"I have often thought upon death, and I find it the least of 
all evils."

--Sir Francis Bacon, 1835


Lesser Evils, part one

Fox Mulder circled the block seventeen times before he 
finally found the courage to stop the car in front of her 
apartment.  He cut the engine with a swift jerk but made no 
attempt to get out.  Instead, he drummed restless fingers 
against the smooth leather steering wheel and tried to figure 
out exactly how he would explain himself.

"Hey, Scully.  I just dropped by at..." he checked the dash 
clock, "nine-fifty four on a Friday night to...uh...well, I 
have this file, here and..."

He halted his monologue with a curse and slumped over the 
wheel.  There was indeed a case file sitting on the seat next 
to him, though he couldn't have reported its contents.  Bee 
swarms in Tucson, maybe.  Or perhaps the poltergeists in 
Peru. It didn't really matter.  He had grabbed it hurriedly 
from a pile on his desk just in case he chickened out at the 
last minute, in case he couldn't gain admittance to her 
apartment on his own merits.

For he certainly had very few merits these days, at least 
where Dana Scully was concerned.

He picked up the file and thumbed through it absently.  We 
should start one of these on me, he thought darkly.  
Supernatural phenomena might be the best way to explain what 
the hell came over me that night. 

In the months since it had happened, he had replayed the 
words in his mind so many times that he was convinced the 
individual letters must now be spelled out in neurons across 
his brain.  At night he would often say them aloud and marvel 
at how little time it took for the sounds to roll off his 
tongue.  

Just three seconds.  

He had calculated the precise timing of it on that first 
night, and had repeatedly checked his math since then.  The 
total was always the same.  Three very small seconds to utter 
one very big lie.  How was it possible that he could have 
done so much damage in such a little amount of time?  

He glanced up the golden light streaming from her window.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this 
hallway, Mulder?"

Dammit.  He winced as the long ago conversation surged into 
his thoughts once more.  No no no...Go AWAY, he thought 
desperately.  I can't do this now.  But the whispery words 
pricked at him relentlessly, ripping away each mental Band-
Aid until the memory gaped open wide with fresh pain.

Recollected emotion oozed steadily through his body, 
subsuming his resistance like a powerful hypnotic drug.  He 
sat captivated as the scene played out in vivid detail 
against the back of his closed lids...

She was especially pretty that warm October night, sitting 
curled on his sofa garbed in attire more appropriate for a 
college coed than a forensic pathologist.  With the soft 
light of the floor lamp, she could have almost passed for 
twenty-two in her faded denim jeans and sea-foam green tee 
shirt.  He had been sneaking many sideways glances at her 
during the evening, more interested in her reaction to the TV 
movie than the movie itself.  Everything was more interesting 
when he filtered it through Scully.

He was still floating with amazement from the fact that he 
had managed to convince her to spend the evening with him.  
He grew even more astounded as they flirted and teased their 
way through a pizza and Mystery Science Theater 3000.

"I don't understand how this show can be any fun for you, 
Mulder," she said dryly.  "That little robot thingie seems to 
be stealing all your opportunities for snide commentary." 

He flashed her a smile. "Ah, that's the beauty of it, Scully.  
It's pre-heckled for my convenience."

For once she laughed.  Not a belly-laugh, not some girlie 
giggle, but a delighted little chuckle that told him he had 
somehow, in some small way, managed to please her.  The sound 
sent sparks dancing over his nerve endings.

Why are you here tonight? he wondered.  What did I say this 
time that I haven't said a million times before?  He racked 
his brain, but no answer came to mind.  Later, he told 
himself.  Analyze it later when she's not sitting so damn 
close to you.  Right now just count yourself a lucky 
sonofabitch and quit staring.

"Quit staring."

"Huh?"  Shit, had he said that out loud?

She rolled her eyes at him.  "You're staring at me, Mulder.  
Do I have pizza on my face or something?"

Or something, he thought, shifting uncomfortably on his end 
of the couch.  Hold it together, you idiot, or you're going 
to scare her away.

But then she shifted, too, and he nearly came undone.  When 
she leaned over, slipped off her tennis shoes and wriggled 
ten perfect toes in the open air, he almost expired right 
there on the fucking couch.  

Scully barefoot in his apartment.  Would wonders never cease. 

He was gaping openly now, he knew he was.  And if the tiny 
curve of her mouth was any indication, Scully knew it too.

Somehow he returned his eyes to the TV set, but he was no 
longer paying the slightest attention to his favorite 
program.  His heart beat wildly, his every cell attuned to 
the woman sitting next to him.  This was the Scully of his 
dreams.  Relaxed, open and just a bit wild, with her usual 
ferocious intellect filtered though a rarely-seen mischief.  
She crackled with life and it was a contagious feeling.  

He wanted to lean over and take a bite out of her, she was 
that tempting.  

Warning bells went off in his head at the thought.  Big 
trouble! they called.  He snuck another look at her, her eyes 
alight with amusement, her hair tousled by the breeze flowing 
from the open window, and her tiny toes peeking out from 
under a denim-clad thigh.  She caught him looking again, and 
arched one eyebrow.  

He swallowed and looked away. Yeah, this Scully was big 
trouble all right.  

He just hadn't guessed how much.

...From his car outside her window, Mulder scrubbed his face 
with sweaty palms, trying to freeze his memory while it was 
still rich with light and laughter.  But the voices and 
images continued undiminished in his head...

The evening over, he was doing the chivalrous thing and 
walking her out to her car. Well, it was partly chivalry 
anyway.  Mainly it was a good excuse to spend five more 
minutes in her company.  He turned from locking his apartment 
door to see her watching him, her clear blue eyes thoughtful 
and questioning.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened in this 
hallway, Mulder?"  

He froze, instantly grasping the meaning of her words.  Oh 
shit. Not this.  Not now.  It had been so perfect until now.  
"Uh, we talk about it all the time," he hedged, trying to 
sneak past her to the elevator.  How far was it to her car 
again?

But Scully's reflexes were too quick for him, and her hand 
snagged his elbow as he made his escape attempt.  "I don't 
mean part about the bee or the virus.  I mean the events 
immediately prior to that."

"Oh."  At that point, he developed an enormous interest in 
the ceiling tiles.  "I guess I don't think there's really 
anything to talk about," he said, hoping she would leave it 
at that.  

But Scully pressed onward.  "Nothing to talk about," she 
repeated, crossing her arms over her chest and stepping just 
that much closer to him.  "That's an interesting sentiment, 
Mulder.  Because I would have thought that our first attempt 
at physical intimacy--aborted though it was--would be grounds 
for some discussion."

He shook his head widely for emphasis.  "Ah, but that's 
precisely the point, Scully.  It *was* aborted.  Nothing 
happened.  And it's always been my personal belief that 
discussions about nothing are best left up to theologians, 
philosophers, and maybe Regis and Kathie Lee."

"No, Mulder," she replied softly, ignoring his lame humor 
with her usual equanimity. "You're not going to pull this on 
me now. You can't convince me that it was nothing." She 
licked her lips, hesitating, but then plunged recklessly 
ahead.  "I...I wanted you to kiss me that night, and I think 
you wanted it, too."

God yes.  Rather desperately, in fact.  She had been leaving 
him, so there was nothing left to lose.  But then she had 
collapsed, had disappeared and then reappeared in his life 
with renewed strength and purpose like his own personal 
phoenix rising.  And later, when she had clasped his hand and 
vowed to stay with him, to fight with him, he had been 
overcome with relief that he had not kissed her.  

Because that was the surest way to drive her from his life. 
This was a lesson he had learned the hard way, watching the 
retreating backs of women he'd professed to love and 
wondering why the strength of that love never seemed to be 
enough.  He was like that kid from the old nursery 
rhyme...how did it go, again?  Oh yes.  Kissed the girls and 
made them cry.

So he'd had to lie, if only to protect her from herself.  And 
from him.  Most of all from him.

"That night was a fluke, Scully.  It never should have 
happened."

"But it did happen," she pointed out.  "And ever since then, 
I've found myself thinking about it...wondering what it would 
have been like.  Can you honestly say you haven't been 
wondering, too?"

He'd scratched his head and avoided her eyes.  "Honestly, no 
I haven't."

She shook her head slowly, the light glinting off her hair.  
"I don't believe you," she murmured after a bit.

He laughed without humor.  "Ever skeptical aren't you, Agent 
Scully.  What can I offer you for proof?"

She hesitated just an instant before moving to stand directly 
in front of him, so close he could feel her breathing.  She 
touched his face, her fingers warm on his cheek, and gently 
forced him to look directly at her.  "Look me in the eyes and 
tell me you haven't thought about that night.  Tell me you 
don't still want this."

"Scully...." He squirmed under her scrutiny.

"In the eyes, Mulder."

This is it, he thought.  Make it count.

He steeled his resolve and met her azure eyes with a 
carefully schooled gaze.  "I don't want this."  He shook his 
head slightly.   "I never have."

Then he held his breath while she'd searched his face for the 
truth, the echo of his rejection still swirling in the air 
around them.  
			
.......I don't want this.  I don't want you.......

He'd known the instant that she'd believed him.  Her eyes 
widened briefly in hurt before filling with tears, and the 
corners of her mouth twisted as she tightened her lips into a 
thin line.   But she did not turned away.  Oh no.  She made 
him suffer the full impact of his stinging words, let him 
watch up close as every nuance of agony played across her 
expressive face. 

He welcomed her pain into his own body, using it to lash 
himself inwardly for the hurt he had inflicted.  I'm so 
sorry, Scully.  I am so, so sorry.  If I knew any other 
way...

She trembled slightly, anguish radiating from her small body 
in silent waves, and he fought the urge to pull her into his 
arms.  "Okay," she whispered at last, her voice roughened by 
restrained emotion.  "Okay, Mulder, you win."

She had left then, leaving him to stand alone in the dingy 
hallway and wonder why, if he was supposed to have won, all 
he could feel was loss...

It was a loss that remained unabated seven months later, 
having been spread wide and deep by the river of silence 
running between them.  He had once tried to apologize, 
however awkwardly, but had quickly shut up when he saw the 
stricken look on her face.  Clearly, discussing the matter 
only made it worse for her.  He had ceased all attempts after 
that, unwilling to cause her further pain. 

From his car, he looked up again in the direction of her 
apartment, where the lights still shone brightly.  It was 
well after ten now, and he knew if he just sat outside a 
little bit longer the lights would go out and he would be off 
the hook for the evening.  But instead of inducing relief, 
this possibility brought him inexplicable sadness.

I miss you, he thought as he watched the window.  I miss you 
and I'm sorry.

"As good an opening as anything," he murmured to the empty 
car.  Maybe it wouldn't solve the problem, but at least she 
would know how he really felt.  Maybe she even missed him, 
too.  And maybe, just maybe, they could have the conversation 
over again and he could get it right this time.

He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle.  One 
step at a mind, he reminded himself.  If he was to convince 
Scully that he would cheerfully spend the rest of his life 
atoning for those lost three seconds, he first had to get out 
of the car. He glanced once at the file on the seat, and then 
left it sitting there as he levered himself out into the 
street.  No excuses tonight.

He bounded up the stairs to her building two at a time, eager 
to see her now that he had a fixed plan of action. It was a 
plan that included some serious kissing if all went well.  He 
allowed himself a brief moment to imagine what she would look 
like after their kisses, with dreamy eyes smiling up at him 
from a face flushed pink with passion.  It was a vision that 
made his heart constrict repeatedly in his chest.  What a 
wonderful change it would be to bring her pleasure rather 
than pain.  It was a phenomenon he found himself wishing for 
fervently as he tapped lightly on her door.

A minute later he heard a muted sound...laughter?..just 
before the door opened with a flourish to reveal his still-
chuckling partner.  She stopped short at the sight of him, 
pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she assessed 
him with a puzzled look.  When she spoke, her voice was low 
and breathless.  "Mulder, what are you doing here?" 

He frankly couldn't remember at that moment, because all his 
brainpower was focused on what *she* had obviously been 
doing.  As he stared at her, some small part of him 
acknowledged that his vision had been startlingly 
precognizant.  Her cheeks were tinged high with color and her 
eyes had been transformed, chameleon-like, from their usual 
pale sapphire to an incredible smoky midnight blue.  Though 
she still wore her work clothes, the white silk blouse was 
unbuttoned a bit lower than usual, and her short copper hair 
appeared hand-mussed.  Yes, there was no doubt about it.

Dana Scully had been thoroughly kissed.

"Mulder?" she repeated.  "What's going on?  Is something 
wrong?"

God yes.  More than you'll ever know, he thought as the 
initial shock wore off and the stinging pain set in.  He 
fumbled around for a story but the words slipped away from 
him like quicksand.  "I...uh...I just..."    

He turned his gaze toward the ground, wishing like hell he'd 
brought the stupid file with him.  Bare feet, he noted with a 
pang.  Somehow this was even worse than the kissing, and he 
felt grief seize him anew. Tears clogged the back of his 
throat and he swallowed convulsively.  It felt like someone 
had slit open his veins from the inside.

Toolatetoolatetoolate, his brain taunted him endlessly.

He was apparently beginning to worry his partner because she 
reached one hand out to touch his arm.  "Mulder, are you 
hurt?" 

He jerked away like a wounded animal before she could make 
contact.

"Mulder, what the...oh!"  She broke off with a soft gasp and 
covered her mouth as if to hide the evidence.  Clearly, she'd 
finally realized the picture she was presenting.

That's right, Scully, he thought bitterly.  Busted.

A man's voice came suddenly from the room behind her.  "Dana?  
Is everything all right?"  A shadow moved in the room, and 
Mulder knew any moment he would be staring right at the man 
who had been kissing Scully.  

No no.  Not a face.  A face would make it real.

The face appeared anyway, and he was stunned to see it was a 
familiar one.  The two men stared at each other in a moment 
of mutual surprise before Scully cleared her throat to speak.

"Mulder, I believe you know Aaron Littlefield."

"Apparently not as well as you do."  The icy words came out 
of his mouth unbidden as he scowled at the assistant district 
attorney.

If Littlefield was perturbed by the cutting remark, he did 
not show it.  "Agent Mulder," he said warmly.  "It's nice to 
see you again after all this time."

