From: Brandon Ray Date: Fri, 14 Sep 2001 08:50:17 -0500 Subject: REV: Mortal Stakes Source: revision =========== Chapter Seventeen =========== Eastbound on U.S. Highway 50 Approaching Parsonsburg, Maryland Saturday, August 12, 2000 10:40 p.m. "So what do you think?" Scully said at last. Neither of them had spoken since leaving Covarrubias' motel room, some twenty minutes earlier. Now they were back on U.S. 50, homeward bound. The traffic at this hour was almost non-existent, and the night was still and quiet. It was as if they were the last two people on Earth. "Mulder?" "Sorry, Scully." He hesitated, not so much because he was unsure what to say, but because he didn't know how to say it. "I guess ... I guess I'm inclined to believe her. I know we've been burned by these people in the past, but ...." He shrugged. "Her story hung together pretty well, and it accounted for all the known facts." Scully nodded, as if she'd been expecting that response. "It does hang together well. It's coherent and internally consistent." Pause. "But it does *not* explain why one of their own people wound up being killed in the fire. That's the one point that *doesn't* make sense." "Maybe he just happened to get caught in the crossfire, so to speak," Mulder offered. "Maybe he just didn't get the word in time. Or maybe they had some reason for wanting to get rid of him, and this operation simply presented them with the opportunity." "All of those are possibilities," she admitted. "But Mulder, we've heard so many glib stories over the years, things that seemed to make sense at the time, but later turned out to be false. I can't help but feel that this is probably one of them." "So you think she's lying?" He stirred in his seat. He didn't like that idea, much as he knew there were ample grounds for skepticism. He was so damned tired of all the lies. He wanted *something* to be true. "Not about everything," Scully said. Her eyelids flickered. "I think ... I think maybe what she said about her own abduction might be true. Her body language seemed to indicate that. But the rest ... yes, I think she was lying. I don't think there's a 'super soldier' out there that's responsible for all this. I think there's something else going on." "Why?" "I don't know." She shrugged, took a glance at Mulder, then looked back to the highway. "When have we ever really understood these people's motives? Lies are like ... they're like currency to them. They spend them as necessary, to get the things they want." "So you're saying ... what? That they do want something from us? Just not what they say they want?" "That's what I'm saying." Another glance. "Is that so hard to believe, after all we've been through?" They both were silent again for several minutes, as more miles fled by beneath the car. Scully had a point. Mulder had to admit that, even if only to himself. The problem with accepting her statement, though, was that it left him not knowing what to do next, how to proceed. It left things completely up in the air. Well, there was one way to address *that* problem. "So if you're right," he said, as if there'd been no break in the conversation. "If you're right, and this is all just some elaborate hoax ... what are we supposed to do about it?" "What we're supposed to do," Scully replied, a small smile on her face, "is go home and get some sleep. Then, tomorrow, we make another stab at finding that paramedic, so we can get *that* settled. *Then* I still have autopsy reports to finish, and I have a report due on Monday on the Monkeywrenchers raid ...." Her voice trailed off on a note of exasperated amusement, and Mulder couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay," he said, smiling. "I get the point. We've already got a lot on our plate. Mostly on *your* plate. But what about Marita? We can't just ignore her." "No, we can't, but she is going to have to wait," his partner answered. "Obviously, there's something going on, but we don't know what it is." She shrugged again. "Even if she were on the up and up, she said she was going to have to get back with us, after letting her friends know that we've agreed to help. Until she contacts us again, I don't see that there's very much we *can* do." Another quick look. "Besides, we still have some other leads to pursue with regard to the Watergate. Maybe one of them will give us a better idea of what we're up against." "True." Mulder stretched as best he could in the tight confines of the passenger seat, then turned so he could watch his partner as she drove. They rode in silence like that for several miles, with Scully obviously aware of Mulder's gaze. At last she looked at him again, a quizzical, embarrassed half-smile on her face. "What is it?" In fact, he'd just been reflecting on how beautiful she was, but he couldn't resist the urge to tease her a little. "Scully, I don't know how to tell you this." He paused for dramatic effect and dropped his eyes, as if he deeply regretted what he was about to say. "You've got a piece of spinach caught between your teeth." "I do not!" Laughing, Scully ran one forefinger along her gums. "Jesus, Mulder, I haven't even had any spinach today." "You mean that's still there from the spinach salad you had on Wednesday? Eww, that's disgusting!" He shook his head, a fond smile on his face, while Scully continued laughing. "There," he said. "That's what I was trying for." "What?" Her puzzled embarrassment had segued over into amused wariness. "I wanted to hear you laugh. You don't do it very often." "Mulder, I laugh." "No you don't," he insisted. "Not very much, anyway." He reached out and trailed a finger down her forearm. "But you've been doing it a lot more these last few months." If Dana Scully had been capable of being a coquette, that's how Mulder would have characterized the look she gave him. As it was, he had to leave her expression unlabeled. And she said, "Maybe I've had more reason lately." "Maybe you have," he agreed. A few more miles of silence. Then: "Scully, I just want to say that I had a really good time today." A rueful smile. "At least, until Marita showed up and crashed the party." "So did I." She let go of the wheel with one hand, grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then returned her grip to the wheel. "Thank you." For a moment Mulder was at a loss, as he tried to imagine what Scully could possibly be thanking him for. Finally, he shook his head. "For what?" "For coming with me today. For letting yourself have fun." Pause. "For telling me about Covarrubias, and not running off on your own." "Hey, Scully ... we have a deal, remember? No more ditches." "Yes, I do remember. But this is the first time it's come up, and I wanted to say thank you. That's something else I don't do often enough." "Aw shucks, ma'am. Twarn't nuthin'." "Don't try to make a joke out of it," she said quietly. She reached over and touched his hand again. "Please. Not this time. I meant every word." "I know." Suddenly feeling awkward, he added, "I'm sorry. It's okay, and ... and ... you're welcome." That won him another smile, but still he found himself fidgeting in his seat. Accepting gratitude from anyone was hard for him. In Scully's case, it was damned near impossible for him to believe he'd actually done anything worthy of her thanks. He decided to change the subject. "So, Scully, you know what I liked best about today?" She shook her head. "It was when you and your brother were playing in the water. I felt as if I was seeing you the way you were when you were younger. Before the X-Files, I mean." He hesitated, then added, "Maybe even before medical school. It made me wish I could have known you back then." That was actually a frequent, wistful fantasy of his, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that. He was already going out on enough of a limb; the two of them seldom opened themselves up about things like this. That was something else that had been slowly changing. Scully didn't say anything in response, but that was okay. Her face bore a smile of satisfaction, and that was more than enough of an answer for Mulder. After it became clear that she wasn't going to speak, he nodded, and settled back into his seat to watch her drive. The gentle rocking of the car and the soft drone of the engine were soothing, and soon his eyelids began to droop. A few minutes later, he'd dozed off to sleep. He awoke suddenly, and for a few seconds he was disoriented, and couldn't remember where he was. Then it came back to him. Scully's car. The ride had roughened, and that must be what had wakened him. Looking out the window, he realized that they were no longer on the highway, but were instead maneuvering down a narrow country road. "Welcome back, sleepyhead." Scully's voice was warm and mellow, almost lyrical. Still blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked across at her, to see that she now wore an expression of serene contentment, as she guided the car down the road. "Have I been asleep long?" he asked. "And where are we?" "Less than an hour," she said. "We're still on the Eastern Shore, a few miles from Easton." He waited for a moment to see if she was going to elaborate. When she did not, he asked, "Where are we going? I thought you wanted to get home." "I do. But I want to show you something first. It won't take long." "Show me something? What sort of a something?" "Something about me." Scully fell silent again, and somehow Mulder knew that she didn't want to say anymore. Not yet, anyway. He decided not to press her. He would wait until she was ready to unveil her surprise. In the event, it was only about fifteen minutes before she turned off the narrow blacktop, onto an even narrower, rutted gravel road. A few minutes more and the road ended, and she stopped the car and switched off the engine. "Here we are," she said, her voice very soft. They were parked in front of a small stand of trees. Mulder couldn't see any lights anywhere, although the glow on the horizon told him in what direction Washington lay. The only other sign of civilization, other than the road itself, was the decrepit wooden barrier that prevented them from driving any further. "Okay," Mulder said. "What happens now?" "Now we get out and walk for a bit," his partner replied. She paused, and bit her lip. "Actually, the footing's not very good. I'm not sure if you can make it with your ankle. I, uh, sort of wasn't thinking about that." "Hell, Scully, I'm part mountain goat," he said, opening his door and twisting around to retrieve his crutches from the back. "I'll manage." If she had something about herself that she wanted to show him, he was determined to see it. A little rough ground wasn't going to stand in the way. A few moments later they were both out of the car, picking their way through the woods. The footing was indeed uneven, but Mulder found that there was a narrow path, and that made it easier than it might have been. The crutches slipped a couple of times, and once he stumbled, but on the whole, it wasn't too bad. They hadn't gone very far before they came to a small rise, and that proved a little more daunting. But with Scully holding his arm, and taking plenty of time to choose where to put his crutches and where to step, he was able to make steady progress. And after a minute or so, they reached the top. "Aha," he said. "I should have realized it would have something to do with water." The Chesapeake Bay was about twenty yards in front of them, at the end of a gentle downward slope. A narrow strip of sand ran along next to the water, forming a small, private beach. The trees continued down the slope, and stretched out to both sides as far as he could see. A large, irregular boulder, easily eight feet across in its smallest dimension, stood off to one side, a few yards back from the water. "I used to come here when I was in high school," Scully said, taking his arm again and guiding him down the slope towards the water. "This is a very special place for me." "You came here with your family?" Mulder asked. He suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear what she would say. "No." She shook her head, an odd little smile on her face. "No, I don't think my parents ever knew this place existed. I hope." They reached the edge of the sand and stopped, and together they stood there, looking at the water a few feet away. "I used to come here with some kids I knew. Mostly my boyfriend and I used to come here, along with another couple. My best friend, Cindy, and her boyfriend." She cocked her head and turned to look at him, her expression suddenly sad. "But you don't know about Marcus." Mulder shook his head, puzzled by the sudden downturn in her emotions. "Should I?" "Yes. And no. I told you about him once, but it wasn't really you." For a moment Mulder didn't get it -- but then the light dawned, and he nodded. "Van Blundht." "Yeah." She looked down at her feet, then back up at his face. "Mulder, I'm so sorry about that night. And I'm even more sorry that I never explained --" "Scully, you don't have to explain anything," he interrupted. "It's in the past, and, well ... it was a rough year for both of us, in a lot of different ways." "Yes, it was," she agreed. "But I do want to say something about it." She suddenly lifted up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then touched his elbow and urging him forward onto the beach. The sand shifted a little under his crutches, but he didn't slip, having gotten plenty of practice on the beach at Ocean City, earlier in the day. "As you said," Scully went on, "it was a bad year. The cancer, and ... well, and everything. I was desperate for someone to hold onto, but I wouldn't let myself do anything about it. Most of the time, I didn't even allow myself to acknowledge that I needed someone. And then ... well, Van Blundht showed up at my door with a bottle of wine, and ...." Her voice trailed off, and she stopped walking and turned to face him again. Mulder stopped, too. They now stood at the very edge of the water. "Mulder," she said, "it had been such a long time since ... since that one time. In my head I knew by then that, for whatever reason, it wasn't going to happen again. But a small part of me never gave up hoping. And then there you were, and I needed somebody, and I wanted it to be true, so I didn't let myself question it." A melancholy smile. "After all, it was perfectly in character for both of us to just pick it up again like that, with no explanation or discussion of what had happened before." Mulder nodded, and in the space of a few seconds a jumbled collection of images and memories raced through his mind. There'd been that harrowing escape from the radio telescope in Puerto Rico. The long, weary journey home. The burning anger and disappointment when the tapes turned out to have nothing on them. The fierce determination that he would at least hold on to Scully. Then one day, soon after they got back, she came to him while he was on surveillance duty, offering comfort and reassurance. Later that night he arrived home, to find her in his apartment, waiting on his sofa. Neither of them had spoken; he knew why she was there. For a few hours he was able to lose himself in her and forget ... but then events conspired to keep them apart, and they had no opportunity to build on what they'd started, or even to discuss whether they *wanted* to build on it. And not long after that, they met Duane Barry. "Scully," he whispered, "I'm so sorry. Do you want me to try to explain?" "Yes," she said, her voice equally quiet. "Sometime." Her smile reemerged, and Mulder's heart resumed beating. "I think I have some idea what happened, but I'd like to hear what you have to say. But not tonight. I didn't bring you here for that." "Okay." She took his hand and squeezed it, then let go so he could handle the crutches as they began to walk along the water line, in the direction of the large boulder that Mulder had noticed earlier. "Anyway," she said, "we used to come here when we were seniors in high school. Just the four of us. We'd go swimming, drink some beer and do a little necking." She looked up at him and smirked. "I learned a lot about male anatomy on this beach." "I'll just bet," he said, making no effort to keep the note of amusement from his voice. "The last time we were here," she continued, "was the week after graduation. You have to understand that not too long before that, the night of our senior prom, Marcus and I had, uh ... come really close to, uh ...." "Going all the way?" Mulder suggested. "Making the beast with two backs? Doing the funky monkey? Playing hide the salami?" They'd reached the boulder, and now Scully turned once again to face him. "Yes," she said, rolling her eyes and smiling. "Hide the salami. That was just the phrase I was looking for. Unfortunately, we were interrupted. So there was a certain amount of tension between us, but we hadn't actually talked about it --" "Hard to imagine," he interrupted again, now with a smirk of his own. "I mean, that two people would come that close to *consummating* something, and then not talk about it for an entire week. That's such a long time. We don't know anyone like that, do we, Scully?" "Asshole." She gave him an affectionate swat on the shoulder. "So the four of us came out here, and after we'd had a little beer and it had gotten dark, the guys announced that they wanted to go skinny dipping." "Oooh," Mulder said, his smile broadening. "This story keeps getting better and better. A skinny dipping Scully! Who'd have thought?" "Yes, except that it was a skinny dipping *Dana*," she said, with amused dignity. "I didn't turn into Scully until after I'd met you. But as you've already surmised, Cindy and I let ourselves be talked into it, but we decided to get undressed behind this rock." She nodded over her shoulder. "And we told the guys they couldn't look until we were in the water." "I bet they peeked," Mulder said. He could see where this story was heading, and it was really starting to turn him on. "I would have." "I'm sure they did," Scully agreed. "And of course, we were secretly hoping that they would. So we were all in the water together, splashing around, getting used to it, and then suddenly Marcus swooped down on me and wrapped his arms around me. What could I do? I was trapped." "I'll bet you put up a hell of a fight." "Yes, certainly," she agreed, with a little snort of amusement. "It was the first time I'd been kissed when I wasn't wearing any clothes, and I was standing in three feet of water. i was lucky my knees didn't give out. I could have drowned." "And the rest, I take it, is history," Mulder said. He moved a little closer, until their bodies were almost touching. "That's right. In fact ...." She turned away and strolled on around the rock, glancing over her shoulder just before she passed out of sight. Mulder followed, to find her standing in a small grassy area that was sheltered by the trees. The boulder shielded the spot from the beach and the bay, giving them complete privacy, unless someone actually bothered to walk around the huge rock. "Right here," Scully declared, prodding the turf with her shoe, "is where I lost my virginity. Eighteen years ago this past June." She stopped talking, and simply stood there, watching him. In his mind's eye he could see the scene she'd just described: an impossibly young Scully, naked in the moonlight, her hair wet from swimming, lying back on the grass and holding out her arms to him. Ready and willing, eager to make love for the very first time. His cock was so hard it almost hurt, and he shifted on his crutches, trying to ease his discomfort. "So ... what happens now?" he asked. Scully raised an eyebrow. "That depends, Mulder. What do you want to happen now?" She paused, but he couldn't manage to get any words out. She went on, in a teasing tone of voice, "I suppose we could just go on home. But you did say you wanted to see what I was like when I was younger." "Scully ...." His voice was barely above a whisper. He couldn't believe his partner, normally so serious and conservative, was actually suggesting what she seemed to be suggesting. "Come on, Mulder," she prompted, her voice low and seductive. She was fingering the hem of her t-shirt, still looking him directly in the eye. "I feel very strange tonight. Very ... very young. That doesn't happen very often; you may not get another chance like this. You wouldn't want to waste it." "No, I guess I wouldn't." "I didn't think so." Mulder stood there, mesmerized, as Scully began to undress, first pulling her t-shirt off over her head and tossing it aside, then reaching behind her back and unhooking her bra. Shoes and socks followed, then her jeans. