman file?" said Mulder as
he searched rapidly through the chaos of papers on his desk.

"It got filed."

"Filed?"

"Well, there's been no further sightings for two years. That
counts as closed in most people's eyes."

"What about the Tooms case?"

"Filed."

Grumbling under his breath, Mulder headed for the filing
cabinets. He was back in minutes in a whirlwind of activity.

"What do you want with the flukeman report?"

"I've got a sceptic to initiate," he said grabbing his coat. "I'm
going out to lunch."

"I hope you're not taking those files offsite?" said Rudiger to
Mulder's retreating back.

"As if I would," said Mulder, disappearing into the distance.

Rudiger watched him go, a knowing smile on his face.

"What's Mulder got the scent of?" asked someone from a
neighbouring desk.

"Oh, just a paranormal incident," he said evasively. Well, it
wasn't an outright lie; it was paranormal for Mulder and he'd
be damned if he'd let anybody in the office in on his private
little theory. It was only guess work after all. Besides, if it
were true, even Mulder deserved a little privacy.

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

Mulder bounced into the autopsy bay. "Hey, Doc, have I got
something for you," he said grinning, waving a couple of
folders under her nose. "But first, have you got the tox results
back from yesterday yet?"

Dana had jumped slightly as Mulder had bounced in, partly
from surprise at his sudden entrance and partly because she
was surprised to see him. She wasn't sure that they'd actually
parted on good terms yesterday, but he seemed in a good
mood this morning.

"I was expecting them this morning, it's possible they arrived
while I've been doing this autopsy."

He watched her for a few minutes as she went back to what
she was doing. "Is this a fascinating dead body?"

"Riveting."

"So... I can't pry you away for a few minutes just to see if the
results are in?"

"I'm nearly finished, I'd prefer to conclude what I'm doing
first."

"What if I spring for lunch?"

"Tempting though that is, Mulder, I'd still rather finish what
I'm doing."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him look a little
crestfallen. "Mulder, I'll be half an hour, max. Then you can
have my full attention. Why don't you go get a cup of
coffee?"

"Are you trying to get me on that table?"

She gave him a puzzled look.

"I've tasted the coffee here, it's lethal. I think Frankie glares
at it until it undergoes some transformation, so its molecules
become poisonous. Your full attention?"

"Provided my stomach's not rumbling."

"Well, I guess that makes it worth the wait." He turned and
went to sit down in the uncomfortable chairs down the hall,
where he tried hard not to fidget.

Twenty-five minutes later, Dana appeared. "Okay, let's see if
we can put you out of your misery."

Dana found the results in her pigeonhole. "Are you sure
you're not supposed to follow some sort of procedure, rather
than just walking in here and demanding information?"

"I'm wounded. I'm following procedures. I come in, smile
and ask nicely. I even brought something to trade."

"Are those procedures written down? And if you asked nicely
where was the 'please'?"

"Picky, picky. Please, pretty please, pretty pretty please. Now
just tell me what it says."

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Nothing. There's nothing remarkable to be found in the
samples sent. So unless there's something specific you think
we should look for, I'm going to concentrate on family
background and medical history."

"You made me grovel when there was nothing in there. I'm
almost tempted not to let you have this information."

"But I showed you mine. What is it anyway?"

"Family background and medical history, of course."

"Do I want to know how you got that so quickly?" she said
holding out her hand.

"No, but I need it back," he said, handing one of the folders
over.

"I'll need to study these."

"You've got until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I
have something else you might find interesting."

"What've you got?" she asked cautiously.

He gave her a quick flash of some of the photographs.

She didn't believe what she'd seen from her brief glance
"They're a hoax, right?"

"No, you want to see more?"

"Come on, hand them over. You're not going to tease me like
that."

"Lunch?"

She looked a little uncertain, "This isn't a ruse?"

"Well, maybe a little ruse, but the cases are genuine as are
the photos."

He was relying on her curiosity.

"Okay, but this can't become a habit."

She perused the two files over lunch, expressing much
surprise, curiosity and disbelief. It seemed easier to accept
the possibility of a genetically merged/modified fluke/man
from a nuclear submarine, than it did that a spontaneous
genetic modification would have produced a liver-eating
mutant, who'd lived for over a hundred years. It was almost
as implausible as her actually reading them in the first place.
They parted on reasonably good terms.