"Yeah, a year now, isn't it?  The Pembroke case?"  He stopped 
and looked down at Scully through narrowed eyes.  "I have to 
say, Scully, when you invited him to 'drop by anytime' I 
always assumed you were referring to the Hoover building."

This observation did get a rise out of Littlefield, who 
started toward him with a frown.  "Hey, listen here..."

"Aaron."  Scully halted him with a murmur and one small hand.  
"It's okay.  Mulder was just leaving."

As frazzled as his senses were, Mulder did not fail to grasp 
the warning in her tone.  "Yeah, I was just leaving," he 
echoed acidly.  He jammed his hand into his jeans pocket and 
extracted his key ring.  With two quick jerks he freed the 
small bronze key labeled "Scully."  

"Here," he said, grabbing her wrist and thrusting the warm 
metal against her palm.  "This way you know I won't be coming 
back."  He glanced from her pale face to the now-livid 
countenance of ADA Littlefield.  "I'm sure you all will sleep 
better without fear of interruption."

"Mulder..."  Scully said, her eyes huge with shock.  "Please 
don't do this."

His heart clenched the way it always did in response to her 
pain, but he ferociously stomped the feelings down, steeling 
himself with seething anger.  "Good night, Scully." he said, 
and stalked off without a backward glance.

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

He watched with interest as the male agent strode angrily to 
his car and slammed the door shut.  So, she had sent the 
intrepid Agent Mulder on his way.  It was a good sign, but he 
knew better than to be overly pleased.  Mulder's appearance 
at her door that evening was a wrinkle that he had not 
anticipated.  In the weeks that he had surveiled her, he had 
quickly deduced that Mulder had the ability to ruin 
everything he had worked so hard to plan.  He did not want to 
make the same mistakes again, but he was quickly running out 
of time.

He was more certain than ever that she was the one.  God knew 
it, he knew it, and soon she would know it, too.

Tomorrow, he thought.  

The barest of smiles touched his lips as he glanced in the 
direction of Mulder's departure, watching as the twin 
taillights vanished into the night.  He felt confident that 
his strategy could still work if he just pushed up the 
timetable.  After all, the initial phases had gone smoothly 
with the others.  He had no reason to expect that Dana Scully 
would offer any unique resistance.

And if Agent Mulder proved to be an obstacle?  

Well, he was expendable.

*********************
End Part One.  Continued in Part Two.

Lesser Evils, part two
by Hannah Mason
All disclaimers etc., found in part one
**************************************

Scully blinked rapidly to clear the hot tears from her eyes 
as she slowly closed her apartment door.  She tightened her 
fist around the key until the sharp ridges pressed nearly to 
the bone.  The metal burned in her hand.  Just when she'd 
thought he couldn't wound her any more deeply, Mulder managed 
a rebuff so profound it robbed her of breath.  

She fought hard to control the sobs rising within her, 
determined not to cry.  Aaron was still hovering in her 
living room, and though he was a kind man, she was unwilling 
to share her tears with him.  The intimacy was too great and 
the hurt was too personal.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally, regarding her with 
sympathetic green eyes.

She nodded mutely, not yet trusting her voice.

He moved to stand behind her and rested two large warm hands 
gently on her shoulders.  "I didn't realize that you and 
Mulder had such an...intense...personal relationship."

She stiffened under his touch and pulled away.  "My 
relationship with Mulder has never been anything other than 
professional," she told him briskly.

Aaron cocked his head at her.  "Are you sure he knows that?

"Oh, he knows," she replied with a short, dark laugh.  "He 
knows better than anyone."

"I see," said Aaron softly, his eyes flickering over her with 
new understanding.  "Then he's the greatest of fools, Dana."

She raised her face to his and smiled sadly.  "One of us 
surely is."  

Aaron reached for her then, and brought her into his arms 
with a gentle tug.  Scully hesitated only a moment before 
relaxing against him, allowing the warmth of his body to 
drive away her chills.  Eventually, he placed a soft kiss to 
the top of her head.

"I think maybe it's time for me to go."

She nodded wordlessly against his chest, took his hand and 
walked him slowly to the door.  "I'm sorry about all this," 
she said.  "Mulder...well, he--"

"--doesn't need you to apologize for him," Aaron finished 
firmly, giving her hand a squeeze.  He brushed a lock of hair 
behind her ear and then leaned down to kiss her lightly on 
the cheek.  "I'll call you tomorrow," he murmured.

After he'd gone, Scully leaned against the door and looked at 
the key she still clutched in her hand, suddenly too 
exhausted to cry.  Maybe it's for the best, she thought 
sadly.  Maybe this is exactly what I needed to make the break 
for good.  With a shaky sigh, she placed the key gently on 
her mantle and traced its outline lingeringly with one finger 
before finally retiring to her bedroom.  

Later, as she curled in a ball under the covers, Aaron's 
words echoed back through her mind. *I didn't realize you and 
Mulder had such an intense personal relationship*.  Intense 
hardly seemed strong enough a description for the emotional 
entanglement she shared with her partner.  It was a 
complicated union that allowed no room for a third person, 
and therein lay the problem.

Mulder had made his feelings painfully clear on that awful 
night when he'd looked her straight in the face and lied to 
her.  

Oh yes, she had known he'd lied. 

He had wanted that kiss just as much as she had, of that much 
she was sure.  Standing together in the hallway that summer 
evening, foreheads touching and breath coming in unison, 
their mutual desire had been almost tangible.    

Still, he had lied.  Yet in doing so, he had also told her an 
incontrovertible truth:  He wanted her, but he didn't *want* 
to want her.  

And that was even worse.

After so many years, he still couldn't trust her, not 
completely.  He persisted in guarding pieces of himself, 
hiding his most tender parts and snarling like an angry 
bulldog if anyone dared get too close.  She had tried to be 
patient.  She understood he'd been hurt, had seen up close 
and personal some of the women who had trampled the heart of 
Fox Mulder.  How can you think I would be like them? she 
wondered in the darkness, hugging her pillow for comfort.  
His lack of faith cut her deeply even now. 

Then Aaron Littlefield appeared in her life six weeks ago. 
She had been initially wary, uninterested even, because her 
all her thoughts and feelings were still bound up with Mulder 
and the night he had pushed her away for good.  But Aaron 
moved slowly.  She had met in the courthouse elevator twice 
before he had asked her out for coffee.  Coffee had led to 
dinner. Four dates later, she was amazed to find how much she 
was looking forward to seeing him each evening.  His 
emotional availability was a welcome change, and she warmed 
to his charming banter.   He had a quick mind and easy smile, 
and conversed with her on everything from casefiles to 
chardonnay.  She liked the person she became when she was 
with him.  She was happier, lighter.

But still not completely free.

To give herself completely to Aaron, or to any man, she knew 
she would first have to extract Mulder from her heart. Was 
Aaron worth it the struggle?  She didn't know.  But it was a 
ugly chore that would have to be performed eventually, or she 
was be damned to be alone forever.  Mulder himself had shown 
her that.

She curled tighter into the pillow, the tears beginning to 
fall at last.

Loosening her emotional ties with Mulder was a daunting 
prospect that left her feeling drained and lonely every time 
she contemplated it.  It would be a messy and difficult 
excision, with bloodshed and heartache on both sides.  She 
squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of his ashen face 
at her door.  There was no pleasure in hurting him, only more 
pain.

She wondered if she could ever be truly free of him, or if 
she would always feel his presence, like an amputee with a 
phantom limb. 

It was many hours before she slept.

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

The city morgue at eight p.m. on a Saturday night would not 
be considered a sanctuary to most people, but Scully felt 
overwhelming solace as she set about performing her first 
autopsy, a young woman found dead in her home for no obvious 
reason the local coroner could detect.  The woman's husband 
had also died inside the house, his demise apparently due to 
the same mysterious cause. 

The lateness of the hour afforded Scully a luxurious solitude 
as she prepared to tackle the puzzle before her.  Scissors 
and tongs in hand, she began the ritual investigation of 
death that she practiced with such skill.  Minutes blurred to 
hours as she retraced the efforts of Silas Tewksbury, the 
coroner who had performed the initial autopsy.  The familiar 
sounds and rhythms offered both comfort and escape, allowing 
her mind something to focus on besides the emotional roller 
coaster ride she had endured over the past twenty-four hours.

The wall clock read ten-oh-eight when she finished labeling 
the blood and tissue samples for laboratory analysis.  She 
stifled a yawn on the sleeve of her blue scrub apron. One 
down, one to go, she thought, rolling her head to relieve the 
ache that had begun to throb at the base of her neck.  She 
let out a small sigh as the vertebrae shifted into place with 
a satisfying pop.

"Late night, Agent Scully?"

Mulder's chilly words caused her to jump in surprise.

"Jesus, Mulder," she said, whirling on him with hands on her 
hips.  "Don't creep up on me like that!"

He stood leaning against the doorframe.  "Just out of 
curiosity...when exactly were you going to tell me?  When the 
wedding invitation arrived in the mail?"

Scully wearily rubbed her forehead with the back of her 
wrist. "Mulder, could we please not do this now?  It's late, 
and I still have one more body to examine tonight."

"Really, would that be living or deceased?" he asked, one 
finger placed at the corner of his mouth in a look of 
exaggerated puzzlement. 

She felt her cheeks warm with growing anger.  Damn him for 
doing this.  "Mulder, if you value our friendship at all, you 
will stop this line of conversation immediately."

But Mulder was on a roll now. "Oh, are we still friends?" he 
asked in surprise.  "I wasn't clear.  I thought friends were 
people who talked to each other about important stuff in 
their lives, kept each other apprised of any new 
developments, that sort of thing."

Head down, she braced her arms on the autopsy bay and ignored 
him, hoping he would stop if she didn't rise to his baiting 
remarks.

"Or maybe," he continued, walking fully into the room.  
"Maybe I've hit upon the answer.  You didn't tell me, your 
supposed friend, about your relationship with Aaron 
Littlefield because it wasn't *important*.  Is that it 
Scully?  He's not Mr. Right, just a handy lay..."

"That is enough!" she broke in angrily, whirling on him.  
"Enough! You are so far over the line here, Mulder, that one 
more word and you might never be able to cross back.  I'm 
sorry if I hurt you, I'm sorry you had to find out the way 
you did, but that is not an excuse for your present 
despicable behavior. I don't owe you any explanation about 
what I do with my personal life or whom I do it with.  You 
gave up any right to have a say seven months ago."  She 
paused and took a deep, shuddering breath.  "And Mulder, you 
*never* had the right to speak to me the way you just did.  
Never."

"Are you finished?" he asked after she was done speaking.
 
"Are you?" she retorted.

"Actually no.  Surprising at it might seem, I didn't really 
come here to discuss your social calendar.  We've got a case 
out in Wyoming that needs immediate attention."  He waved a 
file folder at her.  "Our flight leaves tomorrow at 7 am."

"Let me see that," she said, peeling off her gloves with a 
snap and reaching for the brown folder.  She rapidly scanned 
the enclosed pages and photos.  "You can't be serious," she 
told him when she'd finished.

"I'm always serious about the files, Scully.  You should know 
that by now."

She ignored the jab and flipped through the folder once more.  
"Missing cows?" she asked incredulously.  "A few dozen cows 
go missing from farms in Airsdale, Wyoming, and you think 
this is deserving of federal investigation?  Cattle rustling 
is hardly an unexplained phenomenon, Mulder."

"It is when it's accompanied by two UFO sightings within the 
last month."

Scully rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.  "C'mon 
Mulder, alien cattle thieves?  That's a bit too extreme, even 
for you."

"We can argue about it on the plane, Scully," he said curtly.  
"Because it's my call and I say we're going to Wyoming.  This 
is a legitimate X-file, and we have a duty to investigate."  
He stalked around the room, sulking like a small child, and 
suddenly the true motive behind the trip became clear to 
Scully.

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she said evenly.  "You can take your lost 
cattle and go straight to hell.  Or Wyoming, or whatever.  
But I am *not* going with you."

"Scully, I don't know what your problem is here..."

"What *my* problem is?" she interrupted in disbelief.  She 
crossed the room to stand in front of him, shoving the folder 
roughly against his chest.  "This isn't X-file, Mulder, it's 
a goddamm fidelity test and I won't stand for it."

He held her gaze with dark, angry eyes as the air crackled 
between them.  "You tell yourself that if you need to," he 
replied with deliberate softness.  "You can tell yourself 
whatever the hell you want, Scully, but you had better be at 
that airport by seven a.m. tomorrow morning."

He moved to leave and she called to him as she reached the 
door.  "And if I do go with you on this fool's errand, 
Mulder?  What exactly will that solve?  Aaron will still be 
here when I get back, you know."

His froze in the doorway, his back going rigid at her words.  
"This is not about your precious Aaron Littlefield," he said 
without turning around.  "It's about disappearing cattle and 
unidentified lights in the sky over Airsdale, Wyoming."

"Yeah right," she answered.  "You tell yourself that if you 
need to, Mulder."  

Strange, she realized as she watched him leave, that she was 
becoming extraordinarily proficient in catching Fox Mulder's 
lies.  

Even the ones he told himself. 

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

She checked the wall clock to note the time on her completed 
notes.  Twelve thirty-seven.  With a suppressed groan she 
jotted down what she considered the cause of death:  carbon 
monoxide poisoning.  It would have been a more obvious choice 
if the deceased couple had inhabited a building with gas 
powered heat or appliances.  However, their modest home had 
been run exclusively on electricity, and thus while the cause 
of death might have been uncovered, the source of the toxin 
remained a mystery. 

One that will not be solved tonight, thought Scully as she 
scrawled her initials across the bottom of the form.  I have 
to get at least a few hours rest if I'm going to be at the 
airport before seven a.m.  

Somewhere around midnight she had resolved to go along with 
his ridiculous charade, if only to see just how far he was 
willing to carry it.  She bent her head in her hands.  Admit 
the real reason, she admonished herself sternly.  You just 
can't let go.  He's like a drug, and you're hooked but good.  
A Mulderholic, that's what you are.

Pulling off her glasses, she laid her head down on the desk 
and closed her eyes.  The argument had left her shaky and 
drained of energy.  One more case, she thought.  Just this 
one more case and then I'll go cold turkey.