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and raised her eyebrow at him again, then slowly slid them down off her hips and let them fall to the ground. She kicked them to one side, and then she was naked, standing before him in the darkness. "Scully," he whispered again. He moved forward until he was standing directly in front of her, and she stepped into his arms and kissed him. Her lips were warm and soft, and her breath was sweet and moist as it mingled with his. The tip of her tongue probed at his mouth, and he opened it, allowing her free entry. They tasted each other, trading oral caresses. One of Scully's hands gripped his neck, while the fingers of the other sifted through his hair. He dropped his crutches, and his own hands came to rest on her bare hips, holding her close against him, while his thumbs massaged her pelvic bone. At last she ended the kiss, pulling back a little so that she could look up at him. "Well?" she said, smiling. "You do realize that we're going to get chigger bites," he said, smiling back down at her. Scully laughed and shook her head. "I don't care," she said. "I got chigger bites that other time, too, with Marcus. Just for tonight, I want us to be young together. I want us to be eighteen." Her hands went to his belt buckle, even as she stretched up to kiss him again, and Mulder had to murmur his response against her lips. "Okay, Scully. Okay. Just for tonight, we'll be eighteen." After that, there was no more talking. Scully eased him down to the ground, ever mindful of his broken ankle. She helped him out of his clothes, then moved once more into his embrace. The night was warm and silent, and the two partners lay together in the grass, kissing and touching, making love beneath the stars. Being young together in the dark. ==========END CHAPTER SEVENTEEN========== =========== Chapter Eighteen =========== FBI Headquarters Washington, D.C. Monday, August 14, 2000 8:02 a.m. "Sorry I'm late," Scully said, as she stepped through the doorway of the basement office. She tossed a small paper bag onto Mulder's desk. "I had to stop at Wal-Mart on my way in. *Somebody* used up all my calamine lotion yesterday." "Sorry, Scully," he said, a lazy smile on his face. "But my need was greater than thine. If I may remind you, *I'm* the one who wound up lying on his back." "You said you wanted to be able to see me. And you knew there were going to be chiggers -- you were the one who brought it up." She set her briefcase down and opened it, bending her head in hopes that her hair would conceal the fact that she was struggling to keep a straight face. "But I got my reports done anyway, despite the fact that my knees and shins and elbows *and* forearms were itching horribly." She pulled out the stack of folders and set them firmly on the desk. "I'll put you in for a performance award," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. He leaned back in his chair, his hands locked behind his head. "But while *you* were making Sam Walton's heirs just a little bit richer, *I* was working. Specifically, I finally got hold of your EMT buddy, Johnny Dietrich." "Thank God." Scully sat down in her own seat and powered up her computer. "What did he have to say?" "Well, at first he thought I was Griggs, and I really got an earful. But after he settled down, and realized I was just your main squeeze ...." His voice trailed off, and he raised his eyebrows. "You didn't." She fixed her gaze on him. "Mulder, tell me you didn't." His goofy personal attentions amused her when they were directed at her, in private, but when he turned that side of himself loose on the outside world she became embarrassed. He knew that. It was one of the first things they'd had to work out, all those months ago. So surely he hadn't -- "No," he said, shaking his head and smiling again. "I didn't. I told him I was your partner, and that we'd been trying to reach him about that newspaper article." "And?" "He actually fessed up right away. The poor kid worships you, Scully. He was just trying to make a little extra money -- and, I suspect, get your attention, in a clumsy, post-adolescent, John Hinkley/Jodie Foster sort of way. He was mortified when I told him you were having professional problems because of it. He said he'd email me a statement to show to Skinner. Hopefully, that will be the end of it." "Thank God." She turned her attention back to her computer, which now was fully online. She clicked on the mail icon and skimmed rapidly through the messages. Another one from the lab supervisor ... one from human resources, about her 401K election ... a couple spams ... one or two others, none of them important. She sat back in her chair and swore. "Scully? What's the matter?" "Still nothing from Danny," she said, waving at the screen. "Remember that message I got last week? That list of names? I expected to hear from him on Friday, and when I didn't, I was sure there'd be something this morning. I better call him." She picked up the phone and hit the appropriate speed dial. It was answered on the second ring. "Danny, this is Scully," she said. "I just wanted to follow up on that file I sent you ... uh, Thursday night. You probably got it Friday morning. Have you found anything yet?" "Yeah," he said, sounding surprised. "I emailed the response to A.D. Skinner late Friday morning. Hasn't he passed it on to you?" "No," she replied, furrowing her brow in confusion. "Why did you send it to Skinner?" "Your inquiry impinged on a classified operation," Danny explained. "Skinner has to clear you to see it. I'm sorry; I should have sent you a note about it. But I assumed he'd forward it on to you pretty much right away. It's pretty routine stuff. Sorry, Agent Scully." "No, that's okay," Scully said, more confused than ever. "I'm sure he's just been busy. I'll call Kim and ask her about it." "Sorry I can't be more help," he replied. "Anything I can do from this end, just give me a jingle." "Thanks. If I have any problems, I'll let you know." She hung up. "What was that all about?" Mulder asked. "He says he sent it to Skinner," Scully replied. "Friday morning. It's classified, and I have to be cleared before I can see it." "So what's taking Skinner so long?" "I don't know," she said. "But I'm going to find out." She picked up the phone again, and punched the button for Skinner's office. "Kimberly," she said, "this is Agent Scully. I had a question concerning a report I've been expecting from Danny Grimes. Do you know the one I'm talking about?" "I think so, Agent Scully. You mean the report on Operation Parasite?" "Yes, that's the one," she said, hoping she was right. "I've been waiting for the A.D. to clear it for me, but ...." She let her voice trail off suggestively. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully," Kimberly replied. "He's horribly busy this morning. I'm a little surprised he didn't take care of it over the weekend -- I know he was in for a while on Saturday. But now he's in meetings over at the DOJ, and I don't expect him back until after lunch. I'll leave a note on his desk about it, though." "Thanks, Kim." Once again, she hung up. "No dice, huh?" Mulder said. "No." She gave him a summary of the conversation. "At least I got the name. She called it 'Operation Parasite'." Mulder frowned, and turned to his own computer, activating the Bureau's internal search engine. He tapped the keys, hit return, and waited. After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Nothing," she guessed. "Right." He pushed himself away from the computer. "Which does tell us one thing. It's classified at a high enough level that even the file name won't turn up on a routine inquiry. The directory itself must be classified. And that means it's pretty hot shit." He drummed his fingers on the desktop. "'Operation Parasite'," he repeated. "You don't suppose it could have something to do with the nanites, do you?" "No idea." She felt a prickle run down her spine at the thought. What a horrible way to have to live your life. She didn't now how Skinner could stand it -- except, of course, that she had a very similar problem of her own: That chip buried in the back of her neck. "You know, I think I'm even more interested in seeing it than I was before," Mulder said. He chewed his lip for a moment, then reached for his telephone. "Mulder, wait." "What?" He paused, finger poised over one of the speed dials. "I was just gonna call the guys and --" "No." She shook her head. "We're not going that route, Mulder. As far as we know this file is legitimately classified, and Skinner just hasn't had time to review it yet. And if it *is* related to the nanites, the last thing he needs is us messing around in it without knowing what we're doing. Kim said he'd be back after lunch. I think we should wait, and see if he just forwards it to me in the course of routine business." "Well ... okay. For now." He returned the phone to its cradle. "We'll wait," he continued. "But not for very long. If it *does* have to do with the nanites ... well, Skinner blew us off once on this, and I'm not going to let it happen again." Scully nodded. She couldn't help but agree. The nanites might be the A.D.'s personal dilemma, but they also fed back into the larger problems she and Mulder faced, and they couldn't be ignored. The day passed slowly. Johnny's email came in, and while he was still embarrassingly effusive, it did seem likely that his message would defuse the issue with Griggs and the newspaper article, so they forwarded it on to Skinner. They fielded a few phone calls, received one long, improbable fax from somebody in Maine -- something about a banshee, and Stephen King. And they got caught up on their paperwork. In the early afternoon Scully made the trek to the cafeteria, in deference to Mulder's ankle, and took the opportunity to drop off her reports to Skinner while she was upstairs. Kimberly was at her desk, being professionally unhelpful, and the inner door was closed. Yes, the A.D. was back. No, he was not available. No, he hasn't acted on that report, but I did remind him. Sorry, Agent Scully. I'll call you the minute he decides. Will there be anything else? By mid-afternoon she was pretty sure Skinner was avoiding her. Granted that he had apparently had a long string of meetings today, but she never had this much trouble getting in to see him. At the very least, she would normally have expected him to return her original phone call by now. Kimberly's body language reinforced this opinion, as the A.D.'s assistant had seemed reluctant to look her in the eye. Once again, Skinner was confusing her. She could think of no reason for him to be acting this way. The request would either be approved or not. If it were approved, she should have it by now. If not, it was uncharacteristic of Skinner not to simply pick up the phone and tell her. Mulder suggested the obvious -- that their boss was trying to keep something from her. But that didn't make sense to her, either, because by holding on to the report and refusing to meet with her, he was actually drawing more attention to whatever was *in* the report. As Mulder had commented that morning, it just made her want the information more than ever. And, although she knew it was an irrational response on her part, it also added to her growing conviction that whatever was in the document was going to turn out to be important. She didn't want to be suspicious of her boss' motives, but it was hard not to be. He'd been secretive last week over the issue of who had arranged Mulder's release by the Alexandria police. But then he'd turned around the very next day, and pushed her forward into a position of prestige and importance in the Watergate investigation, and backed up her actions during the raid on the Monkeywrenchers' compound. And now this. By 3:30 Scully's patience had run out, and she finally acquiesced and allowed Mulder to set into motion what he called 'Plan B'. To her relief, Plan B did *not* involve getting the Lone Gunmen to hack into the Bureau's computer system. It consisted mostly of misdirection -- although the consequences if they were caught were still potentially pretty dire. But after seven years of tearing one page after another out of the rule book, usually at Mulder's suggestion, there was very little left that Scully considered to be off limits. She stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor. The Research Division had originally been a large, open area, similar to the agents' bullpen on the floor below, but a couple of years ago it had been broken up into cubicles, and now it was a maze of temporary partitions. A few heads prairie dogged up over the dividers at the sound of her footsteps, then disappeared just as quickly. She was no stranger here. She made her way directly to Danny's cubicle, and stuck her head in through the opening. "Knock knock," she said, doing her best to sound casual. "Agent Scully! To what do I owe the honor?" Danny was dressed as always, in a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a dark, narrow tie, and dark slacks. Three or four pens stuck out of a plastic pocket protector in his breast pocket, and a pencil was parked behind his right ear. Everything about him screamed 'geek', but that was nothing against him in Scully's book -- and besides, he'd been extraordinarily helpful to her over the years. Of course, remembering that made her feel guilty for what she was about to do, but there seemed to be no alternative. She smiled, and stepped into the cubicle. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor," she said. "I've spoken to Kimberly about that report, and she doesn't know if Skinner's going to get to it today. You said it was pretty routine, and I was just wondering ...." She let her voice trail off; Danny was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully, but you know the regs. You've got the requisite clearance, but you don't have need-to-know. Not until your boss says you do. I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know," she said with a sigh. "And it's okay." She chewed her lip, pretending to think about it for a minute. "Look, I know you've already gone over this, but would you mind pulling it up on your screen and checking the classification level again? Just on the off chance there was a mistake?" "Sure. But there's no mistake." He turned to his computer, and his fingers flew across the keyboard. While he was doing that, Scully pulled out her cell phone and punched one of the speed dials. //Lone Gunmen.// Frohike, just as planned. "Mulder, it's me," she said. "I'm with Danny, but he said no." //Does he have it up on the screen yet?// Frohike asked. "Yes," she replied. "I'm having him check the classification, just in case, but --" Danny was looking back at her already, shaking his head. She sighed again. "Mulder, he says no. So I guess we wait until tomorrow." //We're on it,// the little man said. //Keep talking.// "Okay," she replied. She paused, as if she were listening to her partner. Then: "I don't think that's fair .... No, Mulder, it's not his fault." She rolled her eyes at Danny and gave him a rueful smile, suppressing another stab of guilt as she did so. Just then, the researcher's desk phone rang. He reached for it, and Scully held her breath. Everything depended on the Gunmen's voice synthesizer. It had fooled her the year before. Would it fool Danny now? "Grimes, Research," he said. He listened for a few seconds. "Hi, Kim, what's up?" "Mulder, just calm down," Scully said, picking another phrase at random. Frohike had wanted to script her side of the conversation, but she'd been afraid it would sound rehearsed. Now she was wondering if maybe he'd been right after all; she was having trouble thinking of things to say. "We'll just have to take the evening off, and work on it in the morning. Is that so terrible? I wanted to see my mother tonight anyway." "I already turned that in," Danny was saying into his own phone. "Last Thursday." Another pause, followed by a sigh of exasperation. "Oh, fer Chrissake. Fine. Whatever. I'll be right there." He hung up the phone, shook his head, and muttered, "Management." "Well Jesus, Mulder," Scully said, with another roll of the eyes. "Surely you don't hold *me* responsible for your lack of a social life." She added, "Maybe you can hang out with those geeky friends of yours." //Hey!// Frohike objected, and she smirked. She could easily picture the expression of wounded dignity on his face. //We've got you on the speaker phone, and that was a low blow, Agent Scully. You just made Langly cry.// "Well that's just too bad," she replied. "You'll live. I'll see you in the morning, Mulder." She switched off the phone and put it away. Danny was pulling some files from a desk drawer. Now if he'd just leave his computer on she'd be home free. It was a clear violation of security protocol, but most people were lazy, and left their PC's on if they knew they were only going to be away for a few minutes. And sure enough, he was surging up out of his chair and charging around his desk, an annoyed look on his face, apparently without giving a second thought to his computer. Scully stepped out into the hall to make way. "Sorry, Agent Scully," he said. "Gotta go. Catch ya later." He swept by her and on down the hall. A few seconds later, she heard the ding of an elevator. Scully glanced at her watch as she stepped back into Danny's cubicle. 