Later in the afternoon, she phoned him to tell him the good
news from her point of view. Family history pointed to a
history of sudden early death in the males of the family,
indicating Brugado syndrome, so the case was closed.
Mulder took it in good part, even though he was unable to
persuade her to go out to dinner with him when he picked up
the records.

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

They met but infrequently after that. Not for want of trying
on Mulder's part. It took him some time to work out - given
that his own schedule often had him cancelling, postponing
or just not making arrangements - that she'd join him for
coffee and occasionally lunch if he just contacted her to say
'have I got a story for you, little girl,' sometimes on the
feeblest pretext, as she got more comfortable around him;
that he could even convince her to go to dinner if he wanted
to 'consult' her on causes of death even though she must
have known that most times he could have gotten the
information from an FBI expert. But the only time he'd
managed to get her to go out just  'as friends' was one
Sunday when he'd persuaded her to visit the sites.

At first he'd thought maybe it was him, the fact he kept
cancelling or was gone for weeks, and she just could not see
the point of having a relationship with him. Then he realized
she didn't date - just like she'd told him the first time they'd
met. But if he had an excuse, even a flimsy one, she'd
invariable agree - well, she didn't date so she was usually
free. It wasn't that she didn't want to be sociable, that she
didn't want friends; she just didn't want a relationship with
all its complications, emotions and revelations. She was
happy being on her own, independent and self-sufficient.

He, on the other hand, was quite prepared to admit he was
lonely. Most of his time was filled with work or with some
sort of exercise. He kept himself fit - running, basketball on
Saturday mornings, swimming after work, the odd game of
baseball if he could get it. He read, he surfed the Internet, he
watched an educational video or two - the ones that weren't
his, he watched bad sci-fi B movies dozens of times and just
occasionally, he allowed himself to think about her. It wasn't
that he didn't enjoy his odd evening in alone, but sometimes
it was nice just to have someone to talk to, somewhere to go
other than looking at his four walls.

He wondered what she did when she was on her own. He'd
toyed with the idea of looking her up in the various databases
at his disposal; once he'd gotten as far as typing in her name
before cancelling the search. Somehow, it seemed more
important that she tell him where she lived. But then if she
went jogging or something, it would be an excuse to
accidentally meet.

Of course, once he realised what the rules were, he became
more successful in drawing her out. Not that he found out
much about her, just getting her to talk more often. By a
process more akin to extracting toenails, he found out some
of her likes and dislikes; what books she read, what music
she listened to. Just so long as it wasn't personal, as in
family, friends, lovers, husband... relationships. Movies were
out, but he'd cajole her into watching him play basketball
when there was a charity match; she'd go ten-pin bowling if
it was a group affair.

It had taken him months to reach this point, but it wasn't as if
he had much else to occupy his thoughts late at night.  Maybe
he should've just taken the hint and left her alone, but
somehow he just couldn't seem to stop himself from reaching
out to her. The instinct to fix just too great to ignore, the
empathy for an injured soul. It felt like approaching a
wounded, wild bird that had absolutely no trust in him; you
didn't want to pounce and risk injuring the bird more and yet
it would probably be less painless and cruel to be quick. He
suspected that if she ever found out he'd considered her and
that analogy, he'd be wearing his genitalia as a bow tie.

To begin with, Dana had been anxious for several days
expecting that she'd find him on her doorstep or messages on
her answering machine. He had this persistence that was hard
to ignore, enthusiasm that was indefatigable and oddly
contagious, a fascination with all things paranormal that was
vaguely disquieting, an intelligence that bordered on the
intimidating - added to which he was a profiler, a
psychologist; that was rather frightening. His smile was very
enticing though. She could feel herself being tempted when
he smiled at her, especially the one that seemed to say 'come
on, it'll be fun, aren't you the least bit curious?'. And she was
curious; some of his stories were fascinating ... he was
fascinating. He had this loneliness hiding in his eyes that was
seductive, but experience taught her that there be monsters.
So, although she had become more comfortable around him,
actually enjoyed his company, she would not submit to
temptation and kept him at arms length.