"Dr. Scully?  Are you okay?"

She jerked her head up, startled to find that she was not 
alone in the dimly lit office.  "Oh, hi Raymond."  She forced 
a tired smile for the young man who kept the morgue well-
stocked and spotlessly clean.  They had developed something 
of a camaraderie over her tenure in the morgue, for he liked 
to pepper her with questions about forensic pathology in 
exchange for free candy bars from the vending machine.  
Recently, she had learned they had another connection-his 
mother was a regular attendee at her church.  "I'm fine, 
thanks.  Just a little tired."

"It's pretty late," he told her earnestly.  "You shouldn't be 
working so hard."

"Tell me about it," she muttered and he laughed.

"Are you gonna be in church tomorrow?" he asked shyly, 
leaning his chin on the end of the broomstick.

"Seems unlikely," she answered with a sigh, thinking of 
Wyoming.  "More work."  She tilted her head at him.  "How's 
your mom doing?"

"So-so," he said with shrug.  "The doctor's are going to 
operate on the tumor next week."

"I hope it goes well," she murmured, standing and gathering 
her coat.  "Please tell her I said hello, and that you'll 
both be in my prayers."

He nodded slowly, watching her walk toward the door.  "And 
you'll be in mine," he whispered after her.

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

At last, she was finally leaving.  He had been hanging around 
the morgue for several hours now, waiting with evaporating 
patience for her to finish.  He watched her walk down the 
long corridor toward the exit.  Another instant and she would 
be gone.  Wait!  He called to her just as she reached the 
door, and she turned round slowly, her expression 
questioning.

Then she smiled as she recognized him in the murky hallway 
light.  

Yes, he thought.  It's me.  I've come for you.

He smiled back and waved her over.  She hesitated for a 
moment, checking her watch with a frown.  But then she was 
walking toward him and his heart beat faster in anticipation.  

Yes, yes,  Just a little closer.

"What's going on?" she asked as she reached him, a puzzled 
look crossing her features when she saw the device in his 
left hand. It could have been an electric shaver, with its 
compact size and rounded curves.  But then he switched it on, 
and when it crackled to life Agent Dana Scully's eyes grew 
wide with fear as she recognized its purpose at last.

A second later he was grinning as she lay crumpled on the 
floor at his feet.

Perfect.
**********************
 
End part two.  Continued in part three

Lesser Evils, part three
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimers and other nonsense in part one
***************************

Mulder shook his head tightly in response to the flight 
attendant's offer for beverage service.  

The plane was virtually deserted due to the early hour, and 
under normal circumstances this would have been a blessing.  
He and Scully would have usurped several seats across the 
aisle from one another, the added room allowing him to 
stretch out his long legs and read, her to curl up length-
wise and doze.

Scully could sleep just about anywhere.

He turned his cheek against the scratchy fabric of the seat 
and regarded the empty row across from him.  If he closed his 
eyes he could replace the ugly green and navy cushions with 
the image of his sleeping partner, one arm tucked beneath her 
head and her face half-hidden among a disarray of auburn 
tendrils.  

He massaged his temples between his forefinger and thumb, 
seeking to relieve the dull throbbing pain behind his eyes.  
His gripping anger had dissipated sometime after take-off, 
leaving him feeling spent and rubbery like a deflated party 
balloon.

You've pulled some stupid-assed stunts before, he chided 
himself. But this one deserves a fucking special 
commendation.  Yessir, the Grand Prize Asshole, that's what 
you are; go ahead and tell the man what he's won, Johnny...

Mulder rubbed his head again.  "A round trip ticket for one 
to Shitdale, Wyoming," he muttered under his breath.  "Yee-
ha."

It's your own damn fault, the voice in his head taunted.  
This piece of chicken-shit is your "legitimate case", 
remember?  Your brilliant plan to lure her away from Aaron 
Littlefield.  Just what exactly did you think was going to 
happen on this trip?  That she would look at you over a cow-
pie, realize her mistake and fall into your arms like some 
movie heroine?

No. He closed his eyes and banged his head repeatedly against 
the back of the seat.  No no no. 

I didn't lie, he thought viciously.  This isn't about HIM.  
Don't you get it, Scully?  I don't want you away from him, I 
want you with ME... he sighed glumly and shook his 
head...even if I have to order you around like a fucking a 
Captain Commando to accomplish it.

He fiddled absently with the flight magazine sticking out of 
the elastic band in front of him and tried to ignore the feel 
of the empty seat at his elbow.  It didn't work.  Melancholy 
seeped steadily through his pores and took root deep inside, 
twisting like barbed wire in his gut.

You wanted proof of her feelings?  Well, you sure got it.  
Message received loud and clear.  Fox Mulder and the X-Files 
can go straight to hell.    

He blinked back sudden tears.  Stupid.  He had really thought 
she would come. Stupidstupidstupid. 

Despite his horrible words, he had thought she would come 
with him.  Right up until the attendant had closed the heavy 
door, he had hoped, had expected, that she would appear on 
the plane wearing her trademark dark suit and exasperated 
expression.  She would have come to call his bluff, to show 
him up.  She would have come to prove that she could handle 
any shit he threw her way.  She would have come because deep 
down she knew that he was terrified and needed her 
reassurance.

Because when all was said and done, they belonged only to 
each other. 

Or so he'd thought. 

He slowly traced the stripes on the seat cushion next to him.

It had been a test, all right.  However childish, however 
unfair, it had definitely been a test.

And she had failed.  Or maybe he had.

At this point it didn't really matter anymore.

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

He almost did not go to Sunday morning mass.  What if she 
woke up while he was away?

In the end, however, he gave into the urgings of his nagging 
conscience.  God has been gracious with you, he lectured 
himself sternly in the mirror as he fastened his clip-on tie.  
You asked Him for His help and He has provided you with a 
fine woman.  The least you can do is show Him the proper 
respect in return.   

At nine a.m. sharp, he slid into his normal seat in the sixth 
pew, looking astonishingly ordinary among the rows of 
worshippers.  Heavenly Father, he prayed silently.  Thank you 
for this most precious gift you have given me.  I realize now 
that I was terribly wrong about the others.  I believed they 
were my destiny, but thanks to your guidance I was able to 
recognize them for the harlots that they were.  You were 
right to see them punished, Father.  I know I questioned you 
at first, but I understand now that it was the only true way.  
Forgive me for my insolence and my arrogance.  I will make 
sure to get it right this time.   

He left church immediately after mass, not stopping to chat 
with the other parishioners as he usually did.  She would be 
waking up soon, and though he wasn't worried that she could 
escape, he wanted to be present when she opened her eyes, to 
be the first sight that greeted her when she awoke.  He tried 
to keep his pace to a slow, deliberate walk, but it was hard 
when he knew that she was waiting.  

"Watch yourself," he warned with a mutter. The Father has 
done his part, don't you screw up your end now.

He smiled and allowed himself a small increase in speed.  
Just three more blocks.

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

She awoke with a start, squinting and twisting away from the 
full morning sun that painted bright ribbons of light across 
her face.  The terrible dream still hovered ghost-like in her 
brain.  With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her pounding 
head as waves of nausea rolled over her.   

"I'm never going to understand why you do this."  His voice 
came from above her, muffled by the intervening pillow.  
"Tequila does this to you every time, yet you go right ahead 
and drink it.  This is exactly why I don't go with you."

She pulled the pillow from her face and spoke to him through 
thick strands of brown hair.  "Don't give me that shit, 
David," she said without animosity, her voice scratchy and 
tired.  "You don't go because you can't stand Ramona." 

"Ellie, dear, *no one* can stand Ramona," he answered with a 
grin.  "They just can't get her to shut up long enough to 
tell her." 

"You shut up.  She's my best friend."  She was lying very 
still, hoping that her lurching stomach would settle down.  
The bed bounced lightly as he plopped himself next to her, 
and she moaned and clutched her middle.  "Ugh..don't do 
that..."

He smoothed the hair from her face.  "Poor baby," he teased 
affectionately.  "I brought some water. Wanna try?"

She took the water, sampled it with a few small, experimental 
sips, and then lay back down on the bed with her eyes closed.  
His face leaped instantly back into her brain.  "Oh god, it 
was real..." Her eyes snapped back open.

"Yeah, babe.  Imaginary tequila somehow just doesn't have the 
same affect." 

"No no," she said, struggling to sit up.  "Last night, coming 
home...I saw this man carrying a dead body out of the 
morgue."

"What, like on a stretcher?"

"Huh-uh.  Like this, in his arms," she demonstrated with the 
pillow.  "It was a woman with red hair."  Her hand flew 
suddenly to her mouth.  "God, David, do you think he stole 
her body from the morgue?"

"Whoa, hold on a second," he said, patting her leg.  "You 
didn't say anything about a dead body when you collapsed into 
bed last night.  Are you sure you didn't just dream this 
whole thing?"

"I'm sure, I'm sure," she answered, tugging impatiently on 
his sleeve.  "I passed out last night before I could tell 
you, but I know what I saw.  It was a big man, coming out of 
the side door of the morgue, you know the one off of Cedar 
Street?  Anyway, he was walking out of the morgue, and he had 
a dead woman with him,...and...god, David, he was *smiling*!  
He was smiling and then he put her in a car and drove away."

"Ellie..."  His tone was filled with disbelief.

"It's true, David.  I saw it!"

"Why would he steal her body from the morgue?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't know, experiments maybe.  I think 
I should call the police."

"Experiments?" he echoed with a chortling laugh.  "Ellie, the 
police would laugh their asses off!" 

She thumped him with the pillow.  "I'm glad you think this is 
so funny."

"Ellie, come on.  This story is a little ridiculous, don't 
you think?  A man walks out of the morgue in the middle of 
the night with a naked, red-haired dead woman?"

"She wasn't naked."

"Huh?  I thought you said it was a dead body."

"I did!  But she wasn't naked."

"Ellie, bodies in morgues tend to be naked.  They can't do 
the autopsies otherwise." 

"Well, maybe they hadn't gotten to this one yet...maybe 
that's why he was taking her away...maybe he KILLED her, 
David!  Maybe he killed her and then stole the body so no one 
would find the evidence!"

"And maybe you've been watching too many Lifetime movies," he 
told her with an eye-roll.

"I'm completely serious."

"Yeah, seriously hung over."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"You wanna know what I think happened?" he said finally.

"If you say I dreamed it again..." she warned threateningly.

"No, no."  He held up his palms.  "I think that you just 
*thought* they were coming out of the morgue.  I think that 
they were probably from La Casa and just using the morgue 
parking lot like other people do on weekends."

"David, they weren't dressed for clubbing."

"And you had how many drinks last night?" he shot back.  She 
crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him.

"Anyway, I think they were at La Casa, and she probably had 
too much to drink, passed out, and then he carried her to the 
car." 

Ellie sat silently for a moment, trying to gel her memory 
with David's story.  "It could have happened that way, I 
guess..."  She was still unconvinced.

"Of course it happened that way," he insisted.  Then he 
grinned at her.  "But if you want, we could always call the 
morgue and ask them to count the stiffs for us."

"Ooo, you're gonna pay for that one." She pounced on him, and 
there was no more discussion of the red-haired woman from the 
morgue.
   
**************************

He entered the small house through the back door and went 
immediately to the kitchen. Humming tunelessly to himself, he 
set about fixing her breakfast.  Ten weeks of careful study 
had paid off, and he knew from memory exactly how to prepare 
it to her liking.  One seven-grain bagel, sliced perfectly in 
half and lightly toasted, then slathered with a generous 
coating of cream.  Peach yogurt and black coffee.  The fresh 
squeezed orange juice was his addition, as was the lilac 
sprig he had plucked from a neighbor's yard on the way home.  

"Voila," he murmured with a pleased smile as he fussed over 
the tray.  He hoped she would be pleased as well, but he also 
knew that the first day was the hardest.  Best just to get it 
over with.

Still humming, he carried the tray through the basement door, 
down the rickety steps and past the clanking of the old water 
heater.  He flicked a wall switch with his elbow so that the 
room below his feet would be illuminated for his arrival.  
"Time to wake up," he chuckled, even though he knew she 
couldn't yet hear him.  

The room was purposefully sound-proof.  I really hope she 
isn't a screamer, he thought grimly as he set the breakfast 
tray on the dank basement floor.  That would be so 
unfortunate.

He fumbled with his key ring, located the one he wanted, and 
then slipped the padlock open with ease.  He displaced the 
round cover and climbed several rungs down into the hole, 
pausing to grab the tray with one hand before continuing his 
descent.

She hadn't moved at all that he could tell.  She lay 
motionless on top of the bedspread, limp and pale, with her 
hands and feet bound tightly behind her back.   Her eyes were 
still closed.

He set the tray on the small round table that stood next to 
the bed and studied with concern the petite woman spread 
prostrate before him.  She should have been coming out of it 
by now.  Too much drugs? he wondered, feeling for a pulse.

She moaned softly at his touch, her eyes fluttering open and 
her limbs twitching slightly against their restraints.

He smiled broadly in relief.  "Good morning, sunshine." 

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

Hurts, Scully thought sleepily as she tried to shake the 
heavy chains that attempted to yank her back into 
unconsciousness.  She blinked rapidly as the room spun around 
several times and then finally came into full focus.  Bare 
white walls.  No windows. 

Where am I? she wanted to ask, but her tongue was thick and 
swollen inside her dry mouth and she could not form the 
words.  Her head was throbbing and her body ached all over. 
I've been drugged, she realized slowly.  Can't move...  
Behind her back, she flexed her fingers experimentally and 
groaned when pins and needles shot through the length of her 
arms.  Shit.  Tied up.  Arms, legs, too...what the hell is 
going on? 

"I trust you slept well."

She froze momentarily at the sound of his voice.  Then she 
slowly twisted on the bed so she could look up at the man 
standing over her.  Him again.  Oh my God, she thought, her 
heart beginning to pound.  It was true, not a dream.  Trust 
no one, Mulder had told her, and he'd been right.  

Scully stared at him wide-eyed.  "Why...?" she broke off with 
a wince, her voice like harsh sandpaper over her parched 
throat.

