X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

Chapter Four

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The first time he met Diana was not at work but in a bar.  It 
was a hot August night and his air conditioning was on the 
fritz, so he set up shop at the local pub with a pint of 
Guinness, a dish of nuts, and a Braves-Phillies game on the 
TV.

Diana was pregnant with another man's baby, although he 
didn't know it at the time, and it was for this reason she 
sought him out.

She came right up and sat next to him, her painted nails 
wrapped around a seltzer and lime.  "You're Fox Mulder," she 
said.  "I'd introduce myself but I'm quite sure you already 
know who I am."

He crunched a nut and looked her over, trying to decide 
whether to play dumb or not.

"I've heard that nothing much escapes you," she said before 
he could commit.

"I've seen you around," he said at last.  "You're from SIOC, 
right?"

"Since the beginning -- all ten months of it."  She reached 
into his nut bowl and helped herself.  "But after the 
inauguration, things have been a little slow.  I might be 
looking to shift departments soon to someplace more 
challenging."

"Oh, yeah?  You have any one in particular in mind?"

She slipped a peanut between her lips.  "VCU seems 
interesting, fast-paced.  I was a criminology minor in 
school, so the casework would be interesting to me. Do you 
like it?"

"It pays the bills."  He sneaked a look at the TV screen in 
time to see the Braves pull ahead two-to-one.

"Now you're just being modest.  That spree killer in 
Louisiana -- what was his name, Jefferson? -- I heard they 
brought you in to help question the witnesses and you solved 
the case in twenty-four hours."

"I didn't solve it, the witnesses did."

"But they didn't know what they'd seen until you showed 
them," she said, admiration plain in her voice.

Mulder didn't reply, instead gathering another handful of 
nuts.  

"I was wondering about SAC Burkit.  Is he a good guy to work 
for?"

He stopped crunching and looked at her again.  She was busy 
stirring all the carbonation out of her drink. SIOC agents 
did not cross his path very often, so the
place where he'd "seen her around" was in the parking garage, 
with Tom Burkit's tongue in her mouth.

"He's okay," Mulder said, and took a sip of his beer.

"Really?  Because before I make any decisions about jumping 
departments, I want to be sure I'm entering into a good 
situation."

Burkit was married with three kids.  Mulder couldn't speak 
from experience, but he was reasonably convinced that this 
did not have the makings of a good situation.  The intriguing 
part was why she was asking him about it.

"What specifically did you want to know?" 

"Just general aspects of his personality, anything you might 
have picked up from working with him that I should know 
about."

Mulder sighed and pushed his beer away.  "Burkit is your 
classic over-achiever with a self-loathing twist.  Everything 
came early and easy to him.  He graduated college in three 
years, got a Masters in criminal psych and was recruited 
aggressively by the FBI because he speaks German, two 
dialects of Chinese and a little bit of Russian.  He wears a 
cross around his neck for luck from God, and the thing is, he 
believes he needs it.  Burkit works his tail off because he's 
never quite sure he's good enough.  He respects those who 
work hard for him but he becomes alarmed if you seem too 
good, too fast.  He doesn't trust his own ability, so when he 
sees those qualities in others, he doesn't trust them 
either."

"You make him nervous," Diana surmised.

"Yeah, I bet nowhere near as nervous as you make him."

Her smile froze and she clutched her glass.  "You know," she 
said, and bowed her head.

"Not really my business," he said, "at least until you came 
here to make it mine."

"I'm sorry, really. I just saw you sitting here, and I 
thought..."

He waited with his pint halfway to his mouth.  "What?"

"You're renown for your insight into human behavior, so I 
thought maybe you could see something in him that I don't, 
maybe give me some perspective."

"What is it you really want to know?"

Diana hesitated.  "God, I can't even say it."

Mulder found he knew anyway.  "He's not going to leave her," 
he said quietly, and Diana's head jerked up.

"You're sure."

"You can never be totally sure, but yeah, I'm pretty sure.  I 
don't think he wants another reason to hate himself."

"God," she said, covering her face with her hands.  "When you 
put it that way... Christ.  What the hell am I going to do?"

Mulder had the answer to almost anything, but not this.

