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

Chapter Five

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

Without an office, Scully took the results of Diana's cell 
phone dump to a rarely-used restroom on the eighth floor, 
where she isolated herself in a stall and read the papers.  
Neither Diana nor Mulder seemed to have used the phone much; 
there were only a dozen calls over the last month.

Scully recognized the Gunmen's number at the bottom.  Based 
on the dates, Mulder had made only one other call, to a 
number she did not recognize, but the area code was local.

Diana had called Mulder twice on his cell, both times after 
Christopher Brandt's death, and the final call came a few 
hours before she'd died.  It had lasted nearly five minutes, 
so she must have reached him.

Scully leaned against the cold metal door and tried to 
imagine what they could have said, whether Diana had denied 
what was in the papers or whether lies and the truth had 
become so enmeshed that she could no longer distinguish 
between them.

The other number that stood out for her was identified as 
Christopher Brandt's office at the NIH.  Diana had called him 
two days before his death, and despite everything, Scully 
still didn't know why.  She didn't like the way the odds 
played out.  Brandt was on the call list, and he was dead.  
Now the owner of the phone was also dead.

This left Mulder holding the phone.

Right before the call to Brandt's office, Diana had talked to 
someone for nearly ten minutes.  The lab had been unable to 
come up with a name to match that number.  It was not a pay 
phone but an unregistered cell, owner unidentified.

The restroom door swung open, and Scully jumped.  As the 
other woman took the stall next to hers, she tucked the phone 
list away and hurried out of the room.  She bypassed the 
elevator and took the stairs, exiting from the side of the 
building.  

Wind rustled the brittle leaves as she jogged down the 
street.  She glanced over her shoulder but no one appeared to 
follow.  

Four blocks later, she found the payphone she wanted in front 
of a deli, where the smell of corned beef wafted out through 
the vents.  She searched her pockets for change and dropped 
in a pair of quarters.  She dialed the number Mulder had 
called and then held a hand over her ear to block out the 
traffic noise.

The phone rang through and a moment later, someone came on 
the line.  "Skinner."

She slammed the phone down, but held tight to the receiver.  
Skinner said he hadn't talked to Mulder.  He had been pumping 
her for information. 

She took out the list of calls again and tried the other 
unidentified number.  Her fingers shook as she punched the 
buttons.

This time, the call went through but the person on the other 
end said nothing.  Scully listened to the static for a 
moment.  "Who is this?" she asked.

No one replied.

"Who am I talking to?" 

The person waited another moment and then clicked off the 
line.  She hunted around until she found another pair of 
quarters and dropped them in the slot.  She hit redial, but 
this time no one answered her call.

X-X-X-X-X

There were many Sundays that Mulder would have loved to 
return home to find Scully waiting for him on his stoop; in 
fact, he'd dreamt similar scenarios over the years so many 
times that he did a quick double take at the sight of her 
sitting there.

The setting sun turned her hair to copper, and she wore a 
pale blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up and sandals on 
her feet.  She bore no traces of makeup and her glasses sat 
perched on her head.  

The total effect was to send him back in time to their first 
days together, when she was as green as a new leaf and just 
as tender.  She'd looked expectant then, too, waiting for him 
to prove himself to her.  These years later, Mulder thought 
perhaps she was still waiting.

He walked over to her and leaned on the railing.  "You were 
just in the neighborhood?"

She picked up a file folder from the step next to her.  "I 
did a little investigation into Agent Fowley's work in 
Berlin.  This is a summary of her accomplishments over the 
past five years."

She handed him the folder, and he flipped the cover to find 
it was empty.  He turned it upside down and shook it.  
"There's nothing here."

"Exactly.  She went to Europe and disappeared."

Mulder shut the folder and handed it back to her.  When 
Scully didn't reach to take it, he dropped in her lap.  "You 
know as well as I do that international intelligence work is 
highly classified.  I'm not surprised that there isn't any 
record of her activities."

"I called the office in Berlin.  No one there had heard of 
her."

"Did you also ask if they had Prince Albert in a can?  Of 
course they're not going to answer your questions over the 
phone."

"Why did she come back here, Mulder?  Did she ever tell you 
that?"

"She wanted to come home."

Scully's chin dropped as she considered this.  "Home," she 
repeated.

"Right.  Back to the states." 

"Back to the X-files?"