He ignored her question, fretting over her like she was a 
sick child.  "How rude of me," he chided himself. "You must 
be very thirsty.  The chloral hydrate will do that.  Here, 
have some juice."  He reached behind her head to push her 
slightly up right and brought the glass to her lips.

Scully turned away.  

"Come on now," he said.  "I know you must want it."

She still refused, and he sighed.  "Are you worried about 
more drugs?  Don't be.  Those were just a precaution to get 
you here.  See, it's perfectly fine.  Tasty, even."  He 
demonstrated by drinking a long sip of the orange liquid.

She eyed him warily, swallowing reflexively as she watched 
him drink.  So thirsty...

"Here, try again," he offered, and this time she allowed 
herself a few small sips.  A few drops dribbled down her chin 
and he wiped them away as she settled back against the 
pillows.  Her head was beginning to clear, and the renewed 
awareness brought frightening questions.

"I'm sorry about the cords," he said in a tone one might use 
to apologize for not having the dry-cleaning ready on time.  
"I realize they're uncomfortable, but you being a trained FBI 
woman and all, I had to be extra careful."

"I don't understand.  Why are you doing this?" she asked 
softly.  Who the hell was this man she thought she knew?  How 
long had he been planning this?  Days?  Weeks, maybe even 
years?  She shuddered. "What do you want with me?" she 
demanded with a more determined voice. 

"What do I want with you?" he repeated, moving to sit close 
to her on the bed.  He ran his fingertips lightly over her 
face and she tensed, eyes squeezed shut.  "I want everything 
with you, Dana.  Everything there is."

Scully gulped a mouthful of air.  This is not happening, she 
thought desperately.  This cannot possibly be happening.  

He continued to touch her.  "Your skin is so soft," he 
murmured as much to himself as to her.  "It's so much softer 
than the others..."

Her eyes flew open as she fought a gag.  "Others?" she choked 
between shallow breaths.

"Yes, well...let's not worry about them, okay?  They don't 
matter any more."  He kept on petting her, his hands firmer 
as they stroked the column of her throat.  Then he squeezed 
her gently around the neck, and she realized abruptly the 
extent of her helplessness.

"Please don't do that..." she said thinly, arching her head 
back into the pillow.

Her words did not seem to register, and his large hands 
persisted in their invasion.  He slipped open the top button 
on her cardigan sweater.  Then another.  "So soft..." he 
repeated to himself, his eyes on her chest.

Oh shit. Oh, please not this, she thought frantically, trying 
to wriggle away from his hands.  Her mind started to flash 
stark images of autopsies past, all dead naked women with 
their bodies battered and bloodied from sexual assault.  

Please, God, no...  Scully panted and struggled harder, 
pushing at him with her knees and feet as her terror grew.

"Stop it," he commanded sharply, halting her squirming with a 
painful wrench that left her lower body pinned tight under 
his knees.  He grasped her chin roughly with his right hand 
and tilted her face up toward his.  "I don't want to have to 
hurt you, Dana, but I will if necessary. Remember that."

He gripped her chin a bit harder.  "Now, then, are you ready 
to be a good girl?" he asked softly.

Scully nodded slowly, her eyes locked on his.  She knew, 
suddenly and certainly, that she would die in the stuffy, 
windowless room if she did not play her cards exactly right.     

"Good." He smiled and abruptly released her chin to smooth 
back her hair.  "I knew you would cooperate."

His hands went again to her sweater and Scully swallowed 
convulsively, fighting the rising tide of nausea.  But she 
did not move.  Whatever it takes to stay alive, she told 
herself as her breathing quickened progressively.  Don't 
think about what he's doing.  Think about getting the hell 
out of here.

But she couldn't shake the feel of his hands roaming her 
body, squeezing and caressing at will.  She blinked her eyes 
against the silent tears that slipped down the sides of her 
face into the pillow.  He seemed oblivious to her distress, 
as if hypnotized by the act of touching her. Please God, just 
let it be over quickly, she prayed.  

He halted the process of undressing her.  Instead, he slid 
one hand up her breast bone, feeling around until his fingers 
found the delicate gold chain that encircled her neck.  

Scully's eyes snapped open.  Had she been praying out loud?  
She sucked in her breath in preparation for the POP when he 
yanked the chain off. 

But he didn't wrench the necklace from her; instead, he 
touched the tiny cross gently, then hooked it with one finger 
and pulled it along the chain toward him until it dangled 
between them in the air.  They both stared at the pendant, he 
bemused and she panting lightly with residual fear.

"He said He would mark you for me," he told her, his eyes 
still on the miniature cross.  "I knew when I saw this that 
you were the one, my own perfect angel sent by the Lord 
Himself."  He fingered the cross thoughtfully one more time 
and then replaced it carefully on her chest.  He brushed his 
fingers through her hair.  "Welcome to your new home, Angel," 
he whispered, his eyes gleaming down at her.

His smile sent waves of fresh horror through Scully as it 
finally dawned on her that this man had no plans to let her 
go.

Ever. 

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

End part three.  Continued in part four.

Lesser Evils, part four
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer etc. in part one
****************************

Mulder was driving through the backroads of Airsdale when his 
cell phone trilled softly from his coat pocket.  Scully. His 
heart accelerated, and he groped with one hand until he 
located the slender black phone.

"Hello," he said quickly, hoping against hope to hear her 
voice on the other end.

Instead, Skinner's gruff greeting crackled through the phone.  
"Agent Mulder.  Is Agent Scully with you?"

Mulder sighed. Apparently he wasn't the only one with Scully 
on the brain that morning,  "No sir," he answered ruefully.  
"Agent Scully is most definitely not with me."  

Probably never would be again, he finished silently.  

"Do you have any idea where she might be?"  Skinner's tone 
was urgent.   

He checked his watch.  "Two p.m. on a Monday?  She could be 
at lunch I suppose.  Why, did she miss a meeting or 
something?"

"Or something," Skinner answered grimly.  Then he sighed.  
"Just think hard, Agent Mulder.  Are you absolutely certain 
you don't know where your partner is right now?"

"I'm telling you I don't..."  He halted as images from Friday 
night spun through his mind.  "Uh, have you tried ADA Aaron 
Littlefield?" he said.  "She might be with him."  When 
Skinner did not immediately answer, Mulder frowned, suddenly 
realizing that this conversation was not about Scully being a 
few hours late to work.  "Sir, what's with all the questions 
about Scully?  Is something wrong?  Did something happen to 
her?"

He heard a deep breath from the other end of the phone.  "I 
don't know what the hell is going on, Mulder," he said 
finally.  "But I'm pretty certain Littlefield doesn't know 
where Scully is.  He reported her missing at ten a.m. this 
morning."

"What?" Mulder barked into the phone, bringing the Taurus to 
a screeching halt in the middle of the country road. "What 
the hell are you talking about, missing?"

"Missing," Skinner replied in a clipped tone.  "As in no one 
has seen or heard from her in over twenty-four hours, her car 
was found in the parking lot of the city morgue, and nobody 
can seem to account for her present whereabouts."

"I don't understand." Mulder closed his eyes and shook his 
head in denial.  This is not happening, he thought 
desperately.  Notnotnotnot.

"Agent Mulder..."  Skinner's voice dropped to a tight 
whisper.  "Consider this your fair warning.  There have been 
some unpleasant reports surfacing about a few...heated 
discussions...between you and Agent Scully during the last 
few days.  Detective Ripley of the six-oh-three was in here 
looking for you not ten minutes ago.  I strongly suggest that 
catch a plane back to D.C. immediately."

Mulder felt the bile rise in his throat.  "Sir, you can't 
possibly think..."

"Immediately, Agent Mulder." And the line went dead.

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

Pulse pounding and adrenaline rushing, Mulder crashed through 
the swinging doors of police precinct six-oh-three with the 
force of a F4 tornado.

"Where's Detective Ripley?" he demanded as he hurtled past 
the desk sergeant at top speed. 

"Hey, wait!  You can't just go back there!" protested the 
young uniformed man, trailing after him into the 
stationhouse.

"Detective Jack Ripley," Mulder repeated to the crowded room.  
Cops and criminals alike stopped their business to openly 
stare at him as he starting weaving unsteadily through the 
rows of desks.  "I need to speak to Jack Ripley," he said 
with rising intensity.  "Now where the hell is he?"  He 
halted in the middle of the room and cast his gaze wildly 
over the sea of faces in search of the man in question.  The 
desk sergeant caught up with him and placed one beefy hand 
firmly around his elbow, intent on dragging him back toward 
the door.

"You're going to have to wait out here."

"Get the hell off me," Mulder growled, twisting free with a 
sharp jerk.  Another officer, older and dark-skinned but with 
a shock of graying hair, rose to join the argument.

"Hey, pal, just cool down."

Mulder held out one arm in warning.  "I will not 'cool down'!  
I will not cool down until somebody gets me Detective Jack 
Ripley."

"Agent Mulder."  A tall, lanky man with pale eyes and short-
cropped, black hair that sprung from his head at odd angles 
materialized in the doorway at the far end of the room.

"Finally," Mulder muttered, glaring at the two officers who 
flanked him.  "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" he asked 
tightly as he pushed past them.  He stalked across the room 
and came to a stop in front of Jack Ripley, shaking his 
proffered hand roughly.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Ripley said mildly.  His 
disheveled appearance always reminded Mulder of Columbo, 
right down to the omnipresent rumpled trench coat.  But 
Ripley's deliberate and precise style of police work was a 
direct counterpoint to TV detective's bumbling, rambling 
interrogations.  In fact, there were rumors that he had gone 
to law school before joining the force eighteen years ago.  
Some said NYU, others laid their bets on Harvard.  No Jack 
Ripley had ever registered at either institution, but that 
didn't stop the arguments.  Ripley himself never weighed in 
on the dispute, content instead to season his conversation 
with terms like "heretofore" and "habeas corpus" and watch 
with a smile as the debate took fire once more. In the half-
dozen times Mulder and Scully had crossed paths with Jack 
Ripley during a local investigation, he had impressed them 
both as a serious, no bullshit kind of guy. 

Mulder was relying on this candor now to get him a straight 
answer.

"Just what the fuck is going on here, Ripley?  What happened 
to Scully?"

Pale blue eyes assessed him neutrally.  "I was hoping you 
could tell me."  He gestured to the room behind him.  "Come 
on inside while we try to sort this thing out, okay?"

Momentarily placated, Mulder followed him into the conference 
room and was surprised to find both Skinner and Littlefield 
pacing the floor on opposite sides of the long table.  All 
three men froze simultaneously, and tension-filled silence 
gripped the room for long moments.

"Why don't we all have a seat," said Ripley finally, but no 
one moved.

"I don't want a seat," Mulder bit out, moving across the room 
to stand inches from Littlefield.  "What I want are some 
answers."

"What, from me?" mocked Littlefield, pointing at his chest.  
"I'd say you have some answering to do yourself, Agent 
Mulder.  I understand you were one of the last people to see 
her."

Mulder clenched his fists but somehow held himself in check.  
"Fuck you, Littlefield.  I had nothing to do with this, and 
you damn well know it."  He regarded the other man through 
slitted eyes.  "But you...you puzzle me, Counselor.  Scully 
misses a lunch date and you immediately call in the cavalry?   
A little sudden, don't you think?  I'm wondering if maybe you 
know more than you're saying, if maybe you called in the cops 
so fast because you had good reason to worry about her."

"I'd say I had reason, yeah." Littlefield held up his hand 
and ticked off fingers as he spoke.  "First, she didn't show 
up for Sunday brunch.  No call, no explanation, no nothing.  
She just didn't show.  Then I can't get her on the phone--not 
at work, at home or at her mother's place.  Finally, I drove 
past the morgue just to see if, for some unknown reason, she 
was still there.  I found her car, but no sign of Dana. So, 
yes, Agent Mulder, when she did not turn up at home or at 
work this morning, I damn well reported her missing."

"Well, pardon me if I don't have trust the word of a 
convicted felon," sneered Mulder.

"What?" Littlefield blanched visibly.  "That was...you're not 
supposed to...those records were sealed!" he sputtered.

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" demanded 
Skinner. Ripley also shot Mulder an inquiring look, arms 
crossed over his chest.  

Mulder's eyes remained focused on Littlefield. "I made some 
calls on my way over," he said evenly.  "Called in a few 
favors and found that Mr. Littlefield's relationship with the 
court system did not begin in law school.  Turns out that the 
good Counselor has a juvenile assault record from 1979. Get 
your jollies knocking women around, do you Littlefield?" 

"One time," the ADA said through grit teeth.  "It was one 
time, and it was an accident, dammit!  I was sixteen and 
drunk and she was supposed to have been my girlfriend, but 
she was sleeping with my best friend and..."

"Asked for it, did she?" Mulder broke in derisively.

"Yes!" blurted Littlefield.  "No!  I mean, yes, I was angry 
but I never meant to shove her so hard..."

"You god damn son-of-a-bitch," Mulder breathed as he lunged 
for the other man.  He grabbed him swiftly by the shirt 
collar and pushed him back up against the wall.  "Where is 
she?" he shouted, shaking him hard.  "Tell me where she is!  
TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"

"Mulder!"  Skinner's large hands closed around his shoulders 
and yanked him off the ADA with one hard pull.  Mulder still 
struggled ferociously, waving his arms wildly and continuing 
to rail at Littlefield.

"You better look out.  You better watch yourself, 'cause  I'm 
gonna hit you so hard they're gonna have to scrape the pieces 
off the wall with a spatula!"

"That's enough!" ordered Skinner, shoving him roughly in 
Ripley's direction.  "Get him the hell out of here, will 
you?"

Ripley nodded and began to pull Mulder toward the door.  
"Don't bother," Mulder muttered, angrily shaking him off.  "I 
can see myself out."

Once they had gone, Littlefield rolled his head around 
gingerly and began straightening his suitcoat.  He glanced 
across the table where Skinner stood watching him.  "Thanks," 
he said grimly.  "I thought for sure he was going to snap my 
neck."

Skinner raked his eyes swiftly over the other man.  "Save 
your thanks," he said.  "I did it for him, not for you."

The ADA frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Skinner 
held up a hand to stop him.  "Look, Mr. Littlefield, I don't 
know if you had anything to do with Scully's disappearance or 
not, but I can promise you this..."