"Do you think other people know?" she asked him.

"I think if you don't want them to know, you should consider 
waiting until you're off FBI property before going at it."

"You're right.  Of course, you're right." Her shoulders 
drooped.  "I think maybe part of me wanted it to get out.  
Maybe then he'd make up his mind." She glanced at Mulder 
hopefully.

"Listen," he said, turning on the stool toward her.  "I don't 
know you and I'm not judging you, but there's one thing you 
should know: Burkit's mind is made up already.  If you corner 
him, I promise you won't like the results."


"You're saying he'd stay with door number one," she said with 
a heavy sigh.  "I get it.  Thanks."

The Phillies' catcher singled to drive in two runs and put 
them back on top again, and Mulder ordered another beer. "Can 
I buy you something stronger?" he asked, eyeing Diana's 
tonic.

"I don't think I ought to be drinking right now," she said.  
"I'm an armed FBI agent, you know."

"Another tonic and lime for the lady," Mulder told the 
bartender.  "On me."

"You're far too nice.  Here you were, enjoying a quiet night 
and a baseball game, and I came over here and regurgitated my 
problems all over your lap."

"Thanks for that image."

"Sorry," she said again.  "I should be the one buying you the 
drinks."

"You can get the next round."

She perked up a bit at the realization he wasn't going to 
kick her out.  "I won't bug you anymore.  I promise."  She 
sipped her drink and stretched over to see the monitor.  
"What quarter is it?"

"It's the sixth inning," Mulder answered, amused.

"Right, of course."  She lifted her thick hair off the back 
of her nape.  Mulder couldn't help but ogle -- she gave great 
neck. "I know the A/C is on, but it can't ever be cool enough 
for me."

He drank down a quarter of his new beer and licked the foam 
from his lips.  "You know, if you're actually serious about 
wanting to move into VCU, there might be an opening soon."

"You mean after I shoot Burkit's balls off?"

He grinned and ducked his head.  "Yeah, definitely after 
that, because I'm not leaving before a show like that one."

"You're leaving?" she asked, her eyes wide.  "To go where?"

He wasn't sure how much to tell her, but the beer helped.  
"I'm thinking of starting a new department," he said.  "One 
focused on the unexplained."

They talked for more than three hours, with Diana doing most 
of the listening.  She kissed his cheek when she left, and 
two weeks later, it was Mulder who went with her to the 
clinic to have an abortion.

X-X-X-X

Diana materialized almost from nowhere when they arrived at 
the NIH.  She approached them as they were getting out of the 
car and gave a little wave.  "Brings back memories," she said 
to Mulder, touching his arm.  

"I'm happy enough to use the front door this time," he said.

"We should get going," Scully said.  "We have to be back 
before Kersh misses us."

Diana lowered her shades and peered at Scully.  "I was 
thinking about that, and I thought maybe you two would prefer 
it if I took the lead on this.  I can run down the leads from 
the secretary with no problems, but you might come under 
scrutiny."

"That won't be necessary," Mulder told her.  "We're just 
suckers for scrutiny."

"I just don't want you to get into any trouble."

Mulder grinned.  "Now where's the fun in that?"  He touched 
Diana's back and started for the main entrance.

Christopher Brandt's secretary, Marian Ellsbury, let them 
into his large office upstairs from the lab.  For Mulder, it 
was a little too close to returning to the scene of the 
crime.  He focused on the framed photos on the wall, which 
included what looked like an original Picasso pen-and-ink 
drawing of a nude woman and an old photo from the Holocaust, 
depicting an old
man with his head bent and a ramshackle dwelling and barbed 
wire behind him.

"I've been so busy these last few days," Marian was saying as 
she ushered them to a low-backed leather sofa.  "I've 
cancelled all his trips, his speaking engagements, his 
charity events -- everyone's heard the news already but I 
have to be sure.  The thing is, when I'm done putting all his 
affairs in order, there'll be nothing left for me to do 
here."  She paused and folded her hands in her lap.  "I've 
been with Dr. Brandt for twenty years.  I hardly know what to 
do with myself now."

"We're very sorry for your loss," Scully said.