He looked down the street to where someone was doing a 
terrible job of parallel parking.  "That was Kersh's idea, 
not hers."

Scully did not answer immediately.  Instead, she took out 
folded sheets of paper from her back pocket, unfolded them, 
and smoothed them over her knees.  "She arrived back in the 
United States on March third of last year.  On March fourth, 
she accessed this file."

He took the pages from her and scanned them.  "This is my 
work history."

"She started with you, but she didn't stop there.  She looked 
up mine too."

Scully stood up, and with the steps separating them, they 
were almost eye-to-eye.  "Well?" she asked.  "Aren't you 
going to say anything?"

"I don't know what you want me to say.  So she looked up our 
files.  I guess she was curious.  But you can hardly fault 
her for behavior that you yourself have engaged in."

"I had reasons."

Mulder's head was starting to hurt.  Scully was determined to 
make Diana into the enemy, and in a way he couldn't blame 
her.  It had been one hell of a year, and there was no other 
donkey around upon which to affix a tail.  "You have no 
reason to trust her," he said softly.  "I get that.  What I'm 
asking you to see is that she's in the same position as you."

"Last I looked she was in your position, Mulder.  In your 
office with your desk and your files.  What I don't 
understand is why I'm the only one asking questions about how 
she got there."

He shook his head.  "You are more alike than you know.  I 
wish you could see that."

"You want me to trust her."

"I want you to trust me."

Uncertainty clouded her eyes and she backed up until she hit 
the rail.  The action made her wince in pain more than it 
should have, and he stepped forward.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly.

"What happened to your back?" he said, trying to see around 
her.

"Nothing.  It's just a bruise."  

She moved to the left at the same time he did and they ended 
up practically on top of one another.  He froze and so did 
she, inches apart, but she would not look at him.  Her skin 
radiated warmth in the cooling night air.

Gently, he traced one finger up her bare forearm until it hit 
her sleeve.  She shivered.  He tucked the finger under the 
fold and crooked it, causing her to tilt towards him just a 
bit more.  She turned her head to the side.  "Tell me," he 
said, his voice just above a whisper.  "You haven't trusted 
her from the beginning and I want to know why."

She shook her head, mute.

He moved his finger from her sleeve to her face, turning her 
back to him with just a slight pressure on her chin. "Why?" 
he asked again.

Her eyes were clear and bright, but her mouth had tightened 
into a thin line.  "She walked away from you," she said at 
last, and the words stunned his chest.

"She left to protect me," he said when he could talk again, 
and Scully looked at her feet once more.

"I know," she said, "but I'm not sure that I ever could."

He tugged her to him with one arm behind her neck, her head 
resting in the crook of his elbow.  She hugged him back and 
pressed her nose against his breastbone.  Her glasses slipped 
to the side but she didn't seem to care.  Closing his eyes, 
he leaned down to breathe her in, her hair tickling at his 
nose.

"Come upstairs with me."

She went rigid at the words but didn't pull away, so he 
tightened his hold and repeated them, his lips hot on her 
scalp.

"Come upstairs."

"Mulder..." His name seemed dragged out of her against her 
will, and he felt her fingernails prick his back.

She had avoided his apartment as much as possible since the 
summer, and he wasn't sure whether it was her collapse and 
near death that had her running scared or if she was just 
that concerned that he might try to kiss her again.

He opened his palm against her ribcage and felt the hammer of 
her heartbeat.  "Scully," he said, just in case she thought 
there was confusion.  He rubbed the side of her breast with 
his thumb, stopping just short of the nipple.  "Scully, 
come."

She let out a choked noise and it was all he could do not to 
drag her through the door.  Her breath tickled his skin 
through his shirt and her hands kneaded his back.  She jerked 
back a little and he thought she was leaving, but instead she 
grabbed his hand from her breast and squeezed so hard it 
stopped his circulation.

He got the door open in record time and pulled her to the 
elevator.  Once inside, he watched the numbers tick by in 
slow motion and cursed himself for not living on the first 
floor.  When the ding signaled their arrival and the heavy 
doors parted, they both stood there.

The hallway loomed.

"After you," he said with a sweep of his hand.

Scully put her head down and walked quickly toward his door.  
She stood there, shifting from one foot to the other while he 
struggled with his keys.  He practically gasped with relief 
when the door came open, stumbling inside with no grace 
whatsoever.  Scully stepped primly over the threshold but 
moved no further than his small pile of shoes.