4:19. Kim always left on the dot of four, to pick up her kids from their after school program. Danny would probably wait around for a few minutes, then use Kimberly's photocopier to run off duplicates of the monthly workload reports he'd been asked to bring, so he could leave them on her desk and get out of there. Kim would be puzzled to find the copies tomorrow morning, but probably *not* puzzled enough to call Danny about it. Now as long as Skinner wasn't in his office with the door open .... As she'd hoped, the Operation Parasite files were still on the screen. Scully sat down in Danny's chair, pulling on a pair of latex gloves as she did so. She wasn't planning on leaving her fingerprints on the keyboard of a restricted PC, just in case Danny got suspicious and the information security people were able to trace what she was about to do. She heard footsteps in the hall, and glanced at the open entryway of the cubicle, her heart beating fast. If someone walked in now, or if Danny had forgotten something and had to come back for it, this was going to be impossible to explain. Why did she let herself get talked into things like this? Well, nothing to do now but see it through. Turning her attention back to the computer, she took a floppy disk from her pocket, slid it into the drive and started copying files. There were eight of them, just as she'd guessed, and they were apparently small, because it didn't take very long. Two minutes later she was out of the cubicle, heading for the elevators. # # # Residence of Fox Mulder Alexandria, Virginia 4:34 p.m. Today, Viola is in Alexandria. It seemed like a good idea to put a little distance between herself and Dana, considering what happened the other night. At least, Cesario seemed to think so. This time she let herself in, without recourse to the building manager. When Cesario was here last week she found the spare key, "hidden" in an ice cube tray in the freezer. People are so stupid, especially when they think they're being clever. Dana's extra key wasn't hard to find, either. This afternoon she's just exploring, trying to get the lay of the land. She and Cesario aren't quite ready to seal the deal yet. They're having too much fun to let it end prematurely. Part of the fun is becoming intimately familiar with the subject before closing in for the grand finish. It gives her such a wonderful feeling of power. Of control. Viola has to be in control. So does Cesario. She went to the bedroom first, because she couldn't resist, and as she expected, she found it to be steaming with sexuality and desire. Mulder's aura is here, of course, and so is Dana's. The sense of her presence is so strong, so powerful, it's almost as if she's physically in the room. There's another woman here, too -- someone with dark hair and large breasts and a weak, credulous nature. But it was a long time ago, and Viola dismisses her. She wants to concentrate on Dana. For a moment she stands still, eyes closed, and allows a vision of Dana to wash over her. Lying on her back, half-buried among the pillows and blankets, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. It's dark, the wind is blowing, and Dana is opening herself, really letting herself go, for the first time in years. She's wearing a baseball cap of all things, one that says 'Stonehenge Rocks' on it, and she's *giggling*. Viola hears the scrap of a song .... //Speak to me, baby, in the middle of the night.// And suddenly there's someone else in the room. Some other presence. Not Dana, and not the one from the distant past, either. This is someone different, someone she feels she should know. Dana is gone, but this other is here in her stead. Someone powerful and hostile and most of all *familiar* -- //Why is it so dark in here?// The voice is powerful, demanding, and Viola frowns as she tries to place it. She's felt this presence before, very recently. She just can't remember. She wracks her brain, trying to dredge up the memory. When? Where? And most importantly, *who*? //Why is it so dark in here?// Again those damnable words, and again she can't quite place the source. For all their strength, there's something gentle about them, too. Something kind and loving and ... and *compassionate*. There's no weakness, though, nothing she can exploit. Nothing she can grab onto. She feels herself slipping away, she feels the hot, bright core of her fury being subdued by the warmth and concern of the other. She can't let that happen, she can't, she can't, she can't. If she loses her anger she'll die, she'll have nothing left at all -- //I don't have to be psychic to see that you're in a very dark place.// Suddenly, Viola remembers. The entryway to Dana's apartment. That's where she felt this presence before. The darkness, the two men, the gunshot, and she was falling, falling, falling .... With the memory comes knowledge, and from the knowledge comes strength. Now Viola knows what she's facing, and she's able to rally her will to fight against it. The anger boils up inside her, the rage that comes so easily, both for her and Cesario. It's white hot, it burns, and it feels so, so *good*. She lashes out, struggling against the cloying feminine presence, struggling to regain control. She gathers all her will, and gives one hard //push// -- And it's gone. She's sitting on the floor in Mulder's bedroom, her back leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. It took all her strength to do it, but it's gone. She allows herself to sit for a few minutes, regaining her strength and catching her breath. That was worse than the first time. Far, far worse. Worse than anything she's ever encountered before. She told Cesario about the other time, and the two of them just laughed, secure in the knowledge that nothing could stand against them. But this ... this *presence* is far more powerful than she thought. This time, she barely fought it off. Finally, she bestirs herself, and struggles awkwardly to her feet. Her legs are still rubbery and uncertain, but she can't afford to wait any longer. She has to find Cesario as soon as possible, and tell her about the magnitude of the threat. She moves out into the hall and towards the living room -- Only to find that the day is not quite over. She has another uninvited guest. There's a woman standing in the living room, next to the couch. Not the woman whose presence she just fought off -- this one is strictly corporeal. She's standing with her back to the bedroom door, and long blonde hair cascades down across her shoulders. Viola reaches out to sample the intruder's mind, and finds weakness and malleability, all wrapped up around the barest flash of an image -- an image of a man, with dark hair and green eyes and, improbably enough, only one arm. She will have no trouble with this one. None at all. The other woman must have heard something, because suddenly she spins about. "Agent Mulder? Is that --" The visitor's voice dies, and her eyes widen in surprise, then shock, and finally fear. There's recognition there, too, and that just makes it better, because it means she knows what's about to happen. Her emotions surge under Viola's savage caress, and Viola realizes that there's a gun in the other's purse. But it doesn't matter. Not with this one. She'll never find the will to use it. Viola smiles, and starts walking slowly forward. ==========END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN========== =========== Chapter Nineteen =========== Office of the Lone Gunmen College Park, Maryland Monday, August 14, 2000 6:11 p.m. "Well hello, Hannibal," Frohike murmured, as he paged through his copy of the print out of the Operation Parasite files. "Looks like you guys've got a problem." Scully nodded silent agreement, unable to take her eyes off her own copy of the report. Mulder had told her over the years about some of the human monsters that he'd tracked while working for VICAP, and before that the BSU. She'd also had some first hand experience with such things as a pathologist, and then, of course, there was her time on the X-Files -- although to Scully it was worse when the atrocities were clearly attributable to human beings. So this wasn't the worst thing she'd ever read, but it certainly was right up there. Eight deaths in a little over ten months, each documented in meticulous detail, including autopsy and crime scene photos. Six men and two women, each found in a sexually compromising situation, and each having died horrible -- and in four cases bloody -- deaths. The women seemed to have been singled out for special savagery: both had had hysterectomies performed, while they were still alive, and without anesthetic. They had then been allowed to bleed to death. Two of the men, on the other hand, had been found together, nude. Each had had his penis cut off -- again, while he was still alive -- and left in the mouth of the other man. And tying it all together were DNA studies done on hairs and bodily fluids recovered at each crime scene. Beyond question, all eight murders had been committed by the same person. Scully shuddered, then tried to force the horror of it into the background. It didn't pay to dwell too much on the details. She'd learned that back in medical school, before she'd even considered a pathology residency. She remembered the first patient she'd lost, when in her fourth year as a med student she'd actually been allowed to work with real people, under the watchful supervision of the senior residents. Al Ferguson's death hadn't been her fault; he'd been admitted for hospice care, and had been assigned to her specifically because there wasn't very much she could screw up. But still, it hurt so bad when he died -- She shook her head. Not gonna go there. Not tonight. Background. The eighth and most recent file, of course, concerned the death of Shinichi Nomura, the man who'd died in the Watergate fire. *Prior* to the Watergate fire, she reminded herself, feeling her anger build as she recalled how her materials relating to that case had disappeared. She'd retrieved her draft autopsy report from the backups she kept at work, but the background materials identifying Nomura were simply gone. Except here they were again -- including the photograph that had triggered her panic attack. "God damn him!" The words were out of her mouth before she realized she was going to say them. She looked up from the report, to see Mulder and the three Gunmen staring at her, wide eyed in surprise. "Scully?" "Sorry, Mulder." She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, then gestured at the papers on her lap. "It's the Nomura file. Everything that was stolen from my apartment is in this file." Her partner nodded, but his expression was uncomprehending. Fighting to keep the exasperation from her voice: "Mulder, don't you see? These materials disappeared from my apartment. They were stolen. Now here they are, in this computer file -- an FBI file that's controlled by Skinner, and that he has apparently decided not to let us see!" "You don't know that the two are connected," Mulder objected. "These are computer records, and that means they're easily duplicated. Skinner didn't have to get this information from you. There could very easily be other copies floating around. In fact, since *you* got it from the Bureau in the first place, it's likely he got it from the same source." "Mulder ...." She let her voice trailed off, and shook her head. "Weren't you the one who was saying, just this morning, that he had no right to keep this kind of information from us?" "Yes, I was -- but weren't *you* the one who wanted to give him every possible break?" Mulder took a deep breath, then added, in what was obviously supposed to be a conciliatory tone, "Look, Scully, I agree this looks bad. But can you honestly picture A.D. Skinner breaking into your apartment and stealing those files? Really?" Scully wanted to scream. Why was he always ready to jump to the most wildly illogical conclusions, but whenever *she* floated an idea that was a little out there, he tried to pour cold water on it? More to the point, why was the man who claimed the motto 'Trust No One' always so ready to put his faith in people who, in Scully's opinion, clearly had failed to earn it? She felt a flash of the old resentment over Diana Fowley, but ruthlessly suppressed it. The woman was dead, and Scully had been proven right about *her* loyalties. Best to let sleeping dogs lie. "Let's look at the file creation dates," Frohike said after a moment, carefully inserting his words into the silence that had fallen. The expression on his face said that he also remembered the near-open warfare over Fowley, and didn't want to get caught in the crossfire again. He turned to one of the computers, and started reviewing the Operation Parasite directory from the floppy disk. "The Nomura entries were made on the seventh -- last Monday. What day did the records disappear from your apartment, Agent Scully?" "Wednesday," Scully admitted. Her shoulders slumped. Wrong. God damn it. Deep breath. "Okay. So there's no direct connection. But Skinner *still* knew about it before we did, and he *has* been keeping this material from us. Right?" "It does look like it," Mulder agreed. "And since we agree he's trying to keep us from knowing about this, it remains possible that he had some involvement, somehow, in the theft from my apartment. Doesn't it?" "Scully --" "Mulder, eight people are dead, and from the evidence before us, Skinner is responsible for the fact that nothing is being done about it. I've never even *heard* of this case until today. Not even on the grapevine. Doesn't that bother you at all?" "Of course it bothers me," her partner replied, sounding a little testy. "But I'm having a hard time accepting the idea that Skinner would participate in a cover up of that magnitude. Yes, he's caused us problems in the past -- although he's also helped us. And yes, we've got questions about his motives. But this?" He brushed his fingertips across his copy of the report and shook his head. "No. I don't believe it. There has to be more to it than this. There has to be something we don't know." "Then help me figure out what it is!" Scully got up from her chair and started to pace. "Why wouldn't he want us to know about this? And why does he have the records of these murders sequestered? Why would he do such a thing?" "We could just ask him," Mulder offered with a shrug. "If I can ever get in to see him, I might," Scully muttered. She glanced at the Gunmen, who were watching in round eyed silence, and almost laughed. They looked just like children who were witnessing their parents having a fight. "Although it would mean compromising our little scam this afternoon." "Logically, it must have something to do with the Consortium," Mulder said. "They're the only ones who've got the necessary leverage, and Marita confirmed that they were the ones who got me out of hock on Wednesday night. Her faction did, anyway. So let's see if we can determine what her group's interest is. Let's think about the victims, and see if we can figure out what they have in common." He looked down at the report again, and started paging slowly through it. Scully recognized what he was doing, and kept her peace. Apparently Byers did, as well, because he got up, left the room, and came back a minute later with a yellow legal pad and a pencil. He handed them to Mulder, who nodded absently. Then Byers took his seat again, and they all sat in silence, watching, as Mulder reread the report, scribbling notes as he went. "Okay," he said, "a few things stand out. First, there isn't anyone on this list who's under 40, and most of them are in their 60s or 70s. I'm not sure what that proves, but there it is." "Sounds like the old sixties thing," Langly commented. "Never trust anyone over thirty. Or in this case, over forty." "True." Mulder chewed his lip for a moment. "So maybe Marita was telling the truth, at least about the conflict within the Consortium. And maybe this is the young turks, so to speak, carrying out an undercover war against the old guard. If Krycek and Marita still have control of the palm pilot, that would give them control of Skinner, so it might be at their behest that he's hushing this up." "Maybe," Scully responded. It didn't feel quite right to her, but she didn't want to admit to having a hunch, so she didn't say anything else. After a moment, Mulder shrugged, and looked back at his notes. "Another thing I noticed is that, while the deaths are spread all across the country, when you match them up with the dates, there's a progression, from west to east. The first two are in Southern California, then one in Vegas, then a couple near El Paso, and so on." He looked up at Scully again. "That might support the 'super soldier' thesis." "Except that the Watergate bombing was supposedly its first test," Scully reminded him. "Right, but that doesn't prove that there is no such critter. It might just mean that Marita was lying about how long it's been out there. Maybe her bunch turned it loose, and for a while it was killing the people they wanted dead, nice and quiet and below the radar screens, but now it's out of control and they're afraid of the publicity." Scully nodded reluctantly, and Mulder added, "Or it could be something else." Once more, he turned to the legal pad. "The third thing I noticed seems really significant," he said. "All of these people were involved in the life sciences, one way or another. We have a microbiologist, a couple of geneticists ... even an obstetrician." He stopped and blinked. "And you know what else? I just now realized this. Every death but one was close to a Consortium facility, known or suspected. Roush had a base in Southern California, Susanne Modeski's outfit was in southern New Mexico, near El Paso, and ... Jesus. *Three* of these people died within shouting distance of that mine in West Virginia. Strughold's. You remember?" "God, how could I forget?" She shivered. That immense cavern, and all those files -- including one on *her*. She'd known there must be records on her, from her abduction, but that one had dated from her childhood. Yes, it was just part of a huge, Cold War era project that seemed to involve the entire population; there was no evidence that she'd been singled out *that* young. But still .... And there'd been aliens there -- gray aliens. Dozens of them, if not more. She could admit that to herself now, after all these years and everything else she'd seen. Aliens. Extraterrestrial biological entities. And they'd touched her. Fleetingly and inadvertently, but they'd touched her. They were real. "Right." Mulder was nodding slowly, and he had that look on his face -- the look that said the pieces were starting to fall into place. "Somebody's killing their biologists," he said, his voice very soft. "Their biologists and their geneticists, and even an OB. Who would want to do that?" "Their bosses," Langly said, his voice flat and unemotional. "After they were no longer needed." "Or their bosses' enemies," Byers suggested. "So that their services would no longer be available." "Their victims," Frohike said. "And those who care about their victims." He was looking directly at her as he said it, his expression deadly serious. He looked as if he were ready to ride forth and do battle, himself, right now, and at this moment he didn't look ridiculous at all. She felt a sudden rush of unaccustomed warmth for the little man, and for Langly and Byers, too. She was surrounded by people who cared what happened to her, but she was always so damned careful to keep them all at arm's length. Too careful for her own good, maybe. "It could be any of those," Mulder agreed, drawing her thoughts back to the subject at hand. "But I'm leaning towards the victims. That would jive with what Marita told us." Scully stirred, ready to object, but he held up a hand. "I know, I know. Unsubstantiated testimony from an unreliable source. But it's all we've got." He levered his way to his feet and made his way awkwardly across the room, leaning on the backs of chairs for support. At last, he stood in front of her. "Scully, I think I'd better be alone for this. I need to profile, and I can't do that with you around. Do you understand?" "What I understand is that sometimes you get lost when you profile," she answered, looking him square in the eye. "And I'm not willing to let that happen. Not again. Not if it's going to be like that time with Patterson." She