"It's not just my loss.  The world should be in mourning 
today."

"Dr. Brandt's wife said you might be able to help us with the 
names of people who had made threats against him recently," 
said Mulder.

"You believe this wasn't an accident?" She looked from one to 
the other of them.  "I thought Imogene was just speaking out 
of grief and anger.  I had no idea the police were 
considering it anything more than an accident."

"The police aren't considering it," Diana told her. "That's 
why we're here.  Do you know where Dr. Brandt was coming from 
the night he was killed?"

"No, I've already told the police that.  His appointment 
schedule was clear.  He left a little early that day, around 
five, but he didn't say where he was going.  He just wished 
me goodnight and said he'd see me in the morning.  I found 
out he'd died when I arrived to put on the coffee and found 
an officer standing at my desk."

"That must have been terrible for you," Mulder said.

"It was..." She stopped and checked herself, looking at him 
more closely.  "Wait, what did you say your name was again?"

"Actually, I didn't say."  Mulder had managed not to be 
introduced.  "But my name is Agent Mulder."

"Mulder, that's right, I thought you seemed familiar.  You're 
the one who broke into our lab!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scully stiffen.  "No, I 
don't think so," he said to Marian.

"Yes, you're the one.  I remember now.  You accused him of 
conducting research with aliens!"

"I never accused him of anything," Mulder said mildly. "I was 
merely asking questions based on what we'd been told."

"Based on the word of crazy people!  Is that why you're here 
now?  You think that since he's gone you can come back and 
sully his work again with more insane accusations?"

"We're here at the request of his widow," Diana interjected.

"I don't believe it."

"Call her and ask," Scully suggested, and Marian got up to go 
do just that.

"Imogene, it's Marian.  I have three FBI agents here, and--" 
She stopped as Imogene Brandt said something on the other 
end.  "You did?  Do you know who these people are?  I don't 
think Chris would appreciate them coming around like this, 
not after what happened." She listened again, and then her 
tone became quite chilly.  "I see.  Yes.  Yes, of course.  
It's your decision."

She placed the phone gently back in the cradle and then 
rejoined the group, but she did not sit down.  "Dr. Brandt 
asks that I give you any help I can in finding out what 
happened to her husband."

"It's very kind of her to be so loyal," Mulder said, "given 
that the other Dr. Brandt didn't seem to return the favor."

"Just what are you suggesting?"

"Imogene Brandt told us that Christopher had affairs 
throughout their marriage," Scully said, not unkindly. "She 
also said you might be able to tell us his current partner."

Marian pursed her lips.  "I can't believe she'd up and tell 
you such things.  They have always been such private people."

"Death has a way of ripping off the veil of secrecy," Mulder 
answered.

"It wasn't so much secret," Marian said, seeming tired now.  
"Yes, he had his dalliances, but he kept them quiet out of 
respect for Imogene.  He would never have done anything 
willingly to hurt her.  She knew he would always come back, 
and he always did."

"Maybe she got tired of looking the other way," Diana 
suggested.

To Mulder's surprise, Marian didn't launch into an angry 
defense.  She picked at the piping on the upholstered chair 
and brushed away imaginary lint.  "I expect it was tiresome 
for Imogene at times, but I think she was inured to it by 
now."

"Any idea who the current woman was?" Diana asked.

"No, if there was someone current, I didn't know about it.  
But mind you he kept me in the dark when he could help it.  
He knows I'm on friendly terms with Imogene and that I talk 
to her daily.  He didn't want to put me in the position of 
having to lie to her, so he often made arrangements on his 
own.

"Arrangements?" said Scully.

Marian hesitated a moment.  "For hotels and the like. The 
last woman I think he may have been with was his previous 
collaborator, Kendra Thompson.  But I was under the 
impression that the affair had cooled last spring."

"Where do *you* think he was going the night of his death?"

"I confess I did entertain the idea that he might have found 
someone new.  He seemed distracted lately, and that's often a 
sign.  I don't have any names; it's just a feeling."  She 
halted, apparently torn about whether to go on.

"You have an idea about where he was," Mulder said.

"Not an idea.  More like an inkling.  Dr. Brandt had several 
hotels that he favored, and two of them were up in that 
region."