For her part, she concentrated on her work, volunteered for
overtime, read work-related journals, compulsively cleaned
her apartment, read the occasional thriller, never watched a
chick flick, and didn't allow herself to think about a tall man
with dark hair and hazel eyes who tried to coax her out of
herself with smiling eyes or a puppy dog look, even a pout.
She'd been disconcerted when he told her he'd studied
psychology at Oxford University in England, that he profiled
serial killers and rapists for a living but he was allowed to
diversify into the paranormal to keep him sane if he was a
good boy. She didn't want him trying to analyze her. He'd
made a joke and said she was safe, unless she used the
morgue to hide her victims in plain sight. Either that or if she
was really an alien in disguise. There'd then followed a
spirited discussion on the possibility of alien life. She
enjoyed these discussions; they were stimulating but safe,
well away from the personal. She was very adept at avoiding
the personal, and he was polite and did not venture where he
wasn't invited. She knew he wanted to know about her,
wanted to help, wanted to be closer to her, but she knew the
danger of revelation and she wasn't going there. There was
no way she was ever letting anyone close enough to hurt her
again.

But somewhere deep inside, protected by thick walls and an
arsenal of defences in an attempt to keep it safe, a tiny little
flame sighed in loneliness and lamented what was not to be.
Some might wonder why there was such an expenditure of
energy to keep so small a thing alive. It would never grow
protected as it was, couldn't be nurtured or nourished,
couldn't even be conversed with. Perhaps it was cruel to keep
it alive in such conditions; better to just let it die and be
forgotten. But some might realise that keeping it represented
hope, hope that somewhere out there was a soul that matched
it; there should always be hope because without it the rest
would just wither and die. Still, if it never got out to check if
there was a match, it was somewhat of a hopeless hope.

And so the two circled around each other in erratic orbits,
never quite touching but never beyond a certain point. You
might think of the planets to the sun, or the moon to the earth,
but perhaps two suns, binary stars, would be closer - each of
an equal size and mass, each with a gravitational pull that
could destroy the other but would probably destroy
themselves in the process. Therefore, they were condemned
to circle each other for eternity, or until the Gods played
billiards with the stars, which ever came soonest.

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

Part 4 of 4

Mulder left the hospital, tired and frazzled. He'd had one hell
of a month, culminating in the week from hell. Still they'd
found the last victim before she'd been killed; bound, gagged
and terrified, a few bruises, in need of a few therapy sessions
but otherwise alive. Perp behind bars - so he was ending the
week on an up note. He was exhausted but he felt on edge,
beyond tired. He should have been coming down from his
adrenaline high by now but he couldn't seem to switch his
mind off from rehashing the facts. He needed something to
break the cycle, a distraction. A movie? No, he needed to talk
to somebody. A drink? A meal? Either of those would do if
he had someone to go with him. He wondered if he could
play the sympathy card on Dana. He glanced at his watch.
Too late, she'd have gone home by now. He tried anyway,
and got the security guard. No, nobody there but the stiffs.

He sighed. Eight months and he still knew very little about
her. He hadn't even gotten her phone number, didn't know
where she lived. He always contacted her at work. He hadn't
investigated her background, tempted though he'd been. He
knew what had piqued his interest, but he supposed he would
have backed off, inhibited by her defences, directing his
energies elsewhere or nowhere if he hadn't detected that
somewhere deep inside she wanted to be touched...
cherished... treasured - in a self-reliant way of course. He
sniggered, not that she'd probably ever admitted that to
herself even before she'd been hurt. Actually, that could be
why she'd been hurt, she hadn't realised how vulnerable she
was.

He'd just resigned himself to going to a bar and boring a
bartender when a glimpse of red caught his attention. It
couldn't be. He couldn't get a good look, as he manoeuvred
his car through the traffic. He parked at the first opportunity
and rushed back. Nothing, of course. He surveyed the street,
looking for inspiration. He walked past a couple of bars,
checking the clientele through the window. Nothing. A
couple of restaurants. Nothing. Maybe he'd imagined it. Then
as he glanced down a side street as he crossed the road, he
saw the sign for the basement bar. He went to look; he'd
nothing to lose.

He went down the stairs, it was jazz night and he could hear
the strains of a sax above the general conversation and clink
of glasses. He scanned the bar but didn't recognise anyone.
Feeling disappointed, he was just turning to leave when a
couple of people moved away from the bar and he caught the
flash of red in his peripheral vision. He felt a weight lift from
his shoulders, a wave of happiness swept through him
squashing the slight exasperation he felt that she'd come to a
bar on her own again. At least he should be able to arrange
this to his advantage, if he played his cards right. There was
always the possibility that she was meeting someone, but she
had that... air about her again.

She was halfway through her drink when he perched on the
stool beside her. "Hello, Kate. How nice to see you again."