hesitated, aware of the Gunmen watching their every move. To hell with it. Her feelings for Mulder were nothing to be ashamed of, and probably no real surprise to anyone in the room. She reached out and caressed his cheek, trying to express with her fingers and her eyes what she couldn't find the words to say. "Scully, there isn't any other way," he replied. His eyes locked on to hers, seeming to probe down into her very soul. "I don't like this any more than you do. There was a reason I left the BSU. But in this case, I don't see that we have any choice." It was the word 'we' that did it. The last time -- God, had it really been more than four years? -- he'd just gone and done it, shutting her out without a second thought in his singleminded pursuit of the Truth. This time ... this time, although he was still insisting on his need to withdraw, he wasn't doing it unilaterally. This time he was telling her in advance, seeking her approval. He was asking for her permission. And she could not refuse. A few minutes later, Scully was standing in the open doorway, ready to leave. Her partner was looming over her, but he wasn't going with her. She'd expected to drive him home, but he demurred, saying he wanted to spend a little while longer with the guys, going over the materials and making preparations. "But you don't want me here, do you?" she'd asked. "No," he replied, after a pause. "You're too much of a distraction, Scully. I don't know if I can explain this, but ... well, when you're here, I'm *always* aware of you, and it breaks my concentration. No one else has that effect on me. Only you." Scully understood about that well enough. She always knew when Mulder was nearby, even in a crowded room. So although it still hurt a little to be asked to leave, the underlying reason was understandable -- even reassuring. "Be careful," she said. She stretched up to brush her lips against his. "Call me if ... if you need anything." Knowing that he would not. Then, not wanting to give him a chance to decide to lie to her, she stepped on through the doorway, pulled it shut behind her, and headed down the hall. She took her time descending to the street. The heat wave was still in full force, and she was in no hurry to step out into it. Also, while she didn't *really* think Mulder would have a change of heart and come after her ... well, maybe part of her did hold out that hope. But now here she was at her car, and it was time to go. But still she dawdled, sitting behind the wheel for a few minutes with the engine running. She didn't like leaving Mulder like this, and she didn't like what he was going to try to do. And, if she were honest with herself, she also felt a little resentment at being shut out, even if it *was* with her own consent this time. It felt a little too much as if she were being told to run along and play while the grownups did the real work. She knew Mulder hadn't meant it that way; he was nothing like Agent Griggs. But still .... There had to be something she could do, something she could contribute. She and Mulder had always worked well together, primarily because their strengths complemented each other so perfectly. Well, if Mulder was off on one of his wild, intuitive romps, where did that leave her? With deductive reasoning, and solid, straightforward police work, of course. And there was one big, glaring lead that seemed to have gotten lost in the shuffle. Skinner. She examined the idea for a moment, turning it over in her mind and testing it. She had no doubt that on any other case they would consider someone in Skinner's position to be a suspect -- if not of the actual crimes, then at least as an accessory. They would track him down and question him, no matter how inconvenient it was, and they wouldn't let his secretary brush them off. The fact that he was their supervisor complicated matters, but it didn't change the basic principle. There might turn out to be nothing there; Mulder was probably right about that. It was the next thing to unbelievable that their boss would be involved in something like this, to the degree that he appeared to be. But maybe by talking to him she could gain some insight into what *was* going on, even if he had no direct involvement. There had to be more to the story than what they knew, and Skinner seemed to be in a position to supply some of the missing details. She'd voiced that opinion earlier, and Mulder had even suggested that they simply ask the A.D. directly. Now that proposal floated before her again, tantalizing her with its obviousness. Sometimes the shortest distance between two points really *was* a straight line. Maybe all she had to do was corner Skinner, get past his Assistant Director shield, and persuade him to tell her what he knew. And if she *could* accomplish that, maybe Mulder would be saved from having to delve too deeply into the mind of a monster. Scully nodded to herself. It made sense, and she certainly had nothing else to occupy her time this evening. She checked her watch. Almost 7:30. Skinner was unlikely to still be at the office, and that was just as well. For what she wanted to do, she was better off catching him at home. She debated phoning him first, but decided not give to him a chance to avoid her yet again. She threw the car into gear, pulled away from the curb, and headed for Crystal City. ==========END CHAPTER NINETEEN========== =========== Chapter Twenty =========== Office of the Lone Gunmen College Park, Maryland Monday, August 14, 2000 8:10 p.m. Revenge. That had to be the motive. Mulder rubbed his eyes, gazing at the yellow legal pad with its near-illegible scribblings, then tossed it on the coffee table and picked up the crime scene photos from the Operation Parasite files. After Scully departed, the Gunmen had led him to a side room, then left him alone. They'd seen this before, and knew what to expect. They also wouldn't distract him, the way Scully's mere presence in the office inevitably would. Revenge. Yes. Staring at the pictures was reinforcing his opinion. He could almost feel the anger and hatred radiating off the images. The terrible, black rage that had driven the UNSUB to savagely mutilate those bodies, before finally granting them the surcease of death. Every serial killer has a pattern, or "signature". That was one of the first things Bill Patterson had taught his fresh faced young charges, back in his glory days at the Behavioral Sciences Unit. The meaning of the signature may be obvious, but more often it is not. It is usually buried in symbolism, symbolism that in turn is based on the unique psychology of the individual killer. Sometimes those symbols express themselves through the choice of victims. Sometimes through the time, manner or location of death. Sometimes a killing is triggered situationally, and sometimes it is simply the logical conclusion of a long, slow period of escalation. But the cause is always discoverable, Patterson had taught. You just have to learn to think like a monster. The public took it as a given that serial killers were irrational and insane. Surely only a crazy person would embark on such a rampage of death and destruction. Surely no one in his right mind would slaughter strangers, dismember them, disembowel them, even *eat* them. Most people were not like that. Most people were sane. But the profilers who worked for Patterson knew better. They knew that the men they sought -- for almost all serial killers were male -- were cool and calculating people, who knew exactly what they were doing. Mulder and his colleagues had even held long, late night bull sessions over the question of whether a truly insane serial killer was possible. Someone who was actually psychotic, after all, someone who was out of touch with reality, wouldn't last long against the resources that a modern police department could throw against them -- let alone the FBI. Perversely, the typical UNSUB's very normality made the act of profiling that much harder and more frightening, because anyone perceptive enough to do the work could not help but be aware of the darkness lurking deep within his own soul. And the profilers asked themselves, and occasionally each other, what it was that made someone like Jeffrey Dahmer or John Wayne Gacy slip the leash of civilization. What would it take to turn one of Us into one of Them? A thousand explanations were offered, but no answers were found, beyond the simple, indisputable fact that all humans were capable of evil. Mulder had struggled with those questions back in the 80s, when he did his time in Patterson's shop. Like most profilers, he eventually burned out, lasting longer than some, but not as long as others. He'd sworn to himself, when he walked away from that office for the last time, that he'd never use those skills again. He'd had his look into the abyss, and he didn't want another. Unfortunately, he'd had to break that vow more than once over the years, most notably when Patterson himself was finally overwhelmed by the darkness. And now here he was again, practicing the arcane art he'd learned so many years ago. Or trying to practice it, at any rate. Once more he studied the photographs. There had to be a pattern here, if only he could find it! Mutilation of the victim's sex organs was nothing new, of course; that had been going on since the beginning of time. There was tremendous psychological energy wrapped up in human sexuality, and when it was released in a negative way, terrible things could and did happen. These photos were just another set of examples. It was also important to remember who the victims were, especially in this case. Mulder couldn't prove it, but he was nevertheless certain that all of them had worked for the Consortium in some scientific capacity. Probably they had all been employed in one aspect or another of the Project -- the attempt to create an alien-human hybrid, by means of endless, cruel experiments on helpless human subjects. Subjects like Scully. And Samantha. Mulder paused in mid-thought, distracted and disturbed by the memory of what had been done to his partner and his sister. For a moment he wondered why he was doing this. Why should he lift so much as a finger to stop what was happening to these people? They were all monsters in their own right, after all, and no more deserving of his consideration than, say, Josef Mengele. They had, in a very real sense, forfeited their own humanity. He sighed and shook his head, rejecting the idea almost as soon as it had formed. He was doing this because it was what he did, and because no one deserved to die like that. There were also the other victims of the Watergate bombing to consider. *They* were wholly innocent of any wrongdoing, and if Mulder stood by and did nothing, it was likely that more innocents would die. People who committed such crimes seldom de-escalated. Most importantly, he was doing it for Scully. Because she would want him to. Despite everything that had happened to her, and everything they had seen, she still believed in justice. And thank God for that, he thought with a sad smile. He didn't know where he'd be without Scully. She kept him honest -- in more ways than one. He turned his attention back to the case, and resumed his speculations. Was it possible that one of the Consortium's victims -- an abductee subjected to their medical experiments -- had actually escaped with her memories intact, and now was hunting down and destroying her erstwhile tormenters? The geographical pattern, with murders running from west to east, was suggestive of someone escaping from a facility in California, and then working her way across the country. It was an open question where this hypothetical escapee would have obtained the necessary information to carry out these attacks, but even that, he supposed, wasn't impossible. But it didn't seem at all likely. In all his studies of alien abduction, Mulder had never once heard of anyone who claimed to have escaped from captivity. Those who were returned were brought back by those who had taken them, and always with their memories erased. There was never anything left but the occasional fragment of recollection. Enough to generate flashbacks and other symptoms of PTSD, but not enough to concoct and carry out an elaborate plan of revenge. Another possibility was that someone, somewhere, had recovered enough of her memory to realize what had been done to her, and had decided to take action. His own experiences with Dr. Werber, as well as Scully's single attempt at hypnotic regression, and her admission the other night that she had occasional flashbacks about her abduction, proved that it wasn't out of the question. The geographical pattern was also consistent with *this* theory. It could be a returned abductee who lived in California, and was taking out her targets in this order because it was convenient. Of course, he was also faced, once more, with the problem of how this person had identified and located her victims. But as with the escapee theory, there was no proof -- and somehow, it just didn't *feel* right. Nevertheless, he made a note to contact MUFON, and see if they had anything about a former abductee dropping out of sight, under circumstances that did *not* suggest another abduction. He had a feeling it would be a long list, even if he restricted it to Californians. Former abductees had a tendency towards psychological and emotional problems that lent themselves to erratic behavior, such as had been exhibited by Duane Barry and Max Fenig. But it was worth a shot. This wasn't a typical serial killer, he reminded himself, tossing the pictures onto the table next to the legal pad, and lying back on the sofa. He closed his eyes, and tried to feel the anger, tried to open himself to it, the way he had in the old days. This UNSUB wasn't typical in a lot of ways, not least of which was that she actually had a motive -- one that a lot of people would be able to relate to, even if they might not be driven to murder, themselves, under these circumstances. Other unusual factors included the fact that this UNSUB was a woman, as proven by the DNA tests run on specimens recovered at the various crime scenes. Female serial killers were so rare as to be almost unheard of, and when they did occur, they usually targeted friends or family members. There was also the wide geographical destribution of the victims, not to mention the strong likelihood that the victims knew the UNSUB -- and probably each other, as well. And fuck it all, anyway. This wasn't getting him anywhere. He needed Scully's help. He'd realized that almost as soon as she left, but that old stubborn streak had kept him from admitting he was wrong. He'd also been trying to protect her. He wanted to minimize her exposure to the tough emotional issues that underlay this case. Her panic attack and the subsequent E.R. visit last week were plain evidence of the power her abduction still held over her. God damn them. The training he'd received from Patterson had also contributed to his decision to send her away. His old mentor had been like some football coaches, believing that women and sex took the edge off when you were trying to profile. Patterson had therefore discouraged his people from becoming involved in serious relationships. He'd wanted all that emotional energy for himself. For himself, and for the sacred task at hand. But to hell with Bill Patterson. In the end, his approach had failed. He'd ruined the lives of at least a dozen men, and then finally ruined his own, and Mulder wasn't about to follow in the man's footsteps. In the old days it had been different, but now he had too much to lose. Now he had Scully. Mulder sat up again, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. For a moment he sat there, looking at it, thinking about whether to call Scully and ask her to come back. Then he shook his head. No. He did want her help, but not here. The boys were good friends, and had been very helpful over the years, but they weren't indispensable. Not the way Scully was. And if he and Scully were going to try to piece this together, it was best they do it someplace they both were comfortable. He started gathering up his materials, calling out to Frohike as he did so. # # # Residence of Assistant Director Skinner Crystal City, Virginia 8:31 p.m. Scully's uncertainties had reasserted themselves by the time she arrived at Skinner's apartment building, and she therefore wound up sitting in her car for a few minutes, reviewing the argument in her mind. First, Skinner beyond question had known about this string of deaths for months. The first of the Operation Parasite files had been created back in December, and there had been regular entries ever since. Second, the A.D. was almost as certainly attempting to keep Scully and her partner from learning about the murders. He'd had her request on his desk since Friday morning, and not only had he failed to act on it, but he'd not returned her phone call when she attempted to follow up. Kimberly's body language when Scully visited the office this afternoon had also been telling. Skinner also had some sort of connection with the Consortium. She'd known about that for years, and been wary of him because of it, but this case also seemed to be tied in somehow. Someone had called Skinner on Wednesday evening and alerted him that Mulder was going to be released. Marita Covarrubias claimed that she was the one who did that, and the fact that she had access to the Alexandria police records lent credence to *that* part of her story, at any rate. Covarrubias had also claimed that the dead man in Mulder's apartment was one of her operatives, and that his death was related to the Watergate bombing -- and therefore, presumably, to the other murders in the Operation Parasite file. Scully still didn't believe in the super soldier story, but she had no reason to doubt that the man had indeed worked for or with Covarrubias. The fact that the woman had made no mention of those other killings, but had made up a fable instead, strongly suggested that she was also the one who was pulling Skinner's strings. And she had a connection to Krycek, as well, as evidenced by her reaction to the things Mulder had said during the meeting in Ocean City -- The A.D.'s car suddenly appeared, emerging from the underground parking garage of his apartment building. The dark sedan pulled onto the street, turned and sped off past her own parked car. She had a brief glimpse of Skinner behind the wheel, still wearing his suit and tie despite the heat. He did not appear to have any passengers. She debated the situation in her mind for a handful of seconds. Wherever the A.D. was going, he appeared to be in a hurry. It didn't seem likely he was going out to socialize -- not at this hour on a week night. She could either go after him, in hopes he would lead her to something interesting, or she could sit here and wait until he came back. And that might take hours. Hell, maybe this *was* a social outing. If he was going for an overnight stay with a girlfriend, he might not come back at all. She turned the key in the ignition, pulled an illegal u-turn, and took off after her supervisor. # # # Residence of Dana Scully Washington, D.C. 8:31 p.m. This time Frohike remained in the van, not bothering to ask whether Mulder wanted help getting upstairs. The little man watched him in silence as he climbed out of the car, hooking his briefcase with a couple of fingers while he held onto his crutches with the rest. As he stepped up onto the curb, Frohike