"We'll need the names," Diana said.

"And the names of the people who were threatening him," 
Mulder added.

As Marian went to comply with their requests, he turned to 
Scully.  "Placing any bets on motive?" he whispered to her.

"Statistically, more people are killed over sex than over 
ideology," she replied.  "And if he was truly meeting someone 
in a hotel that night, I'm guessing it wasn't a lunatic 
protestor.  But Mulder, we haven't even discovered conclusive 
evidence that Brandt was actually murdered."

"He was up to something."

"You're just saying that because of what happened before," 
she replied under her breath.  "Admit it, you're still 
working the alien angle here, Mulder.  We may be chasing 
nothing more than a tragic car accident."

But later, as they drove home, he kept an eye on the rearview 
mirror and noticed a black Lexus with tinted windows dogging 
them at a distance.

"We may have company," he said to Scully, and she turned 
around to look.  "He's been with us since we left the lab."

"Who do you think it is?"

"Don't know, but five'll get you ten that it's not an alien."

X-X-X-X

Most of the time, guns were nothing special to her.  Scully 
grew up with guns in the house, with her Navy captain 
father's collection in his den and her brothers' BB rifles in 
the backyard.  She'd learned to shoot by kindergarten and had 
passed the Academy certification program on the first try.  
Her FBI-issued automatic was a tool, a familiar weight on her 
body, and she respected its authority.

In medical school, though, she found most students and 
doctors didn't share her tolerance for guns.  To them, guns 
were sucking chest wounds, shattered bones and pierced 
organs.  Guns were the metallic scent of blood, the lifeless 
eyes of the dead, and the screams of agony from family 
members left behind.  Guns turned a human being into one 
hundred and eighty pounds of meat.

She closed one eye and squinted with the other, focusing on 
the shadowed outline in the distance.  At this moment, she 
didn't even see the gun anymore, could only feel the warm 
steel in her hands.  Her finger squeezed the trigger.

An explosion of sound ricocheted around the room as the 
recoil traveled back up her arms.  Five bullets, center mass. 

She lowered the gun and was about to hit the button for a new 
target when someone else reached from behind and did it for 
her.  She whirled to find Mulder standing there wearing 
earphones and safety glasses.

As the paper target floated up to them, he unhooked it and 
took off his eyewear.  "Not bad, Scully.  If you'd just moved 
this one a little to the left, the holes would be a smiley 
face.  See?"

She took the paper from him.  "What are you doing here?"

"It's about the only place I know to find you these days.  
What is this, your third time this week?"

"I was at my desk all afternoon.  Where were you?"  She took 
out the empty clip and replaced it with a new one.

"Following up on the list of death threats given to us by 
Christopher Brandt's secretary."  He extracted a folded-up 
piece of paper from his jacket pocket.  "According to her, 
the guy at the top of the list is a loner named Keton LaRue.  
He's not part of any organization, but they've caught him 
twice spray painting epithets on the outside of the lab.  He 
apparently believes that AIDS is God's scourge on the 
unclean, and that any efforts to combat the disease is akin 
to singing on with the devil."

"Charming," Scully said as she tucked her gun back in its 
holster.

"Yeah, tell me about it.  The only problem with LaRue as a 
suspect is that he's never really threatened violence against 
Brandt personally.  He's called him a bunch of names and 
vowed to burn down the lab, but mostly his letters are of the 
'God will make you pay for this' variety."

"Maybe he got tired of waiting for God to step in."

"Yeah, I don't recall anything about Ôthou shalt not question 
the Almighty's timetable' on the stone tablets."  He refolded 
the paper and gestured with it toward the shooting range.  
"So what's with the sudden interest in artillery?  Do you 
have plans to shoot anyone in particular, and if so, would I 
be safer back behind the lead doors?"

She shrugged.  "I like coming here.  It helps me think."

The truth was actually the opposite -- shooting helped her 
*not* to think.  It was amazing how much one could block out 
when one had to concentrate on placing bullets where one 
wanted them.