"You, uh, you want something to drink?"  It was hard to make 
conversation with an erection pressing insistently against 
his jeans.

Wide-eyed, Scully shook her head.  She had her lower lip 
caught between her teeth and he wanted to suck it back out.  
He clenched his fists to avoid reaching out and grabbing her.

"Maybe...maybe I should just go," she said, and took a step 
back.

"No," he blurted, and she froze.  He licked his lips.  
Diana's ghost had bullied her up here, and if that's what it 
took to get her to stay... "You said... you said you wouldn't 
walk away," he told her softly.

The raw emotion that flashed over her face told him he'd hit 
his mark.  He stepped closer.  

"Don't go," he said, and held out his hand.  After a moment, 
she took it, and either she was shaking or he was.  He 
gripped her tightly and started leading her to the bedroom.

It was twilight, drenched in purple shadows with a slight 
breeze wafting in from his open window.  He sat on the 
rumpled sheets and pulled her between his legs. She smiled at 
him almost sadly and laid her palm against his cheek.  Her 
fingertips toyed with the hair at his temple.

He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs through her belt 
loops, and urged her even closer.  She shifted her hand to 
the back of his neck and gathered his face to her breasts.  
Between them, his fingers went to work on the buttons of her 
blouse.

He had to sit back to finish the job, and she was breathing 
unsteadily by the time he parted the soft cotton.  He circled 
her bellybutton with one finger and it quivered.  Then he 
replaced his hand with his mouth, pressing lingering kisses 
to her stomach, her ribs, her collarbone and her chin.

When he reached her mouth, she held his face in both hands, 
anchoring him by the ears as if he might try to get away.  
The first touch of her tongue sent tingles down the back of 
his neck.  Her tongue was like the rest of her, small, strong 
and quick, and he opened wider to let her have her way.

He was openly fondling her ass by now and her breasts kept 
brushing against his shoulders.  She pushed him back onto the 
bed and climbed up so that her knees were on the mattress, 
straddling him.  His hips bucked of their own accord and 
nearly bumped her off.

The motion sent her glasses back down over her face, where 
they landed slightly crooked on the end of her nose.  He 
reached up to remove them, but she took his hand.  "I want to 
see you," she murmured, and so together they righted the 
glasses on her face.

He repeated the caress several times, tucking her hair behind 
her ears, then letting his hands roam down her shoulders to 
the loose flaps of her blouse.  He tugged it off.  

Her nipples stood out against the thin silk of her bra, and 
Mulder felt his mouth water at the sight.  So intent was he 
on her breasts that he was shocked when they suddenly 
disappeared from view.

Scully was lifting his T-shirt over his head.  He cooperated 
to hurry the process along, and when he laid back down her 
bra was gone too.  She waited, eyes lowered shyly for his 
reaction, her fingers light and hesitant on his belly.

He reached up and she put her chest out slightly, welcoming 
him, but he grabbed her head instead.  He drew her down and 
kissed her eyes, her cheek, her lips.  

When she was squirming, he lifted her up a bit more and found 
her breast.  She tensed and cried out as he licked her, and 
her hands clawed at his head.  He sucked her like she was a 
delicious hard candy until he was dizzy from the effort.

She sat backwards, landing squarely on his erection.  The wet 
tips of her breasts shone in the dim light and her mouth was 
swollen and smudged.  He heard the button on his jeans snap 
open and rocked his hips against her.

She sucked in a quick breath and leaned back to steady 
herself. He took the opportunity to reach under her and unzip 
his fly.  While he was in the neighborhood, he did hers for 
good measure.

He rolled her off him and under him, but she grimaced when 
her back hit the mattress.  This time he was in a position to 
see, so he tilted her for a look.  "That's a nasty bruise," 
he said, touching the edge of it lightly.  "What happened?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding breathless.  She tried to 
get him to kiss her again, but he held her still. 

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I haven't been sleeping well.  I got up in the middle of the 
night once and bumped myself, apparently.  I don't really 
remember."

He leaned down to kiss the offending mark.

"Mulder..."

"Hmmm?"