leaned across the passenger seat, and spoke through the open window. "You take care of each other, okay?" "We will," Mulder said, wishing that he were confident that they could keep that promise. It was going to be a long night, and an ugly one, and there was no real way around it. "You'd better," Frohike replied. "And don't hesitate to call if you need something. Anything." He seemed to be about to say something else, then shook his head. The passenger side window slid up, and a moment later the battered old van pulled away from the curb. Mulder turned and made his way up the front steps of Scully's apartment building. He rapped softly on her door and waited a moment. No response. She was probably in the shower, or in her bedroom. He shifted the briefcase around to his other hand and fumbled for his keys. As he'd expected, the living room was empty and the lights were out. He dropped his briefcase on the sofa, and made his way towards the bedroom. Along the way he took note of the fact that the bathroom door was open, and devoid of Scully. She wasn't in the bedroom, either. Mulder frowned, and sat down on the edge of the bed to rest a minute. Scully hadn't actually said she was coming straight home, but he'd had the impression that she intended to. Well, she must have stopped at the store or something. He heaved himself to his feet again, and maneuvered back down the hall towards the living room. But when he got to the entryway he stopped, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. There was a young woman standing next to the sofa. She was short, although not as short as Scully, with long brown hair, and was wearing black jeans, an Iron Butterfly t-shirt, and sneakers. Her face was buried in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking, but she wasn't making any sound. The front door now stood open, the key still in the lock, giving silent testimony as to how she got in. Mulder shifted his weight, causing the rubber tip of one of his crutches to squeak on the hardwood floor. The young woman looked up, her hands sliding down off her face to her breastbone -- and all at once, everything came crashing down into place. The string of murder victims, all Consortium scientists. The trail of bodies from west to east, starting in California. His own firm conviction that these were vengeance killings. Marita's obvious desire to keep the matter hushed up. Even the CD he'd found in his apartment last week, and the bottle of unusually sweet diet Coke in Scully's refrigerator. All of these things were clues, clues he should have picked up on before this, but at least now he knew. Better late than never. The woman in front of him was older than the last time he'd seen her, that day when she and her sister were taken away by people claiming to be from the California Child Protective Service, but there was no mistaking her identity, even after all this time. "Teena Simmons," he said. His crutches went clattering to the floor as he reached for his weapon. "Or is it Cindy Reardon?" ==========END CHAPTER TWENTY========== =========== Chapter Twenty-one =========== Residence of Dana Scully Washington, D.C. Monday, August 14, 2000 8:40 p.m. For a few seconds Mulder stood stock still, pointing his SIG at the young woman before him. It was her. It was really her. One of the Eves. She was older now, perhaps 15, and definitely no longer a little girl, but there was no doubt in his mind. It was her. //It existed during the height of the cold war.// Deep Throat's words echoed inside his head, as he recalled their conversation of so many years ago. //We got wind the Russians were fooling around with eugenics. Rather primitively, I might add. Trying to crossbreed top scientists, athletes ... to come up with the superior soldier. Naturally, we jumped on the bandwagon.// And then the next day, the woman who called herself Eve 7, who they found locked in what amounted to a dungeon. Her words also floated back to him, and they were harsh, bitter and tinged with madness: //You have 46 chromosomes. The Adams and the Eves, we have 56. We have extra chromosomes. Number 4, 5, 12, 16, and 22. This replication of chromosomes also produces additional genes. Heightened strength. Heightened intelligence.// //Heightened psychosis,// Mulder had added. //Saved the best for last.// "I - I'm Cindy." The Eve in front of him suddenly spoke, her voice low and tight. There were tear tracks on her face, and she hiccupped, then took a deep breath, and continued. "And you've got to help me. I don't have anywhere else to turn." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and in a shaky voice, she added, "I think Teena's gone crazy." Mulder nodded, but didn't lower his gun. These girls had been masters of deceit and manipulation when they were eight years old. What would they be like at 15? "Tell me about it," he suggested. Say something. Say anything. Give me something to work with. Give me some time to think this all through, and figure out the best course of action. "Well ... you ... you already know about us," Cindy said, her voice still very low. "What we're like, I mean." She stopped to sniffle, and added, "After all, you sent us to that place. That Institute. And I guess you were right." She took a hesitant couple of steps forward, and Mulder backed away as best he could, hopping on one foot. "You're afraid of me." The girl spoke as if it were a revelation, and she shook her head in apparent wonder. "I guess I understand that, but please ... you've got to believe me." A few more steps forward, and she dropped to her knees in front of him. "I'm the one they cured. I'm the one who's safe. Teena's the one who's dangerous. She's the one you have to watch out for." Again she buried her face in her hands. "I just want it to stop!" Her shoulders began to shake again. Mulder found himself stroking the top of her head, a gesture of comfort, and immediately he snatched his hand away. These girls were dangerous, he reminded himself. They'd killed dozens of people, and they were in all probability pathological liars. He could trust nothing they said. He felt an odd tugging at the back of his mind, but dismissed it. Nervous tension. "Please," she whispered. She dropped her hands and looked up at him again. Her eyes were red and puffy, her features round and soft and innocent. "Please." Abruptly, he could see her in a different setting. Everything was bright and white and sterile, and she was strapped to a steel table, in five point restraints. Men wearing scrubs were all around, their faces anonymous behind hospital masks as they manipulated their strange, terrifying equipment. She was struggling and crying, begging for mercy, begging for it to stop, begging just to be left alone. And her hair was suddenly red -- With a snarl, Mulder forced the image out of his head. This wasn't Scully, and the girl kneeling before him wasn't suffering now. Whatever had happened to her in the past, horrible as it might have been, didn't change the fact of who she was, and what she had done. Still holding his SIG, he grabbed her upper arm with his free hand and dragged her to her feet. "Wh - what are you doing?" Wide brown eyes staring out of a tear-stained face, trying to comprehend. That tiny tug, once again deep within his mind. Mulder shook his head, trying to clear it. "Over on the couch," he said, giving her a little shove and doing his best to sound like a cop. "Move!" She stumbled in that direction, and he followed, hopping awkwardly on his good foot. He grabbed the back of the sofa for support and waited for her to sit, then lowered himself down on the other end. "Now," he said, still holding his gun in a threatening manner. "Tell me what's going on. You're Cindy Reardon, right?" "Yes." She was huddled up on the far end of the sofa, still wide-eyed and sniffling. Mulder felt a pang of guilt at the way he was treating her, but quickly suppressed it. This girl was a ruthless killer, he told himself yet again. "Or you could just call me Eve 9. That's what *they* called me." "Cindy's fine," he said, nodding. "You said Teena's gone crazy. What do you mean?" "What I said." If anything, her eyes got rounder and wider. "She ... she's my sister, Jesus, and I love her and always will. But you don't know ...." "What don't I know?" Mulder felt himself calming as he spoke, almost as if a soothing hand were passing across his brow. Scully's hand, brushing away the upset. "Tell me, Cindy," he prompted. "Tell me what you mean." It was important for him to understand, and it was equally important that he show concern and empathy. She'd been through so much, and she needed to know that somebody cared. The tug in the back of his mind had gotten stronger, but at the same time it seemed less obtrusive. It was almost as if something were moving in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't quite make out what it was. A quick, small thought flitted by, telling him he should be alarmed, but then it was gone. "It started when we escaped," she said. "From the Institute." She cut a nervous glance at him, her gaze flicking from his face to his gun and back to his face. Mulder hesitated, then lowered the weapon, while still keeping a firm grip on it. "But you probably already figured that out. We knew from the beginning how smart you were." "Yeah," Mulder said. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. "Yeah, that was one of my theories." "We escaped," the Eve repeated. "And Teena ... Teena killed one of the guards, but that was okay. We'd agreed that we were getting out, no matter what it took. Kill or be killed. That's what Teena said." She closed her eyes briefly, and shuddered. "You have no idea ... the things they did to us." Yeah, Mulder had some idea. He'd talked to a lot of abductees over the years, and their stories haunted his dreams -- dreams that featured Scully or Samantha in the starring role. And he'd turned this girl over to those people. Her, and her sister. "Go on," he said, his voice steadier than he'd expected it to be. The tugging was now much stronger, really more of a steady pull -- but suddenly he felt a chill wash over him, as if he were seated directly under the air conditioner. His hackles rose, and he shivered. "Can you ... can you put this down?" He glanced down, to see that Cindy's hand now rested on the barrel of his gun. He looked back up at her, and realized that she'd moved over next to him on the sofa. He hadn't noticed that she was moving. Her fingers brushed his. He turned his gaze downwards once again, and watched as she took the SIG from his hand, turned and laid it carefully on the far end of the coffee table. Out of his reach. "There. That's better." She looked back at him and smiled. "They just ... they scare me." She moved closer, pressing her body against his and burying her face against his chest. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt. "N-no." His arm was around her shoulders, and he was suddenly very much aware that she was female, even if she was impossibly young. Far, far too young. His fingers strayed down across her shoulder blades, and he realized that she wasn't wearing a bra -- He felt another blast of cold, dry air, wrapping itself around him, chilling him all the way to the bone. He blinked, his head clearing under its influence. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. He shook himself, and the fog lifted further. What was going on here? What was he doing? "Fox?" He glanced down at Cindy, and blinked. She was looking back up him through her eyelashes. Her face was still round and soft, but no longer innocent. There was adult knowledge in her eyes, breathtaking and erotic. He felt a stirring in his groin, and then a soft caress on his inner thigh. Her hand .... "N-no," he said, trying to push her away. This was wrong, in so many different ways. Not only was it wrong, it was dangerous. This girl, this girl ... she was ... "Yes," she murmured, moving back against him. Her lips touched the base of his neck, and he felt his body responding further. The muscles in his arms quivered, as he fought the urge to pull her close. He closed his eyes. He was losing himself, and a small part deep inside knew it, but he couldn't seem to stop. His cock was painfully hard, and she was stroking it through his jeans, while her lips continued to work on his neck. His own hand was kneading her shoulder, and the other crept forward, seeking her breast -- The blast of cold hit him like a whirlwind, clutching at him with icy fingers and buffeting him back to reality. The pull on his mind -- God, that had to be coming from Cindy, from the Eve -- increased exponentially, and he felt as if he were being torn in two. He was being pulled and pushed and flung about, and the girl was no longer touching him, she was on her knees on the sofa, and she was screaming something, but he couldn't make it out, he couldn't tell what it was or who she was yelling at. He lost his balance, and then he was falling forward, and darkness was rushing up to meet him -- He's standing in the woods, all alone. There's a little bit of fog, but it's not too bad. Not bad enough to really impair his vision. There are dried leaves on the forest floor, and a slight chill in the air, but no breeze to speak of. He looks around, interested but not afraid. He doesn't recognize this place, but somehow he knows that it's safe. He chooses a direction, and begins walking. The leaves crunch loudly under his feet, providing a staccato rhythm in time with his step. The undergrowth is sparse and yielding, and he has no trouble making his way. There are a few low branches, but he finds it easy to duck under them. And before long, the trees thin out, and he comes to a lake. He stands at the edge of the forest for a moment, looking down at the water. It's still and calm, with a light mist rising off it. The shore curves away from him, in a wide, gentle arc, and in the distance he can see a pier. And tied to the pier is a small boat, with someone sitting in it. He sees a flash of red, glinting in the sunlight, and he knows who it is. Scully. He begins walking again, and in a matter of seconds he's striding out onto the wooden planks of the pier, his feet making a pleasant thunking sound with each step he takes. "Hey, Scully," he says, as he reaches the end of the pier. She's sitting quietly in the boat, staring out across the lake. She hasn't moved since he first saw her, and she doesn't respond to his greeting. He squats down and tugs on the rope, making the boat rock a little bit. "Scully?" he says. "You awake." "She's not there, Fox." He turns and looks over his shoulder, and sees Melissa Scully standing behind him. He stands and turns to face her. "She's not there," Melissa repeats, waving her hand at the boat. Mulder glances around, and sure enough, Scully's gone. The boat is empty. Her turns his gaze back to Melissa. "She's on her way to your apartment, and she needs your help." "What do you mean?" "Don't be stupid," his partner's sister says, shaking her head in apparent exasperation. She steps a little closer, and he suddenly feels colder, as if the sun has gone behind a cloud. "I told you, plain as day. She's on her way to your apartment, and she needs you. I just saved your ass, and now you've got to wake up and save hers." He's suddenly lying on his back on the pier. Looking up, he sees Melissa bending over him. The sun is over her left shoulder, and her face is hidden in shadow. "I can't do it, Fox. Dana wouldn't believe I was real. That's why it has to be you." She pauses, and dimples. "That's pretty cool, actually, when you stop to think about it. I don't think Dana's ever believed in anyone the way she believes in you. Now can you do it?" "Yes." Of course he can do it. If Scully needs him, he can do anything. "Good." With great intensity: "Remember. Dana. Your place. Now." She straightens up, and gazes down at him for one more moment. The surface beneath his back changes; he's no longer lying on the splintery wood of the pier. The sky is gone, replaced by an off-white stucco, and out of the corner of his eye he can see something hard and brown. Scully's coffee table. "Now I've got to go, Fox," Melissa says. "I've got to make sure you've got a ride." She winks, and in the next instant, she's gone. Mulder groaned, struggled to a sitting position and looked around. The room looked pretty much as it always did, although it was in a bit of a disarray. The afghan that usually hung over the back of the sofa had slid off onto the floor, and some papers that he'd noticed on the coffee table had fallen to the floor. But his gun was still there, and he leaned forward and grabbed it, holding it close to his chest, as if it were a talisman. The front door was still standing open, and Cindy Reardon was nowhere to be seen. First things first. Scully was in danger, and the quickest way to check on her, and warn her of what he'd discovered, was to call her. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, punched her speed dial -- and got a recorded message. The customer is out of range or has switched off their cell phone. Fuck. Try again, just in case. //The cellular customer you have dialed --// He sat staring at the phone for a few seconds, while fear seeped in around the edges of his mind. Where the hell was she, and why wasn't she answering? Much as she teased him about his own cell, Scully was completely addicted to hers. He couldn't imagine what it would take to get her to switch it off. And where the hell could she have gone so soon that she would already be out of range? Somehow, he struggled to his feet. His ankle was throbbing, and he knew he must have banged it on something when he fell. Steadying himself against the back of the sofa, he made his way along it, then hopped across the short open space to where his crutches lay. He hesitated, then stuck his SIG in the waistband of his jeans, and bent over to pick them up. He spent a couple of minutes searching the apartment, making sure that the Eve was really gone. He'd known as soon as he regained consciousness that she was, but the professional investigator in him forced him to be sure. He then returned to the living room, stepped out into the hall, and closed and locked the door behind him. He slipped the key out of the lock -- Cindy Reardon's key, wherever she'd gotten it from -- and dropped it into his pocket. He then maneuvered on down the hall to the apartment building's front door, and out onto the front stoop -- just as Frohike's van pulled up to the curb. Mulder couldn't help but smile. Melissa had said she was going to find him a ride. He moved on down the steps, and a moment later he was sliding into the passenger seat. "Where to?" the little man asked. He seemed unsurprised at Mulder's sudden appearance. "My place," Mulder said. "Now." "You got it." Frohike threw the car into gear, and pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor. As they careened around the first corner, on their way to the Key Bridge, Mulder pulled out his cell phone and tried it again, hoping against hope that this time she would answer, and that everything would be okay. No such luck. He kept trying, over and over, all the way to Alexandria. ==========END CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE========== =========== Chapter Twenty-two =========== Alexandria, Virginia Monday, August 14, 2000 8:41 p.m. It didn't take Scully very long to figure out where Skinner was going. Once out of his immediate neighborhood he turned west, away from the river. Soon he reached I-395 and headed south, in the direction of Alexandria. The A.D. could have any number of reasons for going to Alexandria, of course. A late movie, a visit to a friend -- hell, he could just be out for a drive. But Scully didn't think so. Her suspicions were already aroused by the day's course of events. Then a few minutes later he exited the Interstate onto King Street in Alexandria, still heading south, and her few remaining doubts were gone. He was on his way to Mulder's. She did her best to stay two or three cars back, while still keeping Skinner's sedan in sight, but it was difficult. Her training at the Academy had assumed that for this sort of operation there would be several units operating in concert, with radio communication to help coordinate their movements. That way no one car would be visible to the suspect for more than a few minutes. Doing it alone, without being spotted, was much harder -- especially since the man she was following had had the same training that she had. Somehow, she managed it. At least, the A.D. showed no signs that he was aware of her presence, as he continued to follow the most direct and obvious route from his apartment to Mulder's. He finally pulled into a vacant parking space a block or so from Mulder's building, giving Scully just enough warning to allow her to turn onto a side street rather than having to drive right past him. She parked her car next to the first empty stretch of curb she came to -- in front of a fire hydrant -- got out of her car, and jogged back to the corner to see what Skinner was doing. Peering around the corner, she saw that her boss had gotten out of his car, and was walking away from her at a brisk pace, in the direction of Mulder's building. She stayed where she was, leaning around the corner and watching him, until he reached the stoop. He trotted up the steps, pulled open the door and disappeared inside. Scully then stepped on around the corner and went after him. During the short drive from Crystal City, she'd spent some time wondering why Skinner had picked now to pay a visit to Mulder's apartment. Mulder, of course, was in College Park, with the Gunmen. Did Skinner know that? Had he chosen to drive over here now, so that he could search the place without her partner's knowledge? But search it for what? The copies they'd made of the Operation Parasite files? She shook her head. That didn't make sense. If Skinner had evidence of what they'd done, and was taking it seriously, he would've shown up with a team of agents and a warrant. If he wanted to handle it less formally, he would call them into his office and ream them out. But just showing up at Mulder's apartment without warning was almost completely out of character. There'd been the one instance, during the Amber Lynn LaPierre case, but that had been exceptional, and hadn't been repeated, no doubt at least partly due to the chilly reception she'd given the A.D. on that occasion. Maybe he wanted to talk to Mulder about something. Not necessarily about those files, but about something else. She'd considered that for a moment or two, then rejected it. Their boss had had all day to talk to either one of them, and had not done so. On the contrary, he'd seemed to be consciously avoiding them, despite the fact that he knew that *they* wanted to talk to *him*. If something had come up since then, she would have expected him to use the phone, and either impart whatever it was that way, or arrange a time and place for a meeting. And he hadn't done so; Scully was sure of *that* much. He hadn't called while she and Mulder were together, and if he'd called Mulder after she left the Gunmen's office, given the current state of their suspicions about Skinner, she was confident that her partner would have notified her. Even if the A.D. had specifically ordered him not to do so. None of this made any sense at all. She took the front steps to Mulder's apartment building two at a time, then eased the door open a crack so she could peek inside. The elevator door was closed. Stepping inside, she saw that the indicator above the elevator revealed it to be just arriving at the fourth floor. Mulder's floor. Scully took the stairs, moving as quickly and as quietly as she could. It seemed to take forever, but at last she reached the fourth floor landing. She paused there for a moment to catch her breath, then opened the door just far enough to allow her to see into the hallway. It was empty. Scully nodded to herself, and stepped out into the hall. She moved down towards Mulder's apartment, avoiding the creaky floorboard in front of number 46. Reaching her goal, she stopped, and cautiously pressed her ear against the door. Voices. There was definitely a conversation in progress, and an unfamiliar female voice was doing most of the talking. She heard Skinner once or twice, briefly, and he didn't sound happy. Unfortunately, they weren't speaking quite loudly enough for her to make out the words. She heard a door opening behind her, and half-turned, to see Mulder's neighbor, Mrs. Ellison, looking out at her, a sour expression on her face. "He's in there, all right," Mrs. Ellison said. "What? Who?" She couldn't possibly mean Mulder. He was in College Park. Even if he'd left just after she did, he couldn't have got here this quickly. "Your boyfriend," the woman snapped. An unpleasant note of satisfaction entered her voice. "He's got a girl in there, too." "You ... you must be mistaken," Scully said, trying to keep her voice down, so the occupants of Mulder's apartment wouldn't hear her. "He's not home tonight." "Maybe that's what he told *you*," Mrs. Ellison said with a nasty little laugh. "But believe me, honey, he's in there. I've been listening to 'em go at it for nearly four hours." She smirked. "And she's a loud one, let me tell you. Even louder than you." Scully flushed, both at the knowledge that this woman had listened in on her and Mulder's lovemaking, and at the unwanted vision that flashed through her mind of Mulder with another woman. He's *not* in there, she reminded herself, and shook her head to chase the image away. But before she could come up with a reply, Mrs. Ellison spoke again. "Take it from me, honey," she said. "Men aren't worth it. They're liars, every last one of 'em." With that, she returned to her apartment, slamming the door behind her. Almost at the same instant, Mulder's door opened, and Scully swung about, to find herself facing an attractive young woman with long, brown hair. She was holding a gun, and there was something familiar about her face -- Jesus. It was Marissa Herman. That is, it was the face that had been on the Monkeywrechers' web page. But the *real* Marissa Herman was in custody. This one, obviously was a fake. And Skinner had apparently known she was here. "Dana!" The other woman's cry of delight sounded genuine, as if an old friend had dropped by for a surprise visit. "How nice! Won't you come in and join us? *Walter* just got here, but we can always find room for one more." And she stepped back from the door, turning so that her weapon covered the entire room, as well as Scully, who was still standing in the doorway. Taking a second look at the stranger, Scully felt a surge of anger, as she realized that the woman was wearing Mulder's Roswell Grays jersey, and apparently nothing else. She knew that the implied intimacy with Mulder was fraudulent, but still she deeply resented the intrusion, and she had an irrational desire to rip the shirt off the other woman. If anyone was going to wear that shirt, it would be Scully! She compressed her lips in annoyance, forcing that thought away. No time for such nonsense. Checking the rest of the room, she saw Assistant Director Skinner standing on the far side, a bemused look on his face. He was handcuffed to the radiator. At least that seemed to settle the question of which side he was on -- although she *still* didn't know why he'd come here in the first place. And -- good God. Marita Covarrubias was curled up at one end of the sofa, looking as if she'd been dragged through a wringer. She was naked. "I told you to come in, Dana," the brown haired woman said, speaking sharply and gesturing with the gun. It was a SIG, of the same model issued by the Bureau, and Scully couldn't keep herself from glancing again at Skinner, who seemed to be a bit more alert than he'd been a moment ago. He caught her gaze and gave a little nod. His service weapon. God alone knew how she'd gotten it away from him. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. But that wasn't important at the moment. What mattered right now was that Scully couldn't count on the A.D. for fire support. At his age, having ridden a desk for the better part of a decade, Scully doubted that he carried a holdout. "Dana, I don't want to shoot one of these people, but I will, if you don't get in here and shut that door. *Now!*" An evil, happy smile curved the woman's lips. "I don't really need *three* play toys, after all." Scully hesitated just a moment longer, long enough for the intruder's eyes to begin to narrow, then did as she was told. She felt the tension rise in the room as the door clicked shut. This situation was bad. It was very bad. But at the moment, she didn't see any opportunity for constructive action. "That's better," the other woman said. "That's much better." Again the disturbing smile, as she gestured with Skinner's SIG. "Now I want you to put your gun on the floor. Slowly and carefully, Dana. I would *hate* to have to shoot you. I've been waiting much too long for this chance." "Waiting for what?" Scully asked, trying to delay the inevitable. She moved away from the door, wanting to position herself so she could keep an eye on both Skinner and the woman. "I don't even know you." That evoked a laugh, an incongruously merry laugh, as if Scully had just told a joke, or made a terribly witty comment in the course of conversation. "Yes, you do, Dana. You've known me for a long time. I'm heartbroken that you don't remember." Scully studied the woman's face again. There *was* something familiar about her -- and not just from that picture on the Monkeywrenchers' page. The almost-memory niggled at the back of her mind, taunting her, never quite coming into view. Having seen the face so recently, as part of the Monkeywrenchers' operation, was confusing her, muddying the older recollections. And then suddenly, she had it. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Eve." At that instant, her cell phone shrilled. Reflexively, she reached for it -- then stopped, her hand poised just above her pocket, as the Eve took a step forward and leveled the gun directly at her heart. "Don't," the other woman said. The phone rang again, and she continued, "Just let it go." A little smirk. "It's probably just a telemarketer, anyway. I'm doing you a favor, Dana." They stood in silence for a few moments, while the phone continued to ring. Damn it, it might be Mulder, or the Gunmen. Whoever it was, if she could just get it open and switched on .... She watched the Eve's face, trying to gauge her intentions. No. She, was paying too much attention, and her features were hard and determined. At last, the shrilling stopped -- only to start up again, a few seconds later. Mulder. It had to be Mulder. Only he would be that insistent. "Oh, for Christ's sake. We're not going to listen to *that* all night. Dana, take it out of your pocket, very slowly, and drop it on the sofa. Put your gun there, too, while you're at it." Skinner must have moved, because suddenly the Eve was directing her attention in his direction. "Not now, Walter. You'll get your turn in a little while." Back to Scully. "Okay, Dana, let's get it done." Again the strange, sultry smile. "The game can't start until you do." With great reluctance, Scully did as she was told. She then backed away from the sofa, and watched as the other woman stepped forward, picked up the cell phone and switched it off. She dropped it back on the couch, then took Scully's SIG, ejected the clip, and put it back down, as well. "There," she said, giving a happy sigh and stepping back again. "Now that's out of the way, we can begin." Scully breathed a sigh of relief; the Eve might be hyperintelligent, but she was inexperienced, and apparently didn't know that a lot of law enforcement officers carry a second weapon, or holdout. Her own was concealed in an ankle holster, tucked under her pant leg, but she wasn't ready to try for it. Not now. Not unless things started looking a lot more grim. The other woman was still watching her closely, and the risk was too great. "The first thing we have to do," the Eve said, walking over to the couch to stand in front of Covarrubias, "is find out who Walter wants the most." She glanced at Scully, an amused look on her face. "That only seems fair, doesn't it, Dana?" She looked at Scully a moment longer, then turned back to Covarrubias, who had slumped down on the sofa, her chin resting against her chest, her eyes closed. The Eve clucked her tongue, grabbed Covarrubias' hair with her free hand, and yanked her back up to a sitting position. Covarrubias' eyes blinked open, but she didn't say anything. "No sleeping!" she said, a sing-songy note to her voice. "Not yet. Can't go to sleep until the party's over." She pushed the woman back, so that she was leaning against the arm of the sofa, waited to make sure she wasn't going to fall over again, then nodded and turned towards Skinner. "What do you think, Walter? She's pretty, isn't she? I admit that she's not very peppy -- not at the moment. But we can fix that." Back to Covarrubias. "Can't we?" If Scully had not seen what happened next, she would never have believed it. As it was, she had difficulty accepting the testimony of her own eyes. The Eve bent over Covarrubias and brushed her lips across the top of her head, as if she were a child. She then made eye contact, and began caressing the woman's cheek, slowly and steadily, allowing the fingers of her free hand to trail from her brow, slowly down her cheekbone to her jaw. With each stroke her hand dipped a little lower. The jaw ... the neck ... the hollow of the throat .... And Covarrubias began to respond -- at least, her body did. Her breathing deepened and quickened, and her cheeks became flushed. Her eyelids drooped, but this time it was pretty clearly from arousal rather than weariness. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue appeared -- and Scully couldn't keep herself from noticing that the woman's nipples had crinkled and tightened. "There, you see?" the Eve said. "She just needed a little encouragement." She turned and studied Scully for a moment, then started to walk towards her. Scully automatically backed up, until she bumped against the wall. The other woman continued moving forward, finally coming to a stop less than a foot away. She was so close, Scully could feel the heat radiating off her body. She was also suddenly aware of an eerie, uncomfortable feeling, a sort of tingling that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. It felt like ... like a tugging, deep within her mind. As if something -- or someone -- had reached inside of her and was gently pulling on ... well, on her soul. She shivered at the phantom sensation, then blinked and shook her head, trying to get rid of it, but to no avail. And she was starting to become sexually aroused. There was a familiar buzzing warmth low in her abdomen, and her skin was sensitive and ready for a lover's touch. She felt something pressing against her; forcing herself to focus, she realized that the Eve had moved even closer, until now their bodies were rubbing together, like two cats. Dear God, they were rubbing their bodies *together*. Summoning all her willpower, Scully forced herself to stop -- but she couldn't back away, because of the wall behind her, and she couldn't prevent the other woman from continuing her side of the encounter. It was time to do something; it was time to put a stop to this. The Eve was close, so very close; maybe now her guard had dropped sufficiently that Scully could get her gun -- "Ah, ah, ah," the other woman said. She backed away a step or two, bringing the weapon up so that once again it was pointed at Scully's heart. "Not nice, Dana. Not nice at all. I was trying to be nice to you; I was making you feel pretty good, and there's no point in denying it, because I *know* I was. But you just couldn't let it happen. You just couldn't accept it." She shook her head in mock sadness. "I guess we'll have to try something else." Again that strange, disturbing smile. "I know. I think I'll let you and Walter play for a while." Scully looked over at Skinner, and saw that he was watching, and probably had been watching the entire scene. She felt herself flushing with embarrassment, but knew that he had little choice. If they were to have any chance at all, they both had to be aware of everything that was going on, so they could be ready to take advantage of any opportunity to fight back, or escape. The Eve grabbed her arm, and shoved her roughly in Skinner's direction. Scully stumbled, almost losing her balance, but managed not to fall. She felt another shove on the small of her back, and for an instant she considered letting herself fall to the floor. It would give her an opportunity to go for her hold out, and perhaps get them all out of trouble. But no; it was still too risky. The other woman already had her own weapon drawn and ready. The likelihood that Scully could reach her gun, draw it, roll onto her back, find the target and fire -- all before her opponent put a bullet into *her* -- was the next best thing to nonexistent. Best to wait, and look for a better opportunity. A few seconds later she was wondering if maybe she'd made a critical error. With quick efficiency, the Eve forced her right up against the A.D., pushed one of her arms up over his shoulder and the other around under his armpit. Scully felt the woman fumbling with her holster, still clipped to her belt behind her right hip, and realized what she was doing when she heard her handcuffs clanking together. In the next instant, their captor had moved around behind Skinner, and Scully's wrists were being manacled together. It would be awkward, but not impossible, for the two of them to get free of each other. Since Scully's arm passed under the arm that was handcuffed to the radiator, and her other arm was looped up over his shoulder, it would be necessary for her to drop to the floor. The A.D. could then step out of her embrace, and she, at least, would be free to move about. Of course, her wrists would still be cuffed together -- "Now I'm going to need your cooperation, Walter," their captor said. Scully couldn't see the woman from this position, but it wasn't necessary, because she'd just figured out what was going to happen next. "Give me your free hand." Skinner glanced down at Scully, and spoke his first words since she'd entered the apartment. "Agent Scully, I --" "Give me your hand, Walter!" The Eve's voice was sharp and unyielding, but still the A.D. did not respond. He simply continued staring down at Scully, his face an unreadable mask. "Walter!" "I think ... I think you'd better do what she says, sir," Scully said, keeping her voice as level as she could. Obedience was the standard doctrine for the victims in a hostage situation, and Skinner knew it as well as she did. Of course, that doctrine assumed that the person holding you had some reason to let you