In the past year, she had been nearly dead three times; twice 
he'd managed to save her and the third was a point they had 
agreed not to talk about.  In fact, so adept were they at not 
talking, that they had managed to reach this agreement 
without even discussing it.

"Thinking about anything in particular?" he asked, totally in 
violation of their unspoken rules. He folded his arms across 
his chest and lounged against the half-wall.

"No, not especially."

He nodded to himself and then focused on the floor.  "You 
know, I've never been really good at dates, but around 
November, I get really bad.  I'll go to write a check and 
honestly have no idea what day to put on it -- is it early in 
the month?  Late?  I have to check my watch every time, 
sometimes several times in one day.  It's like my brain deals 
with the anniversary of Samantha's disappearance by actively 
suppressing the date."

"This is September, Mulder," she said.

"I know," he replied, with a ghost of a smile.  "My brain has 
no problems with September."

"Good," she replied, and reached for her goggles and headset.

"But I was outside this morning," he continued, and she 
forced herself not to roll her eyes as she stopped and waited 
for him to go on.  "And it smelled like fall for the first 
time.  You know the way the air starts to smell cool, like it 
has an edge to it?  The sky turns a clear, bright blue, and 
you just know that somewhere, someone is burning a pile of 
dead leaves."

"It is officially fall now," she pointed out, "so it only 
makes sense."

"Yeah, but that smell, it was so strong it stopped me right 
on the sidewalk, and then I finally realized why."

She waited, and he raised his eyes to look at her.

"It was the same smell a year ago," he said, "when I was 
going in and out of Trinity Hospital."

Her instinct was to look away, but she held his gaze and let 
him study her.  "Yes, I guess it was," she said at last.

"So that red mark on your calendar -- it's a checkup?"

"Uh, yes," she said, blowing out a long breath.  "Just a 
chance to look under the hood, so to speak, and make sure 
everything's still running.  My blood work was clean six 
months ago, so I don't expect anything different this time."

"Nothing to worry about, then."

"Nothing at all."  She forced a smile.  "In fact, assuming 
everything goes okay, they may enroll me in a new study on 
patients who achieve spontaneous remission from late stage 
cancers."

"A chance to make the record books," Mulder said as he 
followed her back outside to the main desk, where they 
returned their protective equipment.

"I haven't decided whether to do it," she answered.  "I'm all 
for the advancement of science, but I don't necessarily want 
to sign on for lengthy bouts of more testing."

He caught the main door over her head with his fingertips, 
and she walked out underneath his arm.   The sun had just 
slipped below the horizon, deepening the starless sky to 
purple, and with its exit came a cool night breeze.

"You never know, Scully," he said as they walked to her car.  
"This could be your chance to get some answers."

She clicked the locks open.  "I thought about that part, and 
I guess I'm not convinced that the answers I'm seeking will 
come from a government-funded study."

He gave her a delighted grin.  "Scully, is that paranoid 
anti-government, distrust of authority I hear in your tone?   
It just goes to show -- you can take the girl out of the X-
files, but not the X-files out of the girl."

Her fingers automatically went to the base of her neck.  
"Yeah, I guess so," she said, and his humor faded.

He nudged her with his foot.  "It's past seven.  Want to get 
dinner?"

"Dinner two nights in one week?" she asked.  "What's the 
occasion?"

"All-you-can-eat wings at the Naked Armadillo."

"Pass," she said, turning back to her car.

"Aw, come on, Scully -- ladies drink for free."

She hesitated with her hand on the door latch.  A drink and 
dinner with Mulder was certainly better than going back to 
her apartment alone with her thoughts.  "Well, maybe just for 
a while," she said.

"Great," he replied.  "You can buy me a beer."

This time she did roll her eyes as she suppressed a smile.  
She was about to ask where this Armadillo place was when 
Mulder's cell phone rang.

"Just a sec," he said to her as he dug it out.  "Yeah, 
Mulder."

He paused to listen and then turned his back to her.  "How 
important?" she heard him ask.  He checked his watch.  "Yeah, 
I know where that is.  Okay.  No, no, I won't.  Stay put and 
I'll see you in about a half an hour."

"I guess dinner is off," she said when he faced her again.

"Yeah, sorry.  We can go next week."  He was already walking 
way towards his car.