"I--" She broke off as he licked the circle of her tattoo.  
Her hands fisted bunches of the sheet and she squirmed under 
his mouth.  He yanked her pants lower on his hips so he could 
taste more.  "I don't want to wait anymore."

"God, me either," he muttered and rolled her over.  She 
stroked his chest as he worked off first her pants, then his.  
She traced each nipple with her fingertips and pressed open-
mouthed kisses to his breastbone.

His cock dipped down between them, heavy and hard.  She 
stroked the underside from root to tip and he nearly went off 
in her hand.  "Scully, Scully, Scully..."

"Yes?"  All flushed, with her hair spread out around her, 
wearing just cotton underwear and her glasses askew, she 
looked every bit the naughty schoolgirl.

"You gotta stop that," he said, but he couldn't bear to push 
her hand away.

"Stop what?" she asked, rubbing him some more.

"Oh, God."  He gritted his teeth and grabbed for her 
underpants.  He stripped them down and off her legs in one 
smooth motion.

She obligingly parted her thighs so he could settle between 
them. His penis burned like a hot poker against her leg.  
"You're trying to kill me," he said against her cheek, and he 
felt the curve of her smile.

"Don't wait," she said again, trying to scoot into position.

It was going too fast.  He'd waited so long.  

He sucked in a breath as she brought his penis against her 
wet opening.  He hadn't even touched her there.  Hadn't 
stroked or kissed her.  "Scully," he said with a squeak as 
she eased the head inside.

"There."  She sounded relieved and her eyes slid closed.  She 
put her arms around him and drew her knees up, waiting for 
him to do the rest.  

He thrust gently, tears in his eyes from the restraint of it.  
Her body welcomed him with tight spasms, easing him inch by 
inch until he was buried to the hilt.  "Okay?" he asked on a 
ragged breath.

She hummed a reply and kissed his cheek, her glasses bumping 
against his temple.  She rocked her hips up and into his.  

He tried to think, desperate to make this good for her.  It 
had to be good if they had any chance of repeating the 
experience.  She stretched her neck to kiss him, and he tried 
to pay attention to her mouth rather than the sweet slide of 
his body into hers.

Her thigh rubbed his ass and her hands swept through the 
sweaty hair at his neck.  She was everywhere at once and he 
couldn't keep up.  Orgasm was brightening in him like the 
dawn.

"Oh, God," he said, but it was more like an apology than an 
affirmation.

She held him tight as he exploded in her gloriously, his 
mouth twisted open on a groan.

He passed out into the pillow for who knew how long.  When he 
was aware of himself again, Scully was stroking his shoulders 
and tickling the back of his knee with her toes.  He lifted 
himself up enough to see her face and she gave him a calm 
smile.

"I squashed you," he said, easing his weight.

"No, I'm fine."

Mulder was aware she was not fine and he had unfinished 
business.  He tried to gather his wits and coordinate his 
movements better; his brain was still on permanent hum.

"You were more than fine," he said, and kissed her slowly and 
thoroughly, her head nestled on his arm.  His penis softened 
and slipped out of her, and she tried to close her legs but 
he stopped her with a hand on her thigh.

He stroked back and forth, inching higher each time, until 
his fingers tangled in her soft thatch of hair.  She broke 
their kiss, tensing.  "You don't have to," she said, and he 
covered her mouth again to shut her up.

She remained stiff as he touched her so it was difficult to 
gage what she liked.  Her flesh was swollen and slick, eager 
for him, but he knew there had to be a particular spot.  
"Show me," he said against her neck, and she shook her head.

He took her hand and drew it with his back between her legs.  
"Show me," he said again as he resumed stroking her. 

For a minute he thought she was just going to refuse, but 
then he felt her small hand close over his and shift him to 
the left.  She guided him for a moment and then backed off 
when he seemed to grasp her rhythm.  Soon her hips were 
rocking into his hand.

She wrinkled her nose and screwed her eyes shut.  He kept 
pace with her but she seemed to be fighting it.  He tried to 
distract her with kisses but she turned her head to the side.

Mulder followed her across the pillow and nuzzled her rice 
paper cheek.  He tried the same magic words he'd used to get 
her into the apartment: "Come, Scully."

She stiffened and let out a high, keening cry as her flesh 
rippled against his hand.  When it was over, she clutched him 
close and hid her face against his shoulder.