Littlefield lifted his eyebrows slightly.  Yes?

"If you so much as gave her a paper cut, I will personally 
guarantee you some quality alone time with Agent Mulder."  He 
paused meaningfully.  "And then your ass will be all mine."  

With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.

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

Ripley scraped a chair along the floor until it was even with 
his desk, gesturing with an open hand for Mulder to have a 
seat.  Mulder glared angrily at the wooden chair for a 
moment, then abruptly the fight drained from him and he 
slumped down with a ragged sigh.

After a moment, Ripley spoke calmly. "You care to explain 
that bit of business back there?"

Mulder jerked a shrug. "He *does* have a record," he pointed 
out, jabbing one finger on the edge of Ripley's desk for 
emphasis.  "And he was in an awful goddamn hurry to report 
her missing.  Tell me you don't think that's weird."

"I think it's weird," Ripley conceded.  "But not as weird as 
it might seem."

Mulder looked at him sharply.  "What do mean?"

"In a minute.  First I want to ask you ask you about the 
arguments you and Scully had," he stopped to check his notes, 
"Friday and Saturday night."

Mulder's glare darkened. "I did NOT do anything to Scully, if 
that is what you're getting at," he informed him stonily.  
"And if that bastard said-"

"Hey, leave him out of it for a moment, will you?  After all, 
he's right about one thing-you were one of the last people to 
talk to her before she disappeared.  I'd like to know what 
you talked about."

Mulder sighed, then ducked his head and pinched the bridge of 
his nose between two fingers. *You can tell yourself anything 
you want, Scully, but you'd better be at that airport by 7 
a.m.*  His cheeks flushed hot with the memory. 

"We...uh...we were talking about a case," he said finally, 
his voice sounding lame even to his own ears.

"Is that so," murmured Ripley.  "You two often holler at each 
other when discussing your work?"

Mulder almost smiled.  "More often than you might think," he 
answered dryly.  "I'm, um, kind of...passionate about some of 
my views, and Scully...well, she can hold her own in the 
temper department." 

"Somehow I have no trouble imagining that," Ripley replied 
with a near-smile of his own.  "But I have to tell you, Agent 
Mulder, that the man who overheard your argument with Agent 
Scully on the night she disappeared-Raymond Valente, I think 
his name is?  He seemed to think that your disagreement was 
personal, not professional.  More specifically, you were," he 
glanced down to quote from his notes, "'totally pissed off 
because she had a boyfriend'.  And judging from Aaron 
Littlefield's story about your behavior at Scully's apartment 
on Friday night, I'm inclined to believe Valente's reading of 
the situation."

"Which is what, exactly?" Mulder asked, annoyed.

"That you were jealous of her relationship with Aaron 
Littlefield.  Maybe even threatened by it."

"Raymond Valente should keep his day job.  Psychology is not 
a science for amateurs."    

Ripley said nothing, leaning back in his chair with his hands 
folded over his stomach, apparently awaiting a real answer.  
Mulder fidgeted in his seat and toyed with a near-by pencil 
as he studiously avoided the detective's probing gaze.  His 
feelings for Scully were something he kept under lock and 
key, relishing them in the privacy of his own mind and 
nurturing them every night with a new day's worth of memory.  
There was no way he was going to wax poetic about his partner 
while some detective jotted notes.  He hadn't even told 
Scully how he felt. and now he was being asked to spill his 
guts in a run-down squad room amid ringing phones and urine-
drenched vagrants?  Not a chance.  

He leaned forward in his chair. "She's my partner, okay?   
And yeah, we disagreed sometimes.  But you and I both know I 
didn't have a damn thing to do with her disappearance.  So 
while we can sit here, sing kum-by-yah and talk about my 
feelings all fucking day, I personally think it would be a 
big waste of time."

"Take it easy," Ripley said.  "These questions have to be 
asked, and you know it."

"Yeah, well, who's asking Littlefield questions?" Mulder 
demanded belligerently.  

"I promise no one has forgotten about him.  We're checking 
his story very thoroughly.  But let's put him aside for 
another minute, okay?  Just to make sure we've covered all 
the avenues.  What about work-related stuff, like recent 
cases you two have worked on.  Can you think of someone with 
a grudge, someone who might want to hurt her?"

Yes.  Too many someones.  All shadowmen with no names, no 
faces, and no mercy.  Men who made Aaron Littlefield seem 
like the tooth fairy.  Mulder rubbed his eyes, hunched over 
with his elbows on his knees.  If Scully had been taken by 
one of them...   

"No one you're going to be able to haul in here for a line-
up," he said at last.  "I still say we need to go after 
Littlefield."
 
You hope, the voice inside his head sneered.  You'd just 
better hope it's him.

"And we will," Ripley assured him.  He paused and scratched 
his head, causing the angles of his hair to shift, 
kaleidoscope-like, into a new bizarre arrangement.  "Agent 
Mulder..."

Mulder raised his head up, his eyes narrowing when he read 
the obvious hesitation on the detective's face.  "What?  What 
are you not telling me?"

Ripley took a deep breath.  "Agent Mulder, did you ever ask 
yourself how I got this case?  The city morgue is not exactly 
in six-oh-three's jurisdiction."

Mulder blinked in surprise.  "I hadn't thought of that; I 
just assumed that since you knew Scully..."

"A fortunate coincidence," Ripley broke in.  He paused again, 
and then shuffled some papers on his desk.  "Just over two 
years ago, a woman named Lisa Marino disappeared."  He handed 
over a manila folder for Mulder's inspection.  

Mulder flipped open the cover with one hand, peering over the 
contents as Ripley began to recite the facts of the case.  
"Twenty-nine years old, single, and a junior architect at 
Nernst, Townsend and Young," he said grimly.   "She vanished 
in the middle of the night in April of 1997.  Her roommate, 
Stephanie Stevens, reported her missing when she didn't come 
home from work one Wednesday evening.  The local boys from 
the 'oh-eight investigated and found no trace of Ms. Marino, 
but did turn up her car still parked in the lot outside the 
office building."

Mulder's heart skipped a beat.  "Sounds...familiar," he 
managed.  "What happened?  Did she ever show up?"  He turned 
abruptly to the last report, fearing the end of the story but 
needing to know all the same.  

No autopsy photos.  Thank God. 

He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.  

"Nope, we never found her," Ripley was saying.  "The officers 
who caught the case followed every possible lead, but this 
girl had no enemies, no vices or any of the usual signs of 
trouble.  She worked hard, stayed in most nights, and went to 
church on Sundays." He shrugged.  "Everyone liked her, and no 
one believed that she would have run off on her own, 
especially without taking any of her stuff along with her."

"The case is still open?" Mulder asked, flipping back through 
the pages.  He stopped when he found a black and white 8 x 10 
photo of what was obviously Lisa Marino.  It had been 
professionally done, showing her smiling slightly, dressed a 
well-tailored suit with a wall of books in the background.  
Office picture, Mulder's mind supplied as he took in her wide 
dark eyes and Mona-Lisa smile.

"Her case was tossed in the missing person bin and everyone 
just sat around waiting for her body to turn up." Ripley 
scratched his head again.

"I'm gather it never did."

"Nope," replied Ripley with a frown.  "But a funny thing 
happened.  Eight months ago we had another woman go missing, 
this time right in the neighborhood."  He stretched out 
another file folder in Mulder's direction. "Rebecca Seeton.  
Age 31.  Worked full-time as manager of a day-care center 
downtown.  Her fiancι Robert Glaser reported her missing when 
she didn't show up to meet him and his parents for dinner. I 
caught the case, and it's been a thorn in my side ever 
since."  

"Her car was found but Rebecca is still missing."  Mulder 
quickly scanned the typed reports spread across his lap.  

Ripley nodded, sipping tepid coffee from a chipped gray mug.  
"You got it."

Mulder lifted a candid shot of a pretty blond woman, laughing 
as she wrestled with a large, black dog on the grass.  "So 
you think the cases are related," he said.  "That the same 
person is responsible for both disappearances."

"I don't know anything for sure," Ripley replied.  "But yeah, 
I think the similarity between the two stories suggests that 
we're looking for one perp.  I sent out a teletype to all 
local divisions asking that any other cases like this be 
routed through me, so when Littlefield went to the 'oh-nine 
this morning, they directed him over here."

"He knew about the others?"

Ripley slugged the rest of his coffee in one gulp.  "Yeah.  
The Seeton woman's fiancι, Glaser, he went to see Littlefield 
when we told him that there wasn't anything else we could do 
for him.  Littlefield tried to explain to him that you can't 
prosecute without a defendant."  He shook his head.  "Poor 
bastard.  I talked to him a dozen times, and every blessed 
time he told me their wedding date.  November eleventh.  He 
was so damn sure she would be back in time."

He fell abruptly silent, but Mulder filled in the ugly blanks 
for himself.  There wasn't going to be a wedding.  Not on 
November eleventh, not ever.  

Finally Mulder cleared his throat, twitching uncomfortably in 
his chair.  "Do you...do you think that Scully..." he broke 
off, unable to finish the thought.  It had been bad enough 
when he thought Littlefield was responsible, when he had a 
solid lead and a target for his anger.  But this...this was a 
nightmare of epic proportions.  Even the Smoker would be 
preferable to a psychopathic stranger.  At least then he 
would have some sense of where to start the search.

Ripley was saved from a reply by the appearance of Skinner, 
who flipped his cell phone closed with a deep frown as he 
approached the desk.  "I'll have a list of every one who was 
at the morgue on Saturday within the hour," he said.  Then he 
glanced from Mulder to Ripley.  "Have you shown him the tape 
yet?"

Mulder sat up with a start, his heart lurching into his 
throat.  "What tape?"

Ripley was silent for a moment.  Then he rose, chair 
squeaking in protest, and palmed video cassette from his 
desk.  
"Come with me," he said.

Mulder went.

*********************
End part four.  Continued in part five


Lesser Evils, part five
by Hannah Mason
Yadda yadda yadda in part one
***************************

He had left her a few battered paperback mysteries to read, 
but Scully ignored them, lost in thought as she paced the 
concrete floor of her prison.  The last thing he had said to 
her was that he would be back, and she wanted to be ready for 
him.  He had finally untied her that morning, indicating that 
he was beginning to let down his guard.  Good. Soon he would 
make other mistakes, and she knew she would have to be 
prepared to strike instantly.  Choose carefully, she told 
herself.  You may only get one chance.

In the hours since he had gone, she had examined every inch 
of her cell for anything that might be used as a weapon. The 
results of her search were disappointing, for the tiny room 
had been stripped bare of anything remotely dangerous, 
containing the just a narrow single bed, small round end-
table and the oak chair he sat in to watch her eat.  The 
minuscule bathroom equally spartan, with only a toilet and 
small sink.  Certainly there was nothing that would be 
effective against him and the gun he wore tucked in the 
waistband of his pants.

She halted her pacing to climb again the eight rungs that led 
up to the circular portal in the ceiling.  Just as before, 
the solid metal cover did not budge at all when she pushed 
against it. "Locked from the outside," she murmured, tracing 
the edges with her fingers. "That must mean that he leaves it 
unlocked when he's down here."

Filing that bit of information away, she climbed back down 
and went to sit cross-legged on the bed, her back to the 
concrete wall.  She absently traced the ugly fuchsia flower 
pattern on the bedspread, mentally reviewing her limited 
options.  He was big, perhaps too big for her to over-power 
without help.  If she tried and failed...

Scully shivered and moved so she hugged her knees close 
against her chest.  Think, she willed herself.  There's got 
to be a way out of here.  Her eyes went to the ceiling where 
air hummed softly through a small vent.
 
Maybe...?  She stood up on the bed for a closer look.  No, it 
only eighteen inches wide and less than a foot long.  Far too 
tiny for her to fit through.  Where's Tooms when you need 
him? she wondered with a sigh, and then suppressed a giddy 
laugh at her sudden longing for the heinous mutant.  

She plopped back down on the lumpy mattress, curling into a 
ball and closing her eyes.  Mulder.  He had shown up in the 
nick of time that night, when Tooms had oozed into her home 
intent on making her his latest snack.  Somehow, he had known 
even before she had that she was in trouble.  Does he sense 
that now? she wondered.  Does he even know I'm gone?  

He's not coming for you this time.

Her eyes snapped open in surprise, but there was no one in 
the room.  The words had come from within, and she accepted 
their truth with a heavy heart.  There was not going to be 
any eleventh hour rescue.  Not this time.  Even if Mulder 
still possessed the desire to traipse around looking for her, 
he would never think to search here, he would never 
suspect...

She blinked back the welling tears and scooted off the bed 
with fresh resolve.  He would be back at any moment.  

Thinkthinkthink.  What has he overlooked?  

She walked around the room slowly and finally halted in front 
of the heavy oak chair, inspecting it with a critical eye. 
She turned it upside down and twisted around to hold the 
bottom closer to the lone light bulb that hung from the 
ceiling.  With one fingernail, she prodded the tiny screws 
that held the legs in place, and a plan began to take shape 
in her mind.

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

The three men stood in a close semi-circle within the 
darkened AV room, hovering around the TV screen like campers 
around a fire.  "This is from the security camera posted at 
the doorway," Ripley said as he slipped the cassette into the 
VCR.  "I had it pulled this morning."

The screen flickered once, then displayed a crisp black-and-
white image of the dimly-lit entryway and double glass doors 
that marked the front entrance to the city morgue.  The 
running time stamp in the lower right corner read twelve-
forty six a.m.  A few seconds later, Mulder watched riveted 
as Scully slowly crossed the screen and paused, her arm 
against the bar on the door as if poised to push it open.  
Her shoulders drooped with a tired sag, and he felt a sharp 
pang of guilt, remembering again the harsh words he'd left 
her with that night.  

"Watch this here," murmured Ripley.  It was needless comment, 
for Mulder couldn't have torn his eyes away.

Scully turned suddenly from the door, her features set in a 
puzzled expression.  She raised a hand to her hairline, 
squinting in the direction from which she had come.  Then she 
smiled, checked her watch, and retraced her steps across the 
screen until she was out of range of the camera.

"That's all there is," Ripley said quietly.  "We've played 
the tape until the end.  If she left the morgue that night, 
it wasn't through the front door."