live, and perhaps eventually release you. In this case there was no such assurance. In fact, the M.O. for these killings left little room for doubt. This game, whatever it was, was simply the build up to murder. Unfortunately, Scully could see no alternative to cooperation. In their current situation, any open resistance would simply hasten their deaths. Their only option was to stall as best they could, and hope that Mulder -- or somebody -- would realize that something was wrong, and arrive in time to save them. Skinner had apparently reached the same conclusion, because the next thing Scully knew he was passing his free arm back over her shoulder, and standing passive and unprotesting while the Eve unfastened him from the radiator and manacled his wrists together. Now the two of them were truly bound together. With the over-and-under arrangement of their arms, it was impossible for them to separate without first unlocking the handcuffs. "There," the other woman said. "That's so much better." She moved around so they both could see her, choosing a position that allowed her to keep an eye on Covarrubias. Not that there seemed to be much of a threat from *that* quarter, Scully thought. The Consortium woman seemed completely exhausted -- and Scully had a horrible feeling she knew why. Mrs. Ellison had said she'd been listening to it for hours. The good Lord alone knew how, but *somehow*, the Eve had been able to compel Covarrubias to perform sexually. Scully shuddered, as she remembered her own inexplicably intense response to the Eve's touch, a few moments ago. And once again she felt that tingling, centered low in her abdomen. It was warm and friendly and seemed to be swelling by the second, filling her body and sensitizing her every nerve ending. She felt something touch her hip, and knew it was the Eve. She knew she should resist, she knew she should try to pull away, but she couldn't. It felt so good, so erotic, and most of her wanted more, more more, even as a small part of her was revolted by the intrusion. She looked up at Skinner, trying to distract herself from what was happening to her body -- only to see the same mix of anger and desire in his eyes that she knew must exist in her own. He was feeling it, too, and he was fighting it, and he was losing the battle. Even as the thought was forming in her mind, his hips jerked sharply forward, and she felt his erection pressing against her belly. She tried to stop herself from responding, but she couldn't, and the next thing she knew she was rising on her toes and grinding herself against him. The tugging in her mind was now a constant pressure, pushing her forward, encouraging her, heightening her arousal. She felt the Eve's hands gliding across her body, touching her back, her hips, her ass, and she was peripherally aware that the same thing was happening to Skinner. She looked up at him again, and the desire had taken over almost completely, making his face hard and wanton. She had a sudden, powerful vision of the A.D. hovering over her, bare skin to bare skin, his face twisted in an agony of pleasure as he penetrated her body -- The front door to the apartment slammed open, shocking Scully back to reality. Her head jerked around, seeking the source of the noise -- and her jaw dropped open in surprise. There was another Eve standing in the doorway, identical to the first. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, her chest heaving with exertion. For a few seconds she bent over, hands resting on her knees, gasping for breath, while everyone in the room stared at her in stunned silence. At last she seemed to get her breathing under control and straightened up. Her features were twisted in anger; even through her own haze of arousal Scully could make that out. But as the woman's gaze flicked around the room, taking in the tableau before her, her expression changed. She smiled. ==========END CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO========== =========== Chapter Twenty-three =========== Southbound on Interstate 395 Arlington, Virginia Monday, August 14, 2001 9:05 p.m. "So how did you know to come back for me?" Mulder asked. He'd been compulsively hitting Scully's speed dial ever since leaving her apartment. Now he paused and shot a look at Frohike, hunched over the steering wheel of the van. "Radio," the little man said, staring ahead at the traffic. He pulled the wheel suddenly to the left, squeezing the van into an opening between two other cars that Mulder wouldn't have dared try for, and pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. "What do you mean?" "Fucker hasn't worked for over a year," Frohike replied, tapping a fingertip on the dashboard. "I keep meaning to fix it, but you know how it is." He glanced at Mulder, waited for his nod, then looked back at the highway. "Anyway, I stopped for gas at that convenience store a couple blocks over from Agent Scully's apartment, and when I started Old Betsy up again -- voila! The radio started playing." Mulder shook his head in puzzlement. "But --" "'Get back!'" his friend sang, his voice a surprisingly pleasant baritone. "'Get back! Get back to where you once belonged!'" He shrugged, and his tone returned to normal. "That's what was playing and ... well ... somehow, I knew it was for me. So I came back." He looked over at Mulder again. "How about you? How'd you happen to come looking for a taxi at just that moment? And why are we going to your place?" "Uh ... Melissa Scully came to me in a dream." Frohike nodded, without cracking a smile, and Mulder found himself filling in the rest of the details, stopping twice to try Scully's speed dial again, without success. At last he came to the end of the story, just as his friend was moving to the right to take the King Street exit into Alexandria. "Well, we'll be there in a few more minutes," was his only comment. And in fact, it wasn't very long at all before they were pulling up outside Mulder's apartment building, double parking next to a green Chevette. Frohike switched off the engine, then leaned down and fumbled for something beneath the driver's seat. A second later he straightened up again, a .45 automatic in his hand. Mulder raised his eyebrows. His three friends never seemed to run out of surprises. "I liberated it when I got out of the Navy," the little man explained. "Shore Patrol. And I'm out alone at night fairly often. Never know when it might come in handy. Like tonight." The two men got out of the van, Mulder cursing more than ever his inability to function without crutches. He was in such a hurry that he nearly lost his balance going up the front steps, but Frohike grabbed his elbow and steadied him. A moment later, they were inside. "I think we better take the elevator," Frohike commented, punching the call button. Mulder nodded. There was a risk that Teena Simmons, if she really was up there, might hear them coming, but he couldn't imagine trying to climb four flights of stairs with his injured ankle. Besides, the elevator could just as well be bringing one of his neighbors up to their apartment. The ride up to four seemed to take forever. Mulder took advantage of the delay to draw his SIG and check the action. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frohike doing the same with his own weapon. Please, God, let this all be unnecessary. At last the elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and they stepped out into the hall. Immediately, Mulder saw that the door to his apartment was standing open. The living room lights were on, and several voices could be heard coming from inside, none of them loud enough that he could make out the words, followed by high-pitched feminine laughter. He glanced at his friend, and nodded once again. The two of them moved over against the near wall and made their way down the hallway as quietly as they could manage, with Mulder in the lead. As they reached the door Mulder heard another peel of laughter. He hesitated, then stepped through the door, moving to the right and bringing his weapon to the ready. Frohike followed, taking the left. And Mulder froze, his jaw dropping in shock as he took in the scene before him. Marita Covarrubias was huddled up on the couch, naked, looking like her world had come to an end, but that was not what held his attention. Scully and Skinner were standing on the other side of the room, locked in an intimate embrace. Their bodies were grinding against each other, and Scully's head was thrown back, her eyes closed as the A.D.'s mouth worked at the side of her neck. The expression on her face was one that Mulder had come to know well in the past few months -- an expression of passion and desire. And *both* of the Eves were there, as well, laughing and running their hands over the couple that was writhing in front of them. One of them -- presumably Teena Simmons, since she was wearing Mulder's baseball jersey, while the other wore the black jeans and t-shirt he'd last seen on Cindy Reardon -- was also holding a gun that looked suspiciously like a Bureau service weapon. This isn't real, he told himself, even as his stomach was clenching at the sight. It wasn't consensual. This was a rape in progress, and Skinner and Scully were both victims. He had to stop it. Now. He extended his SIG, letting his crutches fall away and taking aim at the woman holding the gun, Teena Simmons. "Federal agent! *Freeze!*" For a few eternal seconds, nobody moved -- nobody but Skinner and Scully, who continued their erotic assault on each other. Then the two Eves turned slowly to face Mulder and Frohike. For an instant, he actually thought they were going to surrender. But then Teena Simmons acted, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. Before Mulder had a chance to respond, she'd turned again and wrapped one arm around Scully's neck, bringing her gun up to point at the base of Scully's neck. "I could break her neck," Teena commented, a happy smile spreading across her face, as she tightened her grip on Scully a little, apparently for emphasis. "I could break her neck, and I could do it so fast there wouldn't be anything you could do to stop me." She trailed the barrel of her weapon along Scully's cheek. "Or I could just shoot her. Which would you prefer?" "If you kill her, you won't survive her by more than a second," Mulder said. He was amazed at how calm his own voice sounded. Deep inside, something was screaming, but he was doing his best to ignore it. "You think I care if you kill me?" the girl answered, a sneer on her face. "You think it matters to me if I keep on living? You think I would miss the pathetic, miserable life I've had? The one *you* helped give me?" "Yes, I do," he said. The words were out before he knew he was going to say them. It was the profiler within him speaking, he realized. The profiler knew this woman, and knew the answer to her question. "I think you're absolutely fucking terrified," he went on, hopping a step closer on his good foot. He saw Teena's eyes widen, and knew his words had hit home. "I think all you've got is your hate, your anger," he went on. He shuffled forward another step, and was peripherally aware of Frohike moving to the side, so as to maintain a clear shot at Cindy Reardon. "I think you literally cannot bear the thought of your own non-existence. I think you've been killing these people because you hate them, and because expressing that hate in concrete terms is the only way you can reassure yourself that you're really still alive." One more awkward step. He was only three or four feet from her now. He couldn't possibly miss. "Now put down the fucking gun and place your hands behind your head, before I blow it apart." For a few seconds it all seemed to hang in the balance. Teena's gun wavered, she licked her lips, and Mulder actually saw tears forming in her eyes. Careful, he warned himself. These girls were master manipulators, and he was determined not to be taken in. He knew what it felt like when they started to play their head games, and he was determined to pull the trigger the instant he felt that gentle tugging at the corners of his mind. There was a sudden flash of motion coming from the direction of the sofa. Mulder turned his head, to see Marita surging to her feet, a look of rage and despair on her face. Before he could do or say anything, she had charged the small group by the radiator, knocking Cindy to one side and throwing a body block at Teena, wrapping her arms around the girl's waist and dragging her to the floor. Teena's weapon went flying, but before Mulder could do more than cringe it also hit the floor. The weapon fired, and an instant later the fish tank shattered under the impact of the bullet, sending a cataract of glass and water showering down over the combatants. Cindy had regained her balance, pushing off from the wall and apparently taking in the situation with one feral, calculating glance. She then turned and ran for the door, moving faster than Mulder would have guessed possible, even allowing for the genetic engineering that had gone into her makeup. Frohike was surprised, as well, and had time to get off only one shot -- that apparently missed -- before she was by him and out the door. The struggle on the floor had already come to a quick conclusion. Teena had shoved Marita off her and was scrambling to her feet. She bared her teeth at Mulder, gave a ferocious growl, and followed her sister. Frohike went after her. Mulder hesitated, knowing he had to go with his friend and provide backup. But he didn't want to leave Scully and Skinner unprotected, either. He turned to them, to see them staring back, bleary confused looks on their faces. Looking a little closer, he saw something he hadn't noticed before -- they were handcuffed together, their arms intertwined so as to prevent them from getting free of each other. He fumbled in his pocket and found his key ring, which included a handcuff key. Pulling it out, he hurriedly unfastened Scully's wrists, then handed the keys to her. "Turn him loose," he said. A nod towards Marita, who now lay on the floor, sobbing. "And keep an eye on her." Scully nodded in acknowledgement, obviously still woozy, and Mulder turned and made his way clumsily across the room to his crutches. He bent over and retrieved them, then went after Frohike and the Eves. A glance at the elevator showed that it was still on the fourth floor. They must have taken the stairs. He paused in the stairwell landing, trying to decide which way they'd gone. Down was the obvious direction of course. Down meant the street, and escape. But up could also be a good diversion. Go upstairs and hide, wait for the pursuit to lose itself in the streets and alleys below. He chewed his lip, unable to decide -- until the thunk of a door closing, coming from above, made his decision for him. Later, Mulder would never quite be able to remember how he made it up those two flights of stairs. The steps were old, and not well cared for, and the rises were high and the runs narrow. On top of it all, the building was not air conditioned, and sweat was running down his face and arms, making the grips on the crutches slick and hard to hold onto. Several times he stumbled, and once he came within a hair's breadth of losing his balance and falling all the way down a flight of stairs. Only the knowledge that the Eves had come this way, and that Frohike was in pursuit and probably needed help, kept him going. His progress was delayed further by the need to stop on each floor and make sure no one was lurking there. But on five and six the hallways were empty, and the elevator still waited patiently on four. That left the roof. Mulder gritted his teeth, and resumed climbing. At last, he made it to the top. The door to the roof was normally padlocked shut. Now, however, it had been ripped from its hasp, the metal torn and bent. The Eves, he remembered, were exceptionally strong -- inhumanly strong, in the literal sense of the phrase. They'd been bred specifically for that quality, among others. A shiver passed down his spine, but he refused to let himself dwell on it. No time, no time. He pulled the door open, and stepped out onto the roof. For a few seconds, all he saw was darkness. Then his eyes adjusted to the decreased light, and he was able to make things out. Odd, irregular shapes indicating the presence of the elevator superstructure, television and radio antennae, the chimney from the basement furnace .... There they were, over by the edge of the building. One of the Eves -- Teena, based on the fact that she was wearing Mulder's jersey -- stood by the parapet, with a crumpled form that had to be Frohike lying on the rooftop a few yards away, not moving. The other Eve, Cindy ... Jesus God. She was dangling off the edge of the building, with only her sister's grip on her wrist and hair keeping her from falling to the street, six storeys below. "Stay back!" Teena shouted, as Mulder moved forward to stand over Frohike's silent, unmoving form. "Stay away from me, or I swear to God I'll drop her!" It was a fraud. A trick. It had to be. Somehow, in the few seconds they'd been alone on the roof, the girls had worked this out as a strategy to get their pursuers to lower their guard. He wasn't going to do it; he wasn't going to cooperate. He was through with -- "Nooo!" Cindy shrieked, as her sister yanked on her hair, pushing her further out from the building. Her cry of pain dragged Mulder away from his thoughts, and he watched helplessly as one of the Eves continued to torment the other. It was all happening so fast, and Frohike was still just lying there. He could be dying, he could already be dead, and there was no time even to check. He had to do something, and it had to be quick. He licked his lips, then called out to the girls, "Just bring her back to the edge, Teena. You're not fooling anyone with this. We know what you are. We know what you're capable of." "Fox, please!" It was Cindy who answered, fear and desperation plain in her voice. "Fox, she's not pretending. I told you -- she's the crazy one. She's the one who hurt your friend. I'm the one they were able to cure!" Cindy gave another savage yank on her hair. "*Please,* Fox! You've got to believe me!" "No," Mulder replied, shaking his head. "No, I don't ... I don't believe you." But his certainty was already ebbing, and once again he felt the insidious tugging on the corners of his mind. He knew what was causing that, and he knew that he'd decided to do something if it happened again. But what was it? What had he decided to do? "Please ...." Cindy's voice again, trailing off to nothing more than a whimper. Mulder shook himself, trying to pierce the fog that seemed to be enshrouding his brain. He was aware of Frohike saying something, but that didn't seem to be important, and the little man's words just flowed around him, leaving nothing behind but an impression of urgency ... and then that was gone, as well. He was alone on the roof. Alone with Cindy. God, she needed him. She needed his help. The hand holding the gun fell to his side; he shifted his weight on his crutches, ready to move forward -- A blast of cold air hit him square in the face, followed by another, and another. Mulder staggered, and blinked, his mind clearing just a bit. He was on the roof; yes, he remembered that. He was on the roof, alone with the Eves, and Frohike was hurt, and Scully and Skinner were downstairs, and so was Marita. But the fog hovered around him clouding his thoughts and his perceptions. Teena was still by the parapet; he was sure of that much. She still held Cindy by her wrist and hair, and dear God she was going to drop her, and it was such a long, long way down. He raised his gun, puzzled at its presence in his hand, and looked at it. He was supposed to do something; he'd promised himself he would do something if he felt this way. He'd promised himself. He'd promised -- //For God's sake, Fox! Shoot her!