"Everything all right?"

He looked back over his shoulder.  "Sure, fine.  I, uh... 
I've just got to take care of something right away.  See you 
tomorrow, okay?"

Scully didn't bother to reply because there was no way he 
would have heard her.  She stood hugging her open car door, 
watching as he drove off into traffic.  The glowing orb of 
the moon now hung low and large in the sky, but its pull was 
no match for whatever body had Mulder swept up in its orbit.

X-X-X-X

Scully meant to go home but somehow found herself parked in 
front of Mulder's apartment building.  The street was silent 
and all the windows dark.  She rode up to the sound of the 
old squeaking elevator and dug out the key to see what was 
behind door number forty-two.

The fish tank burbled softly in the back, and she followed 
the light across the room.  His fish nipped and tucked in the 
water, swishing violently in their efforts to convey their 
hunger.  Scully obliged them
by sprinkling in some flakes, and then watched as they 
gobbled them all down.

The red light on his machine was unblinking, signaling no new 
messages. She pressed the main button just to hear his voice.  
"Hi, this is Fox Mulder.  Leave a message after the beep."

She played the recording a few more times, but he never said 
anything different.

In the kitchen, she made a cup of tea, standing like a zombie 
with the broken counter edge at her back while the kettle 
whistled away.  She drank it in his living room, sitting on 
what she considered her end of the couch.  Every so often, 
she would look over at the other end and visualize him there, 
legs sprawled akimbo with his knees nearly hitting the coffee 
table.

When she finished her tea, she set the empty mug on the 
table, using a back issue of "The Economist" as a coaster.  
She wandered idly over to his desk and flipped on the lamp.  
It gave no more clues to his whereabouts than it had the last 
time she'd looked.  She sifted through bits and pieces of 
paper, pausing to smile at a doodle-head he had drawn of 
Skinner.

She reached across and picked up one of the phone extensions, 
but then thought better of it and extricated her cell phone 
instead.  "This is Agent Dana Scully," she said when a FBI 
tech answered on the other end. "I need anything you can get 
me on this number."  She rattled off the digits Mulder had 
given her.  "I need this as soon as possible."

"Sure thing, Agent Scully," the woman replied.  "Do we call 
you back at this number?"  She recited Scully's cell.

"Yes, that's fine."

While she waited, Scully walked to Mulder's bedroom.  She 
turned the light on in the hall and leaned against the 
doorjamb, her cheek pressed on the cool wood.  She stroked 
the smooth edge next to her body as she studied the unmade 
bed.

There was no smell of Diana here, just cotton sheets, night 
air, and the combination of male sweat, leather and 
sandalwood that she thought of as "Mulder."

She slipped off her shoes and crawled into the bed, closing 
her eyes as her nose hit the pillow.  She was so exhausted 
her head was spinning. Cradling the cell phone between her 
breasts, she curled in the spot where he slept and drifted 
off into dreams.

When she woke, pale, fuzzy light filled the room.  She lay 
there blinking in the gray dawn, an arm over her head.  Then 
she heard the sound of a drawer closing in the living room.

She sat straight up and listened harder.  The floorboards 
groaned under someone's feet, and Scully slipped from the 
covers and tiptoed down the hall.  Her heartbeat accelerated 
like a subway train as she braced herself for the sight of 
him.

The word "Mulder" was already in her throat as she peered 
around the corner, but she choked it back immediately when 
she saw who was in the apartment.

The man heard her and turned around.

"Agent Scully," Detective Rivera said.  He had a stack of 
Mulder's papers in his hands.  

"What are you doing here?" she asked, feeling less than equal 
as she stood there in her stocking feet and rumpled suit.

"I have a warrant," he said.  "What are you doing here?"

"A warrant for what?"

"For pretty much anything I want," he replied as he returned 
his attention to Mulder's desk.  "My boss is getting rather 
cranky that I haven't been able to find Agent Mulder yet, so 
I have a wide latitude
in where I can look."

He yanked open a file drawer.  "Yoo hoo, Mr. Mulder -- are 
you in there?"  When no one answered, he shrugged and 
straightened up.  "Guess I can cross that one off the list."