"Again. I want to see it again."  Mulder fell to his knees in 
front of the TV, his eyes wild and unfocused as he dragged 
the TV cart forward until it was level with his face.

"Of course."  Ripley hit the rewind button and Scully swiftly 
reappeared on screen, moving jerkily in reverse.  Mulder 
pressed even closer to the screen as the scene began to play 
once more.  

"Wait, stop it there!" he called sharply when Scully first 
turned around from the door.  Her image froze abruptly and 
Mulder tapped a finger against the far left of the screen.  
"Look at that.  See that shadow on the floor?  There's 
someone there in the hallway, just off camera."

"We figured as much," said Skinner.  "It seems like someone 
stopped her from leaving."    

"Someone she knew..." Mulder breathed, his face millimeters 
from the screen as he gazed at the frozen profile of his 
partner.  He traced the curve of her face gently before 
finally rising to his feet.  "I don't understand," he said, 
turning on Ripley.  "I thought you were pushing a link 
between Scully and those other cases, that you said there was 
one person responsible."

Skinner looked away.  Ripley scuffed the floor with his shoe.  
"Yes, well," he hesitated.  "We don't know for sure that it 
isn't the same person."

"Oh, that's just great.  Terrific," Mulder ground out, his 
anger returning full force.  "So what the hell DO we know for 
sure?"

"We're doing everything we can," said Ripley.

Not good ENOUGH! Mulder screamed inside, but he held his 
tongue.  He turned back where Scully was still captured, 
silent and unmoving on the screen.  "She's alive," he blurted 
suddenly, his eyes widening with the knowledge.  "She's 
alive, I know it."  He whirled on Skinner and Ripley, as if 
challenging them to contradict him.  

Neither dared. 

Ripley cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper off the 
top of the TV set.  "I sent the A.P.B. out personally this 
morning," he said quietly.  "Every cop in the city is on the 
alert.  If she's out there, we'll find her."

Mulder grabbed the paper but did not immediately read it.  
Four years melted into four seconds, and he was suddenly back 
in another tiny, gray room surrounded by law enforcement 
personnel as he read the sparse lines that reduced his most 
trusted confidante into a series of dry statistics.  Not 
again, he thought desperately.  How can this possibly be 
happening again?  He closed his eyes briefly, the sheet 
crinkling in his too-tight grasp.  Finally, he took a deep 
breath and forced his gaze to the paper in his hand.  The 
bold print screamed out at him from the stark white 
background.

NAME:  DANA KATHERINE SCULLY
DOB: 02/23/64
HAIR/EYES: RED/BLUE
HEIGHT:  5'2'' 
WEIGHT:  102 lb.
LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS:  5/2/99 IN WASHINGTON, D.C. CITY 
MORGUE AT APPROX. 1 a.m.  DRESSED IN BLUE JEANS, PINK SWEATER 
AND WHITE TENNIS SHOES.

The words blurred on the page, and Mulder crumpled the paper 
with one hand.  "This isn't going to work," he said bitingly.  
"She's not going to be wandering the street like some lost 
puppy.  We need this sort of information on HIM, not her."  
He jerked a nod at the shadow on the screen, and then stalked 
past the other two men and out of the room.

"I can't fault his logic," Ripley remarked to Skinner a 
moment later.  "But I don't see what he can do that isn't 
already being done."

Skinner glanced once at the gray smudge cast along the morgue 
floor.  "I expect Mulder will have new insight soon," he 
answered cryptically, striding toward the door.

Ripley's words stopped him at the threshold.  "How?  By 
investigating our phantom shadow?"

Skinner turned around slowly. "No," he said, his soft tone an 
odd blend of respect and fear.  "By becoming him." 

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

The sky was streaked with wide crimson and gold bands when 
Mulder pulled his car into the city morgue parking lot. The 
scene of the crime.  It was an obvious place to start, but 
somehow he could not make himself get out of the car.  
Precious seconds ticked by as he sat staring out the 
windshield at the setting sun.  It had seemed like such a 
good idea a short while ago, to try to climb inside the head 
of the monster who kidnapped his partner, to try to imagine 
what he was thinking when he had grabbed her, what he was 
planning to do with her, what he might have ALREADY done with 
her...

Mulder swallowed back a dry heave.  Focusfocusfocus.  He 
repeated the words to himself in a silent litany.  You're 
gonna get her back.  Just concentrate.  You're gonna get her 
back.  

He squeezed his eyes shut and mentally recalled the first 
rule of behavioral profiling:  start with what you know for 
sure, the facts of the case.  It was simple logic that had 
been drilled into him relentlessly at the Academy.  Every 
action has a cause.  Every crime scene tells a story.  Read 
the perpetrator's actions, and you can determine the 
motivation behind them.  Find the motivation and you will 
find the killer.

The killer.  Mulder's eyes flew open.  Not yet, he thought. 
But soon.  With new determination, he finally pushed his way 
out of the car and hurried up the steps into the morgue.   

The heavy glass door closed slowly behind him while he stood 
rooted to the floor just inside the building, approximating 
Scully's position on the tape.  Though deserted, the hallway 
was better lit than it had been that night.  He walked back 
and forth a few times, casting his eyes about for any trace 
of Scully or the man who had abducted her.

Eventually, he stopped back in front of the doors and turned 
his head to squint up the ceiling, fixing his gaze on the 
large black eye of the security camera.  He took a tentative 
step in its direction, his mouth parted as if to speak, then 
halted.  His neck was craned all the way back as he studied 
the camera, and finally he shook his head.  "Something's 
not..." He weakly a finger weakly at the lens, turning back 
around to study the empty hallway.  "Something's not right 
about that tape."  He crossed back over to stand by the door 
and gazed down the length of the vacant corridor.

"Who was it, Scully?" he murmured under his breath.  "Who did 
you see here?  Who was that smile for?"

At that moment a door opened and a tall young man in blue 
coveralls stepped out into the hall carrying a large sack of 
garbage.  Busy in his work, he did not immediately notice 
Mulder's presence.

"Hey, I know you."  Mulder moved in a flash, reaching the 
other man in a few quick strides.  "You're Raymond Valente, 
right?  Amateur psychologist extraordinaire."

"Yeah, that's right."  His answered sullenly as his eyes 
raked Mulder from top to bottom.  "And I know you, too."  

"You seem to know a lot of things," Mulder said, stepping a 
bit closer.  The young man lifted his chin defiantly and did 
not back away.

"I know what I know," he countered, eyes narrowed.  "What I 
heard."

Mulder did not back down either, matching the other man's 
intense gaze with one of his own.  "Didn't your mother ever 
teach you it's impolite to eavesdrop, Raymond?"

Raymond snorted.  "Who was eavesdropping?  I could have heard 
you a mile away, you were yelling at her so loud."  His tone 
dripped with disapproval.

Mulder winced reflexively at the rebuke, and Raymond caught 
it, his eyes gleaming black with triumph. It was a short-
lived victory, however, because Mulder regained his footing 
quickly.  "If you're so well-informed then you must have also 
heard me leave long before 1 a.m.," he said. He paused and 
circled the janitor slowly.  "But you, Raymond," he murmured. 
"You were actually in the building when she disappeared, 
isn't that right?"

Gotcha now, he thought as Raymond looked away, squirming 
uncomfortably.  

"You like to hang around here, don't you?," Mulder continued 
softly.  "Especially when she's working.  You like to watch 
her, talk to her.  I understand you also ask her all sorts of 
questions about the dead bodies."  He pushed his face right 
up into Raymond's, his tone icy cold.  "You have a thing for 
stiffs, Raymond?"  

The young man's mouth tightened into a white line but he did 
not reply.

"Or maybe," Mulder said backing off to circle him once more, 
"maybe you just have a thing for my partner.  Is that it?"

"No, that's you." Raymond spat, suddenly finding his voice.

Mulder ignored him.  "Hey, I can see why you would like her, 
Raymond.  She *is* quite pretty.  And smart, too."  He 
advanced a bit closer.  "And She's nice to you, isn't she?  
Talks to you, acts like she's really interested in what 
you're saying.  Yeah, Scully's like that.  Always taking pity 
on people."

"We're friends," said Raymond through gritted teeth.

"C'mon, Raymond, you don't actually believe that!" Mulder 
scoffed.  "A woman like that chooses you as a friend?"  He 
shook his head.  "I don't think so."

"Better me than someone who screams at her..."  Raymond 
tried, but the jab fell short.  He was breathing hard, 
shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"What happened that night, Raymond?" Mulder asked softly, his 
faced pressed so oppressively close that he could smell the 
younger man's sweat.  "Did you ask her out and she said no?  
Did you finally realize that she was never gonna like you 
back, not the way you wanted her to?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do.  I think you know EXACTLY what I'm talking 
about."

Raymond swallowed hard.  "I don't," he whined.  "I didn't do 
anything to her, I swear."

"You swear," Mulder taunted back.  "Well, I guess I should 
believe you then."  He reached out one finger and hooked the 
crucifix that hung around the custodian's neck.  "You a 
religious man, Raymond?  Lying's a sin.  You could go to 
hell."

"You go to hell!"  His voice was harder and he jerked from 
Mulder's grasp.  "You're crazy, man," he waved a shaky hand 
at Mulder.  "You really are nuts.  I told the cops what I 
heard, but I didn't really think you would..."

He was cut off by Mulder slamming him up against the wall.

"You think that was crazy?" he demanded.  "I'll show you 
crazy.  How's this?"  he shook the man roughly, rattling his 
teeth.  "I have a reputation to uphold here.  Don't want to 
disappoint you."

"Sss...sstttop...plll..leeease."

Mulder released him abruptly and Raymond sank against the 
wall to the floor.  "Where is she?"  Mulder said, looming 
over him.

Raymond shook his head weakly, cowering under his hands.  "I 
don't know," he replied hoarsely.  "I swear to God I don't 
know."

Mulder watched him coughing and sputtering for a moment 
longer.  "You better pray that's true," he said at last.  
"You better pray hard, Raymond, 'cause if you did something 
to Scully, not even the Almighty himself will be enough to 
protect you from me." 

**************************
End part five.  Continued in part six.

Lesser Evils, part six
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer and all that in part one
****************************

"Not only is she a complete motor-mouth, but she can never be 
anywhere on time," David complained in annoyance as they sat 
on a plush bench in the waiting area of Allegra, the popular, 
newly-opened sea-food restaurant.  

"She'll be here soon," Ellie soothed, fussing with his tie.

He lightly slapped her hand away.  "It's fine already," He 
muttered.  She smiled sweetly at him.  

"You look terribly handsome this evening," she said.  "I'm 
sure I am going to be the envy of every woman in the room."

"Yeah, yeah..." he answered with an eye roll, but she could 
tell his black mood was lifting.  He took laced their fingers 
together and set their joined hands on his knee.  "Who is it 
I'm being dressed up for this time?  Stockbroker, 
congressman...?"  She laughed and he shrugged.  "Sorry, babe. 
I just can't keep up with the revolving love life of Ramona 
Jones."

"Well, you better have dressed up for *me*," she teased with 
mock indignation.  "But Ramona's bringing Brad 
Somebodyorother.  He's a DC cop."

"So, she's slumming with us working class boys for a change?" 
David answered dryly.  "How 'au courant'..."

"David!  Be nice."

He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Honey, I'm aaaalways 
nice," he drawled.  "You should know that by now."

Ellie's cheeks turned pink as remembered how nice he had been 
just one hour earlier.  And how naked.  He was apparently 
remembering the same thing, because he pressed his lips to 
the side of her neck in an echo of the gesture that had begun 
an intense bout of lovemaking.  "Mmmm," he breathed into her 
hair.  "Let's blow this joint and order in Chinese.  They'll 
never miss us."

Oooo, so tempting.  But no.  "David...I promised Ramona that 
we'd be here to meet Brad."

He sighed, pulling away from her.  "Right.  Brad the cop."

Ellie giggled suddenly.  "You know, I understand from Ramona 
that he packs, um...shall we say, a pretty big gun," She 
laughed again.  "Long arm of the law and all that."

"Okay, that's information overload right there," he informed 
her, shaking his head.  "Now I won't be able to look the guy 
in the face."

"I wasn't talking about his *face*..."

"Enough!" David cried, rising as if deeply offended.  "I will 
not be party to this crude conversation any longer."

Ellie laughingly tugged him back down.  "Sorry, couldn't 
resist," she murmured, and snuggled against him in apology.  

He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed a warning.  "Well, 
you better be on your best behavior this evening, missy, or 
I'll tell Brad the Cop about your sighting Dr. Frankenstein 
at the local morgue.  He and Ramona would sure get a kick out 
of that story."

She pinched him.  "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"David, you know how I rescued you from that awful bachelor 
pad with the cracks in the walls and the rusty water coming 
out of the sink?"

He nodded, his eyes alight with merriment. 

"Good.  Remember that every time you get the urge to open 
your mouth this evening, 'cause you can always move back."

They were still laughing and trading threats of divorce when 
Ramona and Brad arrived--only forty-three minutes late--for 
dinner.

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

He was agitated when he descended into the basement with her 
latest meal.  Then he stood over her imperiously until she 
began to eat.  "That's a good girl," he praised, but his tone 
was still marked with irritation.  He began to pace the floor 
in front of her.

"They're looking for you," he informed her with a frown.  "I 
knew this would happen, of course.  It's nothing new. I'm 
sure they'll hunt around for a good while before they finally 
give up."  He stopped suddenly, and leaned over to stroke her 
hair.  "And they always give up eventually."

Scully remained silent as she struggled not to spit out the 
partially-chewed carrots in her mouth.

He resumed his pacing, with one hand clutching the gun tucked 
in his pants.  "I bet I know what you're thinking," he said 
bitterly.  "You're thinking that HE'S going to come find 
you."

"He?"  Scully echoed softly, putting down her fork and 
avoiding his eyes in an effort not to appear challenging.

"You know.  HIM.  Mulder." The last word he ground out with 
such hatred that her eyes flew to his face in startled 
horror.

"Yeah, that's right," he told her with a sneer.  "He's 
looking for you, too.  Running all over the place like a 
fucking madman."