// Another freezing blast of air, stronger and colder than any he'd felt so far. For an instant his mind cleared completely, and he knew who he was, where he was, and why. He didn't pause for thought, didn't give himself time for second thoughts. He just raised his gun, centered the sites on Teena, and fired. For a few seconds Teena Simmons just stood there, a stunned look on her face, as blood welled up from the wound he'd put in her shoulder. Suddenly, Mulder's entire body shuddered as a terrible blast of rage and anger and hatred tore through his mind. Teena swayed a little, stumbled forward a step, and then back ... and finally gave a little shriek as she lost her footing and toppled backwards over the parapet. Cindy Reardon went with her. ==========END CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE========== =========== Chapter Twenty-four =========== Inova Alexandria Hospital Alexandria, Virginia Monday, August 14, 2000 11:23 p.m. Mulder made his way down the hallway, in the direction of the exam room where he'd last seen Scully. The entire group had been brought to the E.R. more than an hour and a half ago, with the Alexandria police close on their heels. Skinner was dealing with them now, in a vacant conference room. Detective Rogers was in charge of the investigation, and he was not a happy camper, to put it mildly. Let the A.D. take care of it, Mulder thought. That's why he gets the big bucks. And in fact, not *everyone* was here. Marita Covarrubias had been gone from the apartment by the time Mulder returned from the roof. And the Eves .... He shook his head and let the thought trail away, then pushed open the door to the treatment room and stepped inside. Scully was sitting on the edge of the exam table, her hands resting on her knees, her head bowed. She looked up when she heard the door open, and gave him a smile that seemed more than a little forced. "Hey," he said. He let the door swing shut and moved over to stand in front of her. "How're you doing?" "If I say 'fine', you'll probably shoot me," she replied. She sighed, and went on, "Honestly ... I'm not doing very well." Mulder blinked in surprise at her forthright answer, but before he could think of a response, she reached out and touched his hand. "But I'm better now that you're here." "That's good." He shifted his weight, trying to think of something to say. Finally, he just took her hand in his and shook his head in frustration. "It's okay, Mulder," she said. Again that crooked, forced smile. "After all, what's one more violation, after all I've been through?" "You know that's not what I think." "I know. I'm sorry." She dropped her gaze and looked at their joined hands for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked back up at him. "So. How are Frohike and Skinner?" "Well, at the risk of reinforcing one of your bad habits -- they're fine." Scully chuckled, and this time it seemed to Mulder that it was more real. More genuine. "Absolutely nothing wrong with Skinner, and Frohike just got shaken up a bit. He says 'the babe in the baseball jersey' put his lights out with one punch." Mulder smirked. "He wants to sign her up to model for First Person Shooter II." "I'm glad they're okay." Pause. "What about the Eves? Did they find them?" "No," Mulder replied, shaking his head. "The alley where they fell was empty, except for a little blood. The police are canvassing the neighborhood, but ...." He let his voice trail off, and shrugged. "But they're not going to find them," Scully said, finishing the sentence for him. He nodded reluctantly, and she went on, "Mulder, no one could have survived that fall. Six stories -- that's more than sixty feet, with hard pavement at the bottom. At the very least, they should both be in traction. It is absolutely impossible for a human being to fall that far, then just get up and walk away." "I agree," Mulder said, and Scully looked up at him in apparent surprise. "I could cite Harry Weems, but we both know that was a special case." She nodded, and he went on, "But we also both know what was involved *here*. You said no *human being* could fall that far, and live -- and I agree. But those girls are not human beings. They've been genetically engineered for speed and strength and God knows what. And that's how they survived." "Then they're still out there somewhere. They're still a threat." "Yes, they're still out there. As to being a threat to us -- I'm not sure." She looked up at him, question marks in her eyes. He explained, "We don't really belong on their victim list. I mean, yes -- we turned them over to the Institute, and we did it pretty much knowing what was going to happen to them. We'd been there, we'd seen Eve 7 and how she was being treated. So from that perspective, we're guilty as hell." "But?" "But," he agreed, nodding. "We just *don't fit* the victim profile. We aren't Consortium people, and we most decidedly aren't Consortium scientists. I think their hit list was made up of people who had been directly involved in the experiments that were conducted on them. I think we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, they spotted us, remembered, and decided we were a good target of opportunity." "They're still out there," Scully pointed out. "We're still targets. And as you say, we're guilty." "Yes, we're still targets," Mulder said. "But now the opportunity's gone. Now we know they're out there, and we have a clue about how to fight them. I think ... hell, I didn't get very far with my profile, but I think they'll move on, at least for now, and take care of the rest of their list. Maybe later, when that's done, they'll come back and take another run at us. Or maybe not. Maybe by then they'll have bigger and better things in mind." "But meanwhile, they're still out there. And if the Watergate's an example of their mind set --" "I know," he said. "And believe me, it bothers me a lot. But we have no more leads. Marita's gone, and we've got everything that Skinner knows. All we can do now is throw out the net, get the boys looking, start some inquiries ... and wait." "That doesn't sound very promising." "No, it doesn't. We had our opportunity, and we blew it. At least, until the next time." Before Scully had a chance to reply, the door opened. Mulder turned, to see A.D. Skinner standing there, an uncertain expression on his face. "May I come in?" Mulder felt his partner stiffen a little, but she nodded. Skinner ducked his own head in response, stepped into the room and closed the door. "Agents, I'm gratified to see that neither of you were seriously injured. The same for your friend." Scully nodded again, but didn't speak. She wasn't meeting the A.D.'s gaze, and Mulder could practically feel the tension radiating off of her. He decided he'd better step in to fill the gap. "We both appreciate that, sir," he said. "And we're also glad that you're okay, too." "Yes." Skinner shifted his weight, as if he were unsure of himself -- and Mulder suddenly realized that their boss was just as uncomfortable with the situation as Scully was. The A.D. went on, "I ... uh ... Agent Scully, about what happened --" "If it's okay, sir, I'd prefer not to talk about it." Still not looking at him. Skinner paused, and Mulder could see the frustration in his expression. But after a moment, he nodded, and said, "That's fine, Agent Scully, and I'll respect your wishes on that. But I did want to say one thing. It was never my intention to ... to take advantage of you." "I understand that, sir." "Good." He stood there for another awkward moment, staring at Scully, as if he were trying to look inside her head and discern her thoughts. Mulder wished him luck. *He'd* been polishing that particular skill for years, without a lot of success. Finally, the other man nodded again, and said, "I need to clear the air about something else. I withheld some information from you that you were entitled to have. At the same time, the two of you were less than forthcoming about the status of your investigation, particularly with regard to the body that was found in Agent Mulder's apartment last week. We can talk about it tomorrow."" He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was obviously tired, but his body language seemed to be easing up, now that he was back in the familiar role of their supervisor. Scully, on the other hand, was still staring straight ahead, refusing to look at the man. "We also need to discuss Agent Griggs and his complaints," the A.D. went on. "The email from that EMT will be helpful, and I don't think Griggs will get any satisfaction from the OPR, but that doesn't excuse us from going through the motions. I'll expect to see both of you in my office at ten tomorrow morning to outline our strategy -- as well as to discuss these other issues." Another pause, another glance at Scully. Then a final nod of the head, before he turned and left the room. Mulder waited a couple of minutes after Skinner had left, wanting to see if Scully was going to volunteer anything on her own. When it became clear that she wasn't, and that she was now also refusing to meet *his* gaze, he cleared his throat. "Scully? You know that what happened tonight wasn't his fault, right?" "Yes." She continued to sit on the edge of the table, staring at her hands, which were now clenched tightly in her lap. "And you know it wasn't *your* fault, either, don't you?" This time there was a pause of several seconds. At last she sighed, and said, "Yes. Yes, I think I know that. But ...." She shook her head in obvious frustration. "Mulder ...." "Go on, Scully," he said, after another lengthy silence. "You know you can tell me anything." She nodded, and swallowed. Then, in a very low voice: "The thing is, I was enjoying it." "I know." Mulder nodded, and reached out and touched her chin, turning her face up so they could look at each other. "Scully, I know you were enjoying it. You think *I* wasn't enjoying it, when Cindy was crawling all over me back at your place? That's how it works. They ... they put these feelings in your mind, and somehow they block out everything else. *Everything* else. It's impossible to resist, and you don't need to feel guilty about it." "I don't believe in things like that," she replied. "After all these years, and everything we've seen, you'd think ... but I don't. Besides, *you* were able to resist. If you could, then I should have been able to." "I had help," he answered. She cocked her head in puzzlement. This was the one detail he hadn't shared with her yet, because he wasn't sure how she would react. "I had help," he repeated. "From your sister." "From Missy?" Scully frowned and shook her head. "I don't understand." "She ... she saved me, Scully. I was all wrapped up in this fantasy compulsion that Cindy threw at me. I was ready to screw her, right there on your sofa. But your sister ... Melissa stepped in and saved me." "Mulder --" "You remember those dreams I had, right?" he asked, wanting to get the story out before she could start setting up objections in her mind. "Well, I don't think they were dreams. I think they were real. I think Melissa was trying to warn me about what was going on. And then tonight, when I was at your place, I *saw* her, and later on, up on the roof, I heard her. She saved me, Scully." "Mulder, you said yourself you were having dreams --" "I wasn't dreaming tonight," he insisted. "She was *there* Scully. I told you -- I saw her. And then she said she was going to find me a ride, and I went outside, and Frohike was there, waiting." He gave a quick synopsis of the incident with the radio. "It was her, Scully. It was Melissa. She did all of it. And it's because of her that we're both still alive. Because she cares about you. About us." Scully dropped her gaze to her hands again, and was silent for a long minute. Mulder could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. At last, she said, "I heard her once, too." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You did?" "Yes. At Christmas time. You know -- the time with Emily." She paused, then added, "That's how I found her. Missy told me." She looked back up at him, and there were unshed tears in her eyes. "But assuming for the moment that it's true, why did she come to you this time? Why didn't *I* see her?" "She said you wouldn't believe in her," Mulder answered, hoping that was the right thing to say. He added, feeling a little uncomfortable, as if he were banging his own drum, "But she said you *do* believe in *me*." "Well, she got that much right." One tear escaped, to trickle down her cheek, but now she was smiling. "Mulder, I don't know whether I believe what you just told me. But I do know one thing." She reached up and touched his cheek, then slid her hand around to the back of his head, pulling him down so that she could kiss him. The kiss went on for quite a while, soft and loving, and very, very sensuous. Mulder felt as if he were falling into her. He was awash with warmth and emotion, and he never wanted to climb back out. At last, Scully broke the kiss -- but she didn't pull back very far. Her hand still cupped the back of his head, and he could still feel her breath, warm and moist against his cheek. "I love you," she said. ==========END CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR========== =========== Epilogue =========== Northbound on U.S. Highway 1 Near Woodbridge, Virginia Tuesday, August 15, 2000 12:03 a.m. The stop in Fredericksburg had been a mistake. Jared was willing to admit that, at least to himself. The problem was going to be telling Mary Beth about it. Somehow, he was going to have to explain to her that he'd lost $150 in a dice game. He knew better than to let himself get picked up like that. He knew that the kind of guys who hung out in dives like that were crooked. He just never seemed to be able to resist. He was weak, and that's all there was to it. And yep, Mary Beth was going to be pissed. No doubt about that at all. Well, he'd think of something to tell her. He always did. In the meantime, he had more than 200 miles yet to go. Call it another four or five hours on the road, since the traffic would be light at this time of night. With any luck at all, and as long as he made no more stops, he'd be past Philly before the morning rush hour started. Jared was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he almost didn't see the hitchhiker. His headlights flashed on something white, and he realized it was someone short, wearing a t-shirt. He considered driving on by -- God knew that picking up hitchers was another one of his bad habits, from Mary Beth's point of view -- but even as the thought was forming, he found himself tromping on the break. He still had a long drive ahead of him, and he could use some company to help him stay awake. As soon as she opened the passenger door, he knew he'd hit the jackpot. She was young, but not too young -- late teens, in his estimation. She had long brown hair, and a round, innocent-looking face, and her body filled out her t-shirt and black jeans very nicely, thank you very much. Hello, mama. "Do you mind giving me and my sister a lift?" she asked. Her voice scared and anxious. "We're trying to get north." Two of them, huh? Better and better. At the very least, this would fuel his fantasy life for months. And maybe if he got *really* lucky-- "Sure, hop in." He waited while the girl turned and motioned to someone else, standing a few yards back from the side of the road. The other one came forward, and Jared's eyes widened in surprise and delight. Twins? No shit? They sure looked like it. And this second one ... she was wearing some sort of baseball jersey, and as far as he could tell not very damn much else. She *had* to have shorts on under it, right? The girls climbed into the front seat, again to his delight. The dice may not have fallen his way in Fredericksburg, but things were looking up now. He did notice, however, that the one in the baseball jersey seemed a little stiff as she moved, and once she gasped in pain. "You okay, miss?" he asked, as he threw the car into gear and accelerated back onto the highway. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said. She gave a little smile. "We had to climb a fence a few miles back, and I fell and hurt my shoulder. But I'm pretty sure it's just a sprain." "Well I'm sure sorry to hear that," he said, just to keep the conversation going. "Where are ya from?" "Out west," said the one in the t-shirt. She was sitting next to him, while the one in the baseball jersey sat by the door. "I'm Cindy, by the way, and my sister is Teena. And we're very grateful that you stopped for us." "No trouble," he assured them. "I do a lot of driving, and I enjoy some company along the way." "Still, it's very kind of you," the girl insisted. She laid her hand on his thigh and stroked it with her fingers. "And we can be very appreciative when someone is kind to us." Jared's cock had been on standby ever since the door opened and he got his first look at Cindy. Now it sprang fully to life, as her hand and her words combined to send wonderful thoughts skittering through his mind. His entire body was tingling, and where he'd been tired and worried a few minutes ago, now he was full of life and energy. "Appreciation is good," he said. He couldn't resist looking at the girl, to make sure he was reading her right. Not that there could be much chance of misunderstanding, the way her hand kept creeping up the inside of his thigh. And nope, there was no mistaking the meaning of that smile, either. "We think so," Cindy said. She moved closer to him on the seat, and after a moment's hesitation he slipped his arm around her shoulders. There wasn't much traffic to contend with, not at this hour. He could drive one handed easily enough. Her fingers brushed his cock, and he barely managed to suppress a moan. He glanced across at the other girl, Teena, and saw that she was leaning against the door, her legs slightly open, with one of her hands hidden down between her thighs, underneath the tail of the shirt she was wearing. She noticed him looking at her, and she smiled and licked her lips. "So will you be nice to us?" the girl next to him asked. She giggled, and went on, "Will you take us with you all the way to Allentown? We know some people there, and want to get back in touch." She gave his cock a gentle squeeze. "But before you drop us off we really would like to show you our appreciation." "Honey," he said, with a happy chuckle, "I always take all the appreciation I can get." Something occurred to him, and he looked at her again, amusement filtering through his arousal. "Say, how'd you know I'm going to Allentown?" This time both girls smiled and giggled, and Jared couldn't help but laugh along with them. The tingling in his body was stronger now. He felt good. He felt really, really good. He felt so good that he almost forgot that he'd asked them a question. But then they answered it anyway, with knowing smiles that sent shivers of anticipation jolting up his spine. "We just knew." ==========THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY==========