She nearly choked on her drink. "Mul... Marty?" she
squeaked.

He nodded.

"I ... err... I wasn't expecting to see you here," she
stammered, completely flustered.

"I'm surprised myself. I've just come from work." He
signalled for a drink. "Would you like another?"

As she gathered her wits she went from consternation to
anger. "Did you follow me?"

"I was just driving passed, when I thought I saw you. So I
parked and came looking. I was viewing it as a lucky break."

"Driving passed while coming from work. That doesn't wash
'Marty'."

"I was coming from the hospital, from checking on... well,
from the hospital." He wasn't sure, but he thought they might
not be talking about their everyday selves, so he stopped
short of explaining what he'd been doing.

However, Kate's demeanour changed. "What did you injure
this time?"

Past conversations having brought to light Mulder's
impressive record of work related injuries, especially for
someone who supposedly worked mostly behind a desk, this
was not an unreasonable question. It also opened the door for
some crossover between work and play.

"I was just visiting," he smiled in response. "We just finished
a case, the last victim is in the hospital, but we got there in
time, so the prognosis is good. The perp's behind bars - all's
well with the world. Except, I need to decompress or
something. I phoned a friend, hoping she'd take pity on me
and come out to dinner until I unwound, but she'd already
left work, so I couldn't get in touch. Then I saw you and
thought, it must be my lucky day. If ever there was anyone
who could take my mind of things, it would be you. Any
chance of you joining me for dinner?"

She was torn; Dana wanted to oblige him, just this once.
He'd been good to her and he was obviously in need of a
friend right now, and she'd have broken her rule but she'd
come out as Kate tonight, and he knew that, and Kate only
did one-night stands. He saw her anguished look and knew
she was going to refuse him even before he saw her bite her
lip and shake her head.

"I don't suppose Dana would come out with me tonight?" he
asked softly. He knew she'd say no at this point but he had to
ask. If he'd managed to catch her in the street, she could have
kept herself as Dana or even Dr. Scully, if he could have
given her time - but this was not the place.

"If you'd phoned her before she left home..."

"I don't have her phone number."

"Oh. Didn't you look it up?"

"She's not in the phone book."

"I thought you could have looked it up at work?"

"I could, but she's seems very keen on her privacy and I've
been respecting her wishes."

"Why didn't you just ask her?"

"I was hoping it was something she would volunteer."

"I'm sorry."

There was an awkward silence. Mulder pushed his drink
aside and stood up. "I guess I'm cramping your style, so I'd
better go. Good night, Kate. Be careful." Putting his hands in
his pockets, pulling his coat to him, he turned to go.

"No! No, don't go yet." She put her hand on his arm to stop
him. "I'm fine. You're fine. It's okay. You don't have to go."
Came out in a jumble mass. "I mean you should talk to me
for a bit longer, just for appearances sake, don't you think?
Or you don't have to talk, just finish your drink, and listen to
the music - the music's good here, don't you think? The
saxophonist is great. Do you like sax music?" She was very
conscious of babbling and repeating herself but she couldn't
let him go like that. She just couldn't.

He turned to look at her but didn't sit down. She cast around
in her mind for something that would stop him walking away
right at this moment. "Or we could dance. That would help
you to unwind, right? If we danced?"

"Dance?" his eyes lightened just a little.

"Yes, dance. I'd like to dance. With you. Again."
"Now?"

"Yes, but I think you should take your coat off."

"Kate, are you coming on to me?"

"Marty..." she said almost despairingly.

"Okay. Dance. We can do that."

She smiled at him, a big beaming smile just for him that
warmed his insides. They danced and he found himself
relaxing, letting himself be drawn into her. She wrapped her
arms around his waist and let her head rest on his chest. They
danced that way for a few songs before Mulder's mind
wouldn't let his tongue rest. At least it was obsessing about
something else now.

"Kate?"

She looked up at him.

"Kate... don't take this the wrong way. But why are you
here?"

"You know why I'm here, Marty."

"Yes, but why are you here tonight?"

"Ahh. Bad week at work, conjoining with some other... more
personal things."

"What was bad about work?"

Normally, she wouldn't talk about work when she was out as
Kate, but as Marty knew who she was and what she did, and
she'd had him cross that line earlier, she paused only briefly
before telling him. "Children. Little girls. It's never easy
when it's children, even when it's natural causes or an
accident, but you compartmentalise it. But this week... we
just seemed to have had one of those weeks. Six little girls.
All murdered. Two by their father, one by her mother, one by
an uncle... you get the picture. Two of them were sexually
assaulted. They were less than ten years old. I just needed
to..."