Scully fought a shudder, surprised that she wasn't more 
pleased to learn he was searching for her.  Instead she was 
afraid for him.  Careful, Mulder, she begged silently.  
Please be careful.  You don't know what you're dealing with 
here.

"He thinks he's pretty hot shit, doesn't he?  Mr. FBI man 
with the fancy Oxford education.  Well, he doesn't have a 
clue now."  His voice was filled with triumph.  "He's just 
spinning his wheels in the mud, and I intend to see that he 
stays good and stuck there."  He moved to sit close next to 
her on the bed, his breath on her face.  "I know you care 
about him."

Scully ducked her head instinctively.  Don't let him see how 
much, she thought wildly.

He began stroking her hair again, and she went rigid, holding 
back a flinch.  "It'll pass in time," he murmured in her ear.  
"Ultimately you'll understand that he's no good for you.  
You'll see that you are the chosen one. I'm a patient man, I 
can wait...for a while."  The stroking stopped abruptly and 
he stood once more.  "But your partner better back off soon," 
he warned.  "I'll let him run circles for now, but eventually 
I will find a more...permanent...solution to his 
interference."

He smiled then, and she stared at him mutely in response.  
Time was running out faster that she had realized.

"You should eat more," he scolded gently as he cleared away 
her tray.  "I like a woman with a little meat on her bones."  
He leered openly and Scully shivered. "Wish I could stay 
longer," he continued as he eyed her chest with appreciation.  
"But I have some work left to do.  Maybe tomorrow night we 
can...get to know each other a little more intimately, huh?"

Over my dead body, she thought automatically, and then winced 
when she realized the expression might actually be prophetic.  
"Uh...yeah.  I'd, uh, like that."  She forced a tight smile.  
With any luck, she would be long gone by the next evening.

He nodded with a goofy grin, turning to leave, and Scully's 
eyes slid to the oak chair in the corner.  Thank God that he 
had not noticed anything was amiss.  

Tomorrow morning, she thought.  I'll show you the true 
meaning of intimate contact.  

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

Mulder felt a twinge of guilt as the lock sprung free with a 
slight twist of the tiny tools.  He realized that he had no 
right to be invading her space this way, not after the tirade 
he had performed the other night, but he simply couldn't help 
himself.  He pushed the door of her apartment open and 
stepped slowly inside.

It was silent as the grave; not even a ticking clock 
disturbed the impressive quiet.  He moved soundlessly through 
the room, touching as he went:  her bureau, her lamp, her 
stereo, her ridiculously large floor plant that he always 
liked to tease her about. He stroked each object in turn, 
observing the strange, personal ritual he had established the 
last time she had vanished.  Touching her things had grounded 
him then, given him proof that she had actually existed. That 
she wasn't just some imaginary friend he'd dreamed up in a 
moment of complete lunacy.  It had given him hope that she 
would return one day to listen again to the Brahms CD, open 
[The Physician's Desk Reference], and water the goddamn 
plant.

Now seeing her things just made him ache.  Whoever had Scully 
this time had no intention of returning her, this he knew for 
certain.  This latest threat was not the work of the 
conspiracy artists, the powerful men who so often jerked her 
life around like a yo-yo.  She was not being dangled carrot-
like in front of him, a pawn used callously to keep him in 
line.  No, for once, this was not all about him.  

And yet it was.  
In the way it always was where Scully was concerned.  

He heaved a sigh and ran his fingers lightly over her 
bookcase.  When at last he had made contact with virtually 
all her possessions, he sat down on the sofa with his head in 
his hands.  He had never told her that he'd done this before, 
when she had vanished into the night without a trace, leaving 
him to weave through life like a boat with no rudder.  Not 
that the subjection of her abduction came up in routine 
conversation.  Scully did not seem to want to discuss it, and 
he generally followed her lead.  When they did speak of it, 
he kept the conversation trained fully on her and what she 
had endured during those missing months.  Partially it was to 
push her to remember, to glean further information from her 
that might aide them in their efforts to unravel the 
conspiracy swirling around them.  

But mainly it was out of fear that he had refrained from 
sharing his side of the story.  He didn't want her to know 
lost he had been without her, didn't want to scare her with 
the strength of his need.  And he hadn't wanted to tempt fate 
into stealing her again, punishing him for his love and 
leaving Scully to suffer the consequences.

But fate won out anyway, having devised a more exacting kind 
of torture.  He had thought that the worst thing would be for 
her to know how much he cared, how pathetically grateful he 
was for her presence in his life.

He had been very wrong.  The not knowing was much, much 
worse.

"Fuck," he muttered into his hands. 

He rose from the couch to wander once more around the 
apartment, mentally chastising himself for the bout of self-
pity.  This isn't giving you jack shit in the way of 
information.  Think harder.  Who the hell is this animal?  
Where does he have her?

His trip to the morgue had not given him much insight into 
who had grabbed Scully or why.  He knew only that it was not 
a spur-of-the-moment job; whoever it was had been planning it 
for quite some time. 

He patted around until he found his coat pocket and reached 
in to pull out a copy of the security camera video.  There 
was still something about the sequence that bothered him, but 
he could not verbalize what it was.  He ventured into her 
bedroom and punched the power button on the TV.  There's got 
to be something more to this.  What the hell am I missing? he 
wondered.

The question kept niggling at him as he slipped the cassette 
into the VCR, watching again as it played his own personal 
silent horror film.  The short scene appeared just as it 
always had, with Scully turning around each time and walking 
off screen with a smile.   

"NO!" he wanted to shout at her.  "Keep going, don't turn 
around!"  But Scully's image always ignored his advice and 
crossed the screen to meet the shadow.  
********************************************************

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrestling with the 
oak chair once more.  It was a struggle, and sweat had begun 
to gather between her shoulder blades, trickling in rivulets 
down her back.  "Come on, come on..." she coaxed in 
annoyance. Her efforts were hampered by the pitch black 
darkness that he had left her in after dinner.  

At least he left, she thought grimly as she worked.

Finally, she heard a tiny tinkling sound as the small screws 
slipped from their confines to land on the floor near her 
feet.  "Ha-ha!" she cried with a grin, delighting in her 
momentary triumph.  She had broken three nails in the 
process, but the damn things were free at last.

"Now for the moment of truth," she muttered, and with a sharp 
twist, yanked one heavy leg off bottom of the seat. She 
tested its weight in her hands. "Perfect.".

Then she grabbed the end of the wrought iron bed frame and 
dragged it into the center of the room.  She set one foot on 
the mattress and hoisted herself, still standing, until she 
was as close to the ceiling as possible.  Next, she swung the 
chair leg like a bat.  It took several tries, but at last the 
leg connected with the light bulb, shattering it into many 
pieces.

Scully shielded her eyes as glass shards rained from above, 
then hopped down and moved the bed back into its original 
position.  Next, she felt her way across the room until she 
found the metal rungs in the wall.  Setting the chair leg at 
her feet, she climbed the make-shift ladder until she reached 
the portal at the top.  

Not fast enough, she thought, and tried it again.  

And again.  
And again.   

She practiced until she had the rhythm down flawlessly.  
There would be no time for fumbling mistakes.

Breathless, she finally picked up the leg again and returned 
to the bed, where she sat down to wait. 

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

The chirping of his cell phone woke Mulder from his doze. He 
lay half-sprawled across her bed, coat still on and feet 
planted on the floor, where he had nodded off in front of the 
TV somewhere around 3 am. He blinked against the harsh white 
light of the screen and felt around on the bedspread for his 
phone.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Agent Mulder.  Where are you?"  To his addled-brain, Skinner 
sounded both irritated and concerned.

"I'm at Scully's.  Why, did something happen?"  He sat up 
quickly, all traces of sleep evaporating instantly.

"No, there's no news yet."  He paused.  "Mulder, Detective 
Ripley informed me that you had a run-in with a janitor down 
at the morgue. Raymond Valente actually lodged a complaint."

"Uh, we had a talk, yeah."

"Yes, well...It would seem the conversation was rather 
similar to the one you had with ADA Littlefield yesterday 
afternoon."

Mulder did not answer.

Skinner sighed deeply.  "You can't keep doing this, Agent 
Mulder. I realize this is a difficult situation, but you've 
got to keep control or I'll be forced to pull you off this 
case."

"I'd like to see you try," Mulder shot back.

It was Skinner's turn to fall silent.  A few tense moments 
passed before he spoke again.

"This Valente guy," he ventured finally.  "You get anything 
from him?"

Mulder rubbed his eyes with one hand.  "Other than he thinks 
*I'm* the one behind Scully's disappearance?  Not really.  
He's definitely strange.  A quiet religious type-shy, even. 
But he's also got a temper. Probably has a major crush on 
Scully, too.  I don't know that he has the balls to pull off 
a stunt like this, but I can't rule him out.  Not when he was 
the only one we know for sure was there when she was 
attacked."

"About that..."

"What?"

"The police found a jimmied window in the basement.  No one 
seems to know when it happened or how long it's been there, 
but it's possible that's how the guy got in."

Mulder closed his eyes.  "So his face wouldn't be on any of 
the video tapes."

"Exactly."

There was a moment of silence as the two men digested this 
latest piece of bad news.  Mulder picked up the VCR remote 
and played the tape again. Nothing new jumped out at him.

"I'm going to lean on Littlefield some more," he said as he 
watched Scully smile for the shadow.  "This asshole is 
somebody she knew and trusted."

"Fine."  Skinner hesitated.  "Agent Mulder..."

Mulder braced himself for another warning.

"Lean hard."

He smiled.  "Yes, Sir."
**********************
End part six.  Continued in part seven

Lesser Evils, part seven
by Hannah Mason
Just story here, see part one for legal stuff
****************************

Her arms and legs ached from the unrelenting tension.  It 
felt like she had been crouched on the bed waiting for days 
rather than hours. Finally, she heard the scrape of the heavy 
metal lid being pulled away.  It was time. 

A funnel of light shone through from the ceiling and she 
squinted, her eyes stinging with the sudden brightness.

"Dana?" he called, sounding puzzled.  "What's going on with 
the light?"

Her heart rate accelerated to an almost painful pace.  It was 
now or never.  "Bulb's burnt out," she answered loudly from 
the bed.  Then she slipped silently along the wall until she 
stood, clutching the chair leg in hand, on the far side of 
the metal rungs.

"I just changed it a week ago..." his voice was laced with 
suspicion and he made no move to climb down into the room.

Ohpleaseohplease...Scully waited barely breathing.

"I guess I'll have to get another one," he said finally.  "Be 
right back."  The lid clamped down once more.

Scully licked her lips and tightened her hold on the chair 
leg.  "Just a few more minutes," she assured herself in a 
whisper.  "He's gonna come down here in a minute, so just be 
ready."

No sooner had she spoken than the ray of light appeared from 
above once more.  "Okay, I've got one," he announced, and she 
saw his foot come down on the first rung.  "But I'm warning 
you, Dana, this had better not be some kind of trick on your 
part.  I would hate to have to punish you."

She heard the deliberate cock of the trigger on his gun and 
her mouth went dry.  She raised the leg in the air.

"Here we..."

She whacked him as hard as she could across the back of the 
neck.  He cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the gun 
and stumbling away from her. 

But he did not fall down.

Scully barely had time to register this fact as she scrambled 
up the ladder.  The eight rungs seemed to take forever, but 
at last she poked her head up into the basement.  Freedom!
She placed her palms on the dank ground, prepared to hoist 
herself clear of the hole, when a hand clenched a fistful of 
her hair.

He yanked hard, and tears of pain sprang up automatically in 
her eyes.  She jerked from left to right but couldn't break 
free.

"That was very bad."  He joined her on the ladder, pressing 
close against her as he continued to pull her head back so 
far she feared her neck would snap.  Then he wrenched her 
left arm behind her back and tugged her sharply down the 
ladder into the cell.  

"Very bad indeed," he growled, his breath hot in her ear.  "I 
hope you enjoyed that little prank, Dana, because now you 
have to face the consequences."

Tears fell from her eyes in earnest now, both from the pain 
and the realization that she had failed.  He shoved her 
roughly down on the bed, pinning her with his knees as he 
produced the nylon cords from the back of his pants.  She 
struggled as best she could, but he easily trapped her hands 
above her head with one arm.  "Very bad," he repeated, more 
to himself than her.  

He flipped her over suddenly and she arched in pain, her 
breath caught in her throat.  She coughed and sputtered into 
the pillow as he tightly bound her wrists to the iron bar at 
the head of the bed.  The bed lifted abruptly when he moved 
off her, and for a second she thought he might be leaving.  
Then the light came back on as he replaced the bulb, and she 
heard him retrieve the gun from the floor.  

I'm sorry, Mom, she thought wildly, squeezing her eyes shut.  
And she began to pray.  

He loomed over her again, using the barrel of the gun to 
brush the hair from her eyes.  "I could kill you right now, 
you know that?" he asked lightly.  "Just one pull of the 
trigger and it would be all over. You could join the others 
lying in Potter's field.  Would you like that? Huh?"

Scully shook her head against the pillow.  Please God, no.

"Me either," he said with a sigh.  "I would hate to see all 
my hard work wasted in just two days.  Besides, the Lord 
rewards those who are patient.  Jesus himself had to endure 
forty days and forty nights of trials."  He ran the edge of 
the gun over her cheek.  "So I'll tell you what, Dana.  If 
you promise to be a good girl from now on, I'll overlook this 
little transgression, okay?"

Okayokayokay.  She nodded as vigorously as she could.

"Say thank you," he commanded. 

"Thank you," she whispered obediently.

"Very good."  She felt him set the gun down on the bed and 
move to straddle her backside, his knee pressing painfully 
against her leg.

She stiffened and stifled a cry.

"You didn't think you were going to get off without your 
punishment, did you, Angel?" He reached under her to undo the 
snap on her jeans.  

Oh, please no.  Scully twisted her head into the pillow, hot 
tears of shame trickling down her cheeks.

He undid her jeans fully and then moved his hands back around 
to push up her sweater.  He froze.
 
"Well, well, well," he murmured.  "What have we here?" 

He traced her tattoo with one cold finger, and Scully 
shivered.  "This explains a lot," he said at length.  "You've 
got the devil in you, Angel.  That's why we're having such a 
rough time together."  He reached under her again and 
refastened her pants.  "But don't worry," he finished softly.  
"I know just the thing to get him out. It will hardly hurt at 
all."