"I don't know what you expect to find there," she said, 
crossing to join him.  "I can assure you there's nothing here 
that says where he is."

"As much as I'd like to rely on your assurances, Agent 
Scully, I can't very well take that back to the station, now 
can I?"

He tossed aside an old newspaper. "You sleep here often?" he 
asked without looking at her.

"Your warrant doesn't cover that information."

He did look then, and smiled at her.  "You're a quick one, 
eh?  I like that.  Let's try a different one then: did Agent 
Fowley sleep here often?"

Scully knew he wanted a reaction, so she didn't give him one.  
"I can't speak to Agent Fowley's sleeping habits."

"They were lovers, though, right?" He waited a beat but she 
didn't help him out.  "At least they were a long time ago, 
that's what I'm hearing. Then there was some sort of trouble 
and she left town."  He knelt down and tugged on another 
drawer.  This one was locked.  "I don't suppose you have a 
key for this," he said, looking up at her.

She just folded her arms.

"Right," he said with a sigh, and took out a lock pick.  
"This trouble Mulder got into with Fowley, did he tell you 
about it?  He and she were playing hot prowl over at the 
NIH."

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

"Of course not.  No one could ever prove it, I guess, which 
is why they both still had careers."  He grunted as he got 
the file drawer open.  "And, from what I gather, they were 
working together again, even though Agent Fowley has taken 
over Mulder's old position on the X-files.  That had to 
sting, huh?  He works his tail off to get that department 
open, she jets off overseas and then comes back to take his 
job away?  I might want to shoot her too."

"You said she was shot in the head with her own gun.  Maybe 
she committed suicide."

"Believe it or not, we considered that.  But the shot was 
fired at least five feet from the victim, and there were no 
traces of gunpowder on her hands.  Plus, you know, the gun 
was missing.  That was a big clue right there."

"Someone could have taken the gun."

"Someone," he mused.  "Yes."

He took out the first file, a blue folder that made Scully 
freeze at the sight.  Oh, God, she thought.  No.

"Brandt lab," he said as he flipped it open.  "Interesting.  
That was the location of the alleged break-in, wasn't it?  
Some papers were missing..."

Scully wanted to rip the thing away from him but there was 
nothing she could do.

"Oh, these aren't research files at all, are they?" he said, 
and he glanced up at her.  "No, this is something else 
entirely.  If I'm not mistaken, this is motive."

"Then you're mistaken," Scully told him as her cell phone 
rang.

She answered it, and it was the lab. 

"Agent Scully?  We have an answer on the number you gave us.  
It's a German cell phone number and the phone is owned by the 
Bureau.  It's been checked out for the last several years to 
Agent Diana Fowley.  I dumped the incoming and outgoing 
numbers for the last thirty days.  Did you want to see them?"

Scully's stomach did a triple back flip.  "Yes, uh, yes I 
would, but let me come get them, okay?  I'll be there as soon 
as I can."  She snapped the phone shut and turned back to 
Rivera, who looked her over.

"Tell Mulder hi."

"If I talk to him, I will."

He waved the folder at her. "I'll be taking this with me."

"Go ahead.  That information is seven years old."

"Maybe so," he said as he wafted the folder under his nose.  
"But the betrayal smells minty fresh."

X-X-X-X-X-

Mulder showed up late and smelling like Diana's perfume.  She 
caught a good whiff of him as he hurried past to his seat, 
but she stopped him before he could sit down.  "Don't 
bother," she said as she stood up.  "Kersh wants to see us."

"Maybe we've won the manure pile sweepstakes," he said 
without humor.

She walked quickly, but still it took him no effort at all to 
fall into step beside her.  "I have a feeling it's about Dr. 
Brandt," she said as they reached the elevator.

"How would he even know?  Brandt's not exactly on the FBI's 
radar screen."

"I expect that will be his point when he reprimands us."

For the first time, she really looked at him and noticed the 
shadows under his eyes.  He'd missed a spot while shaving, 
too.

"Late night?" she asked.

"Not really," he answered shortly as the doors slid open.  

She trailed him inside, and he leaned against the metallic 
wall with his eyes closed.  She wondered if he was hung-over.