"Get out of your head?"

She gave a wry laugh. "I guess so."

"Kate... if we both need to decompress, why can't we do it
together?"

"Marty..." she sighed. It was too complicated, too emotional.
This was the wrong place, the wrong time, so she fell back on
"I only do one night stands."

"But this is only one-night. And think of the advantages. You
know I'm not a mad axe murderer. I know you're not an ice
pick wielding maniac. We wouldn't have to guzzle gallons of
alcohol and wake up with that horrible morning-after feeling.
We both know we're clean. You know I can be as charming
in bed as out of it, no flash in the pan sex... so what do you
say?"

"It would be the second night, Marty." But it was
tantalizingly seductive. It was also frighteningly accurate.
But she didn't move away. "And modesty still isn't one of
your failings is it? Charming in bed. How do you know I
wouldn't need a gallon of alcohol to go back to bed with
you?"

"You don't need the alcohol because you don't need the
courage. You know I'm as threatening as a cotton wool ball.
And I refuse to believe that you didn't enjoy yourself last
time, so modesty doesn't come into it. I was just being
factual."

He was considerably more threatening than a cotton wool
ball. Well, physically he was considerably bigger and
stronger than her. He worked out, did plenty of physical
exercise and carried a gun for a living. However, it wasn't his
physique that she found particularly intimidating, that being
drowned out in the sheer sexuality of the man, but
emotionally, if she stepped wrongly he would be absolutely
devastating. A Venus fly trap to the heart, and there just
wasn't enough of it left to risk losing.

"And how do I know you're clean?"

"You know I get regular medical check-ups, Kate. I haven't
been near any sharp objects recently... except maybe my
boss' tongue... figuratively speaking, of course, and... I
haven't been with anyone else since you."

That was more information than she wanted to know. She
didn't really want to reply in kind. "And how do you know
that about me?"

"Well, I know you get regular medical check-ups, too. I also
know you work with sharp objects and are exposed to
infections and contaminations every day. However, I know
that you are basically an honest person, and condoms aside,
that you wouldn't be here if you thought you were putting
someone else at risk."

"You make a very tempting argument, Marty, but I'm not
persuaded. I think we should look around for someone for
you."

He wasn't interested in looking around. If he wasn't going to
get her he was going home alone. But as she still hadn't
moved away from him, he continued to play the game.
"We?"

"Yes, we. What do you look for in a woman? You said you'd
reciprocate last time and you never did, so no trying to
weasel out of it this time."

"Squeak?" he said smiling hopefully.

"Come on, spill the gory details of the Marty fantasy
woman," she wheedled.

"The Marty fantasy woman?"

She nodded, smiling. "And it better not involve alien life
forms of any kind."

"Spoilsport..."

She saw him thinking and added, "Or anything akin to a
Stepford wife, or magical or paranormal in any way. I want
the details of the realistic fantasy woman not a fantastic
fantasy woman."

"You mean I can't fantasize my fantasy woman to be
fantastic in bed?"

"I'll give you that, provided that what you imagine is
physically possible."

"I thought this was my fantasy woman?"

"You're weaselling. How about the woman over there in the
white blouse?" she said indicating a tall, slim blonde.

He shook his head. "Too much make-up."

"Perhaps she's just trying to look her best."

"Perhaps she's trying to hide something," he countered.

"Women are allowed to have their little secrets. Anyway, I
thought it was men with beards who were trying to hide
something?"

"Little secrets or little lies, it's still covering something up.
It's not that I'm against women using decoration and
ornamentation to attract a partner, it's just that I prefer the
more natural look. Why do you cover your mole up?"

She wasn't going to be distracted and she wasn't going to
explain. "I'm vain. What about the woman at the bar then,
the one in red?" she indicated a tall, willowy brunette.

"Vain? Now I would never have thought that about you. I
think someone teased you about it when you were younger
and now you're still self-conscious about it. No, I don't think
so. Too showy and she smokes."

"Does she? I didn't notice that. What do you mean showy?"

"Don't get me wrong, she's an attractive woman, very nicely
presented but I need a bit more substance."

"Substance? You mean a fuller figure?"