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

It hurt so much.  Hours later, she lay alone in the dark, 
face down on the bed dressed in only a bra and jeans.  Her 
sweater was on the floor somewhere, but she could summon the 
energy to look for it.  She moaned softly into the pillow.  

Everything hurt.

Her neck and arms ached unbearably from her struggles against 
the restraints, and he had done something to her left knee 
during their original tussle on the bed.  She could feel it 
swollen and throbbing under her jeans.  But all of these 
injuries, painful as they were, paled in comparison to the 
blinding agony of the fiery burn on her lower back, where he 
had tried to rid her of the devil by searing the serpent 
tattoo off her body.

The room still stunk of hot wax and singed flesh.

Scully began to shake.  So cold, she thought dimly.  Should 
be hot, why cold...?  She trembled for several long minutes 
before it occurred to her that she was probably in shock.  
Her teeth chattered as she made a feeble effort to crawl 
under the blankets, but in her weakened state she couldn't 
lift herself enough to pull the covers free.  Instead, she 
clenched one side of the bedspread, rolling over gingerly 
until she was cocooned on top of the bed.

Was it like this for the others? she wondered, shivering with 
pain and trying to picture the women who had come before her.  
Had they, too, struggled against their fate only to realize 
the futility of their actions?  When had they known that they 
were going to die?  Had they screamed?  Begged?  Prayed for 
loved ones left behind?

Stop it! a voice in her head commanded.  You're giving up, 
and that's *exactly* what he wants.  

Don't have a choice, she answered back, knowing it was true.  
If she had been outmatched before, her new injuries rendered 
her an even less formidable opponent.  There was no way she 
could win a fight now.

Use your head, the voice urged.  Keep alert.  He's beginning 
to lose it, can't you see?  He's going to make mistakes, you 
just have to wait and pick your chance!

I had my chance, she thought glumly.  So tired now.  Can't 
think.  Just want to sleep.

And the voice faded away.

***************************
  
Wednesday morning dawned in shades of gray, and by seven a.m. 
a light rain had begun to fall over most of D.C.  Mulder 
killed the windshield wipers as he came to a stop two blocks 
from St. Mary's Church.  Three cars down he spotted Riggs and 
Delacourt, the two blues who had been assigned to tail 
Littlefield for the night.  Mulder himself had shadowed the 
attorney for most of the previous day, abandoning the project 
only when it became apparent he had settled in for the night.  
At that point, Mulder had returned the job to the local cops 
while he spent long hours at the FBI computer lab, forcing a 
young technician to analyze the security tape frame by frame.

Still nothing. 

With a sigh, he slammed his door shut and jogged amid the 
raindrops until he came to the green Chevy that housed Riggs 
and Delacourt.  He opened the left rear door and slid behind 
Delacourt, who was driving.  "Anything?" he asked tersely.

"Naw," said Riggs with disgust, twisting in his seat to look 
at Mulder.  "He left the house about twenty minutes ago, came 
straight here.  What's up with that, I'm asking you.  Church 
at seven a.m?  This cat's a regular choirboy."

"That's police code for 'loser'," quipped Delacourt, and the 
two partners dissolved into chuckles at their own wit.

"There was no movement at all last night."  Mulder did not 
share the merriment.

"Nope."  Delacourt checked his notes.  "It was lights out at 
twenty-three hundred hours and then nothing 'til he left the 
house a few minutes ago."

"Dammit," Mulder sat back in his seat with a huff.  He 
glanced out the rain-streaked window in the direction of the 
church.  "I'm going in there," he announced at last.  "I want 
to talk to him again, face to face."

"You think that's such a good idea?" Riggs asked, but his 
eyes belied his excitement.  Finally, there was going to be 
some action.  "If he is the perp, you could spook him."

"Good," Mulder answered shortly as he moved to exit the car.  
"I hope I do spook him.  Maybe then he'll lead us to Scully."

A few minutes later he was brushing raindrops from his 
overcoat inside the Church foyer.  He entered the large main 
hall cautiously and was surprised to find there was no 
service in progress.  His eyes adjusted to the dim light as 
he took his surroundings.  A large organ sat silent at the 
front of the hall and the pews were sprinkled with an 
occasional worshipper, but there was not a priest in sight. 

Neither did he see Littlefield.  

Mulder strode quickly up the center aisle, his head swaying 
like a pendulum from left to right as he searched out 
Littlefield. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath.  
"Where are you?"

He reached the front and stared out at the questioning faces 
in the rows before him.  No Littlefield.    

"Shit," he said, starting back down the aisle once more. 
"Shitshitshit."  He was about to send up the flare to Riggs 
and Delacourt when he spotted a small alcove at the back of 
the church that glowed with candles.  

Standing solemnly in front of the candles was Aaron 
Littlefield. 

Mulder stood frozen for a moment, then glanced once at the 
rest of the worshippers.  They had apparently returned to 
their private reveries.  Mulder slowly approached the alcove 
and stepped inside.

Littlefield tensed with his arrival.  "What are you doing 
here?" he demanded in a controlled whisper.

Mulder gave a purposefully casual shrug. "Oh you know, I 
thought I'd drop by, say a few Hail Marys...see if you were 
finally gonna tell me the truth about what happened with 
Scully."

Littlefield was quiet for a long moment.  "Do you believe in 
God, Agent Mulder?" 

"No," Mulder answered shortly.  "But I believe in evil."

"Ah, that's half the battle won, then."  Littlefield smiled 
and walked over to gaze out of a small round window.  "What 
about redemption?" he asked without turning around.  "Do you 
believe a man, once plagued with darkness, could somehow be 
reborn?"

Mulder felt his chest tighten.  "I...yes."  He had proven 
that one himself six years ago.

"Me, too."  Littlefield nodded slowly.  He turned around.  
"Karen Kittering, the girl I...assaulted..." he barely forced 
the word out, "she and I are friends, now, did you know 
that?"

Mulder shook his head.  No, he hadn't known.

"Her parents were actually the ones who pressed the charges.  
Karen knew I hadn't meant to hurt her; that's why I got off 
so lightly."  He paced the room with measured steps.  "Don't 
get me wrong, I was plenty horrified by what I did, how I'd 
hurt her.  I promised Karen that I'd spend the rest of my 
days making up for it, and sweet girl that she is, she let 
me."  He gave Mulder a half-smile.  "We still exchange 
Christmas cards every year."

"That's a truly touching story.  Let me get out my violin." 
Mulder folded his arms over his chest, still suspicious.

"Look, I told you in the hopes that you would understand," 
Littlefield said with a sigh.  "I'm not the monster that you 
seem to think I am."  He cocked his head at Mulder.  "Or that 
maybe you want me to be."

"All I want is my partner back."

"And I wish I could help you, I really do.  But Agent 
Mulder..."  He waited until he had Mulder's full attention.  
"I'm telling you this now in front of God...I didn't have 
anything to do with Dana's disappearance.  I would *never* 
have hurt her.  And I don't know where she is."

Mulder held his eyes for a long time, deciding whether to 
believe him.  Then at last he saw the truth.  "Son of a 
bitch," he murmured.  "You didn't do it, did you?"

"No," said Littlefield again, his voice tinged with relief.

Mulder sank down weakly on the wooden bench.  "I was so 
sure..."

"Yes, I gathered that much," Littlefield huffed a small, 
humorless laugh .  "The police car parked outside my home 
last night was a pretty strong tip off."

"But..." Mulder was still struggling to wrap his brain around 
this new information.  "But if it wasn't you, then who..?"

Littlefield joined him on the bench.  "I have my theory, but 
I don't think you're going to like it very much."

"The kidnapper," Mulder said immediately.  "The one who took 
those other women."

"Exactly.  The pattern fits perfectly.  It's got to be him."

"But Scully knew this guy...you can see it on the tape."  The 
tape again.  Always back to the tape.  What the fuck am I not 
seeing? he wondered angrily.

"...don't' know that he was a stranger to the others, 
either," Littlefield was saying.  "That has been the most 
frustrating part of this case.  We don't know how he chose 
them, why he took them or what he did with them."

"They're dead," Mulder interjected with flat certainty.

"Yes.  Yes, I believe you're right."

They were silent for a moment, each staring at the flickering 
candles as if hypnotized.  Mulder closed his eyes and 
visualized Scully as she walked down the hallway of the 
morgue, trying to see her as the killer might.  Almost gets 
away, he thought.  Almost...but then I stop her.  I call to 
her.  "Scully!"... no-Dana... "Dana, wait!"  She turns around 
and recognizes me.  She smiles and I'm glad.  Yes, that's 
right.  I'm glad because I've been thinking about this moment 
for so long, anticipating it with such pleasure, and now it's 
here and I'm happy and she's happy...

Thank you, God.

Mulder's eyes snapped open.  He stood, very slowly, and 
walked over to the wooden cross that hung on the wall over 
the rows of candles.  He stared at it for a long moment.

"I think...I think I know why he chose them."

Littlefield sucked in his breath.  "How?"

"No, not yet.  I have to see the photos of the others again.  
If I'm right, we may still have a little time left."

***********************
End part seven.  Continued in part eight.

Lesser Evils, part eight
by Hannah Mason
Disclaimer etc. in part one
***************************

He shook her shoulder gently to rouse her.  "Rise and shine," 
he said cheerfully.  "I've got a special treat for you this 
morning."

Scully moaned low in her throat, rolling her head groggily on 
the pillow and shifting her limbs carefully beneath the 
bedspread. She had not moved in nearly twenty-four hours, 
having passed out from pain sometime in the middle of the 
night. It had been a delicious escape, and she now shrunk 
back under the covers, trying to recapture the tantalizing 
numbness of unconsciousness.   But given even a small window 
of awareness,  the pain asserted itself with a vengeance, 
using her increasing lucidity as a weapon of torment until 
Scully was biting her lip to keep from crying out in agony.       
Her joints were swollen and rigid, and her lower back still 
burned fiery-hot, as if flames continued to smolder beneath 
the tender skin.  Where she had once been shaking with cold, 
she now felt smothered in heat.  Her tongue was thick and dry 
in her mouth, and the pillow was damp beneath her tangled 
hair.

Fever, she diagnosed easily.  Big one.  Infection, maybe? 

She swallowed twice in an effort to moisten her parched 
throat.  "Wha.." The word came out like a needle scratch over 
a record.  She swallowed once more, tried again.  "What now?" 

"Breakfast, of course."  He swooped the blankets off and she 
shivered in response to the cool air.  "You've been so well-
mannered for the last day that I thought you deserved some 
reward."  He nodded in the direction of the ladder and 
grinned down at her. "Home-made waffles with all the 
fixings."

"Upstairs?" she croaked out, suddenly completely alert.  Her 
heart rate picked up, the surge of adrenaline taking the edge 
off her pain.

"Yes ma'am," he replied.  "If you can promise to behave 
yourself."

Scully still didn't move from the bed.  It could be a trick, 
she thought with sudden panic.  He could be taking you to 
Potter's Field, just like the others.

"C'mon now," he coaxed, holding her rumpled sweater out with 
one hand.  "Get dressed and get moving.  I've got to be at 
work soon."

Scully took the garment from him slowly, her eyes searching 
his face for any trace of malevolence.  "You didn't really 
think I meant to keep you down here forever, did you?" he 
asked with a short laugh.  

Scully froze with the sweater part way over her head.  Yes.  
That was precisely what she had thought.  What exactly was 
his plan, then?

She eased the soft cotton down over her back very gingerly, 
wincing when it scraped over the inflamed skin there.  He 
caught her grimace and made a tsk-tsk sound.  "Sorry about 
that," he said.  "But you left me no other choice.  The devil 
had to come out."  He extended a hand to help her off of the 
bed.  "You're all better now, Angel.  You'll see...we're 
going to be so good together, you and I."

She took the hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.  
Her heart was pounding full force now.  She still wasn't sure 
whether he meant to feed her breakfast or finish her off 
entirely, but she sensed something was about to happen.

He stood at the based of the ladder, gesturing for her to 
begin the climb out.  She studied him a moment longer, her 
eyes drifting from his uneven eyebrows to his full mouth, 
down over his neatly pressed shirt to rest at last on the gun 
still tucked in his pants.  "That's right," he said, 
following her gaze.  He patted the revolver almost lovingly.  
"Just remember who's in charge here and everything will be 
fine."  He jerked his head in the direction of the ladder, 
and took hold of the cool metal rungs.

He's almost giddy this morning, she thought as she climbed.  
Maybe that mistake is coming yet.  

She lifted herself rather ungracefully out into the basement, 
dusting her hands off on the back of her jeans as he followed 
her into the open air.  "Ready?" he inquired with a smile.

"Yes," she said, and prayed it was true. 

Together they mounted the dusty basement stairs.

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

The alarm went off at precisely seven-thirty three, set as 
always to allow her the maximum amount of sleep.  

"...other news, the search continues for FBI agent Dana 
Scully, who disappeared from the city morgue sometime last 
Saturday night.  Ms. Scully is the third such woman to go 
missing from the DC area in the last two years.  Sources 
close to the investigation say..."

The monologue halted as David automatically hit the snooze 
button.  "Mmm...needa geddup," he muttered, rolling over on 
her.

"Uh-huh," returned Ellie, squinting at the gray morning 
light.  Then she gasped and sat up with a start.  "David, 
what was that?"

"Waz wha?"  

She shook him hard.  "On the radio just now.  Did you hear 
it?  Some woman is missing from the morgue! An FBI agent or 
something.  You see? It's just like I saw!"

He blinked at her and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  "Just 
now?" he repeated.  "Ellie, are you sure?"

"Yes, dammit." She was already reaching over him for the 
phone.  "I'm calling the police."

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

Scully eagerly drained both the water and orange juice he had 
laid out for her, not even caring if they were drugged.  The 
cool liquid flowed down her raw throat, soothing away the 
tight pain and calming her rising fever.  "Good?" he asked in 
a pleased voice.

She nodded vigorously.  Keep him talking, keep him happy, she 
coached herself mentally.  "This is a nice house you have," 
she offered, chewing a bit of waffle.

"You like it?  I'm so glad.  It'