Kersh did not immediately look up when they arrived at his 
office, choosing instead to finish reading some document on 
his desk.  He signed the bottom with a flourish.  "Sit," he 
instructed, still not giving them his full attention.

They each took a chair and waited, and at length, he looked 
up at them over the rims of his glasses.  "Christopher 
Brandt," he said.  "Who wants to explain it to me?"

Scully looked at her lap, and Mulder cleared his throat. 
"Explain what?"

"What you are doing investigating his death.  I'm sure there 
must be a very good reason.  In fact, I know there must be, 
because this was not an assignment that I handed down, so I'm 
quite positive that you have adequate justification for this 
insubordination."

"Technically, if you didn't hand down the order, then it 
wasn't insubordination," replied Mulder.

Scully interjected before Kersh could form an answer.  "His 
widow asked specifically for our help, sir."

"His widow.  I see."  He peaked his fingertips together for a 
moment and then scratched the underside of his chin.  "This 
widow, is she a federal agent?"

"No, sir."

"And you two haven't formed a private detective company, have 
you?"

Neither of them answered that one.

"Because the last time I checked, civilians could not just 
call up and requisition help directly from the FBI."

"We're public servants," Mulder said.  "She's the public."

Kersh leaned across the desk.  "Let's get this straight right 
now.  If you're anybody's servants, you're *my* servants, and 
you will do as you're told.  The district police department 
has this matter well in hand, and I know you've got piles of 
work to do downstairs."

"Piles, yes," Mulder agreed.  "Big, fat smelly piles."

Kersh glowered at him.  "One more word and you're suspended 
two weeks without pay, and before you decide to test me on 
that, it will be four weeks for Agent Scully."

Mulder kept his mouth shut, and Kersh sat back in his seat, 
rocking a bit as he contemplated them.

"There will be no more long, unexcused absences," he said.  
"You get a half-hour for lunch and then you're back at your 
desks doing the work that I've given you.  Am I making myself 
clear on this point?"

"Yes, sir," Scully replied.

Kersh waited expectantly for Mulder's answer.  He finally 
managed a grudging, "Yes, sir."

Back at the elevator, Scully hit the button with more force 
than was strictly necessary.  "I see somehow Agent Fowley 
managed to miss out on this fun," she said.  "I wonder why he 
didn't want to rap her knuckles too."

"She doesn't report to him," Mulder answered as he rubbed his 
head with one hand.

"Maybe.  Maybe not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't you think it's a little funny that yesterday she's 
volunteering to take this investigation away from us, and 
today that's exactly what happened?  You were the one 
wondering how Brandt even got onto Kersh's radar screen."	

"And you think Diana told him?" he asked as they entered the 
empty elevator car.  "What reason would she have to do that?  
I think it's far more likely that Brandt's secretary 
complained."

"Maybe.  I just find the timing fishy."

"Diana didn't talk to him."

"You're sure."

"Yes, I'm sure."  He hit the stop button and the car halted.  
"First of all, she only offered to take on more of the leg 
work, not to take over the entire investigation.  Secondly, 
she made that offer because she knows how hard it is for me -
- for us -- trying to get out from under Kersh's thumb. She's 
on our side, Scully."

"Mulder, you obviously know her much better than I do, but 
things aren't the same as when she left before.  She's in 
charge of the X-Files now, not you.  You want them back and 
she wants to keep them.  I'm not sure that puts you on the 
same side."

"You don't know all the facts," he said, shaking his head.

"A call to Kersh keeps both of us stuck in manure," she 
pointed out.

"She didn't call him."

"Fine," she said, dismissing him.  She reached for the 
button.  "Whatever you say."

"She didn't call him, Scully," he said again, and the 
certainty in his voice made her stop.  

She looked back at him, her hand hovering near the button.  
He held her gaze and let her see the truth.

Mulder knew very well that Diana hadn't called.  He knew 
because he'd been with her.

X-X-X-X

End Chapter Four.  Continued soon in chapter five -- possibly 
as early as tomorrow!

So, figured it out yet? ;-)

Feedback fuels the writer:  syn_tax6@yahoo.com