"No. I mean someone whose smile reaches her eyes.
Someone who's honest, straightforward and open, even if
that comes with bluntness. Someone who makes intelligent,
witty - even if that borders on the edge of sarcasm -
conversation about something more than the latest hairstyle
or heartthrob on the TV. Someone who's loyal without being
passive. Someone whose beauty is more than skin deep."

"Oh. I don't think there are many of those around here."

"No, not many," he agreed looking at her intently. She
couldn't maintain the eye contact.

Yet still they danced. Hands roamed and stroked, soothing
and comforting. The pair soaked up the touches and warmth
like a dry sponge absorbs water. One acknowledged to
himself what was happening but knew not to mention it, the
other preferred not to think beyond giving comfort and ease.

Unfortunately, Mulder couldn't keep going. "Kate, pleasant
though this is, I haven't eaten since breakfast this morning
and I'm going to keel over if I don't get some food soon."

"Sorry. Yes, of course. I think there's a pizza place a couple
of doors down. You should go there. Get a good
carbohydrate boost."

"Kate... the night is yet young. Why don't you keep me
company? It'll only be for half an hour, then I can crawl
home to bed and you can come back. I mean it's not that
busy in..."

"Okay," she rushed out before he could finish, and before she
had too long to think about it.

"Okay?" he queried, not expecting a positive response.

"Yes, I think it's a good idea. I wouldn't want you fainting
away on the stairs and giving yourself a concussion.
Someone should be with you... until you get your strength
back."

"Yes. Yes, good idea, I wouldn't want to slip and shoot
myself in the foot."

"Shall we go?"

As they approached the door to the pizza parlour she slowed
down. "Marty, I'm not exactly dressed for eating in here..."

"You look fine to me, but if you're feeling a draft, borrow
my coat," with which he slung his coat over her shoulders.

Kate accepted it but on looking down noticed how long it
was. "It's trailing on the floor."

"You'll set an old fashion - pretend it's gothic."

"It'll get dirty."

"It dry cleans. Come on, I'm starving."

They sat down, they ordered pizza, drank sodas and coffee.
They talked, they laughed, and they relaxed. An hour passed.

"You know, sexual attraction is a complicated dichotomy.
They did an experiment where they had a man and a woman
approach people of the opposite sex and ask them to go out
with them. No woman accepted the man but no man turned
the woman down."

"You find this surprising?" she smirked. They'd already
bantered about the fact that the evolutionary basics dictated
that men's instinct was to procreate with as many women as
possible, while woman, with the considerably larger
biological investment, went for quality rather than quantity.
However, it hadn't been exactly an intellectually discussion
about evolutionary biology, so there had to be something
else.

"Well, he wasn't a bad looking man, you'd have thought one
of the woman would have at least agreed to have coffee with
him," he said, bypassing the ease with which the men were
'attracted'.

Yes, there it was, the male ego - talk about your basic
instincts. So, should she go with the ego-crushing or the ego-
pandering comment? "Were these all young women?"

He nodded. "It was on a college campus I believe."

"Maybe that's it then. Women become slightly less fussy as
they mature."

"I'd read that about mice; that the females mate with the first
male that comes along as they get older, especially if they've
been deprived from breeding when they're younger. I hadn't
quite made the correlation to human females. So it's a valid
conclusion to draw is it? That the biological imperative
makes a woman less choosy as she gets older?"

"Well, let's just say that ideals get toned down with
experience. What's your personal experience, Marty? Are
you more successful in the mating game now than when you
were younger?"

"Can I plead the fifth?"

"Nooo, I don't think so. I want to see the facts that you think
support your theory."

Another hour, then an offer of another coffee top up from the
waitress made Kate realize the time. They slowly gathered
their things and left. They stopped outside the club.

"Where's your car?"

"Just around the corner." He pointed. "Want to walk me to
my car?" He waggled his eyebrows in a mock leer.

"Just to make sure you've gone."

They stopped at his car, faced each other in awkward silence.
Eventually he said, "I guess it's Goodnight then?"

"Yes, Goodnight."

Another awkward pause, when neither moved.

"I'm glad I saw you tonight," she admitted.

"Me, too." Another pause. "Are you going back to the club?"

"I... uhmm.. I ...er.. guess so."

"Then you'd better give me my coat back."

Surprised to realize she was still wearing it, she stammered,
"Oh yes, sorry." She moved to take it off. Mulder reached for
the collar to help and then did something very impulsive. He
used the collar of the coat to pull her towards him. She
looked up surprised, even gave a little squeak, but didn't
particularly resist.

"Marty...?"

"Come home with me. No coffee, no chat, just sex to short
the brain circuits out so you forget your name, never mind
anything else," he practically growled at her. He expected the
shake of the head, the resigned but firm 'no' or at the very
least the smirking 'your modesty's showing again' comment.
What he saw instead was her hesitating, briefly, but it was
enough to stoke his impulse. So he kissed her; deeply, wetly,
passionately with lots of tongue, and teeth, and lips, and
hands - but not a lot of air. They parted breathlessly.

"God, Marty! Don't let me think."

So he didn't. He kissed her again, somehow managing to
bundle her into the car while he was at it. He drove home...
erratically. Trying to keep her from thinking at every red
light. In between times, she kept her mind focused on various
bits of his anatomy; nibbling his ear lobe, licking his neck,
her hands tracing the definition of his pecs, fingernails
teasing his nipples. If he drove more than a foot in a straight
line at any point that's as good as he got. As a law
enforcement officer he should have been appalled. As a
randy man with a specific directive to achieve, a definitive
direction to make and an intelligence quotient rapidly
approaching that of Homo erectus as a horny, sexy woman
gave him her full attention, he was pretty impressed with his
driving performance. Even when he veered three feet to his
left, narrowly missing a dumpster as Kate brushed her fingers
over his erection, he only thought smugly that he'd missed it.
How he didn't get pulled over under suspicion of drunk
driving was a thought a thousand miles from any of his
thought processes. He parked haphazardly in a space outside
his apartment, and would have dragged her up the stairs had
she not been half a step in front of him, despite the high
heels. Part of him admired her sense of balance, the rest just
lusted.

He'd like to think he'd been able to recover himself once
they were inside, and been a gracious, thoughtful lover
delaying his own gratification, but he hadn't. It was
bruisingly fast and nail gougingly furious against the wall
beside his front door. He hadn't left her completely hanging
but he could tell she was still on her way up, which in some
ways was fortunate for him. There was a slightly
disappointed 'Marty...?' when she realised he'd blown it, so
to speak, but he was able to reassure her he just needed to get
his breath back and something other than jelly in his knees,
for the night's activities to progress. He was able to distract
her by slowly and teasingly removing what was left of her
clothes; armed only with his lips, tongue, teeth, fingers and
hands he was able to redeem himself.

In fact, he redeemed himself so well, that they both collapsed
on the bed in sated exhaustion. The technicalities of moving
from the front door to the bedroom had been lost somewhere
in the miasma of sex. As she fell asleep, she hardly noticed
the frighteningly simple, but intimate act of him spooning
around her, holding her close.

He awoke to find her dressing in the dim light of dawn. He
didn't say anything but he shifted so he could follow her
around the room with his eyes. She was aware of his scrutiny,
but finished dressing before looking at him. She hesitated,
her gaze swinging around the room. Then making her
decision she walked towards him and perched on the edge of
the bed beside him. Her lips pressed together as she gathered
herself to speak to him. He couldn't say anything; his heart
was in his mouth.

She reached up to cup his cheek in her palm. "Mulder," she
said quietly, "this can't happen again."

He opened his mouth to exclaim, to argue but she put her
fingers over his lips, silencing him.

"I could compartmentalize this, keep Kate and Marty
separate, allow us to use each other for comfort and release
when the days are bad and the nights are worse. But you
couldn't. Even if you agreed that that's all it would be, you'd
be hoping for so much more, trying for so much more. But
I've got nothing left to give and I can't let you give what I
can't return."

"Shouldn't that be my choice?"

She puffed a small, ironic smile, shaking her head. "You're a
good man, Mulder. You deserve so much more in your life.
You'd commit yourself and I'd hurt you. I don't want to do
that. I have a hard enough time living with the emotional
baggage I've got. I don't need any more."

She got up and walked to the door. His mind whirled trying
to think of anything, something to stop her walking out but
all he could think of were clichés and psychology patter
neither of which she'd give the time of day. She'd probably
heard it all before. He needed his own words and arguments
and he just wasn't ready; he needed to think.

At the door she stopped and turned, "Dana will understand if
she doesn't see you again. Goodbye, Mulder."

He couldn't even get a whispered goodbye out as he heard
the front door shut. Shit, shit, shit, fuck a duck!!

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

End of Part 4