Night had drawn a curtain around the windows, leaving them in 
darkness.  He stroked the hair back from her face and she 
loosened her hold, falling backwards into the pillows.  "You 
want some water?" he asked, mostly because he did.

She nodded and drew the sheet up over her breasts.

He got up and went naked to the kitchen, where he filled two 
tall glasses with water.  When he returned, the bed was empty 
and the bathroom door was closed.  He set her glass on the 
nightstand and waited.

The sink shut off after a moment, and Scully appeared wearing 
her clothes again.  He frowned and put his water aside.  
"Where are you going?"

"Home?" She straightened her shirt.

"I brought water," he said stupidly.

"I see.  Thanks."  She picked up the other glass and sipped 
from it, avoiding his naked gaze.  After a minute, she said, 
"We have work in the morning.  I have to change."

"Right this second?"

She put the glass down and looked at him.  "I just need to 
think."

"Fine," he said, resigned.  "I can't keep you here."

"I'm not sorry, Mulder, I'm--"

"What?" he asked when she stopped.

"I just need to time to sort this out."

"I thought we might do that together."  His phone rang, and 
his heart almost stopped because he knew instantly who was 
calling.  From the look on Scully's face, she knew too.

She watched him, waiting for him to pick up.  It rang two 
more times before he reached over to answer.  "Hello."

"Fox?  It's me.  Is this a bad time?"

"You know, I just stepped out of the shower," he said, his 
eyes on Scully.  She looked away.  "Can I call you back?"

"Sure," Diana said.  "I'm at home."

Scully was halfway to the door when he caught up with her.  
"It's not what you think," he said.

"Then explain it to me."

God, if it were just that easy.  "I can't," he said, his 
voice breaking.  He reached out and touched her face.  "Not 
right now."

"Good night, Mulder."

She yanked open the door, and naked as he was, he could not 
follow her.

X-X-X-X-X

She woke up restless in the middle of the night and decided 
to go for a drive.  She left the stereo off but kept the 
windows cracked for a breeze.  With no specific destination, 
she took random turns, passing only an occasional car.  When 
headlights appeared in her rearview mirror, she would freeze 
until they peeled off again.

Mulder was out there somewhere and she had no idea where to 
look.  She considered tracking down Skinner and holding a gun 
to his head in case he knew the full story.  At the moment, 
pulling her gun and pointing it at anyone sounded appealing.  
Four days without sleep could make even the finest agent less 
discriminating.

Lost in thought, she ended up in an unfamiliar neighborhood.  
She slowed and tried to read a street sign in the dark.  It 
was a commercial area, with tall silent office buildings.  
She drove on until she saw a lighted sign ahead: The 
Horseshoe Diner -- Open All Nite.  She pulled into the lot to 
get her bearings.

The street was still unlabeled, so she went into the diner to 
ask directions back to the highway and maybe get a cup of 
coffee.  A skinny man with a pock-marked face and a blue 
apron was wiping the counter.  The only other customers were 
a couple of college kids in a booth and a man in a suit at 
the end of the bar.

"Excuse me," she said, trying to get the worker's attention, 
but then the sound of someone lighting a cigarette made her 
stop.

"Can I help you?" the waiter asked.

Scully turned to the man at the end of the bar and watched as 
he took a drag.  "Hey," she called, over loudly, and he 
twisted to look at her.

"Agent Scully," he said, "what a surprise."

She stalked over to him.  "What the hell are you doing here?  
Are you following me?"

"I was here first," he replied, spreading his hands in 
innocence.  He had a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. 
"I should ask if you were following me."

"I wasn't."

"So you say."  He took another puff.  "As long as we're both 
here, allow me to buy you a cup of coffee."

"No, thank you."

"Some eggs?"

"Why are you here?" she asked again, hands on her hips.

"Even I have to eat."  He eyed the stool next to him.  "Sit."

"Can I help you?" The man with the apron asked her once more.

"Not right now," she answered without even looking at him.  
She took the seat next to the Smoking Man but was careful to 
keep one hand near her weapon.

"It is a lucky happenstance that I ran into you," he said, 
"considering you wanted to talk to me."

"I never said I wanted to talk to you."

"That wasn't you who called earlier?" He tapped his ash into 
the ceramic tray.  "It certainly sounded like you."

She didn't give him the satisfaction of her surprise.  "I 
don't believe we've spoken, no," she replied evenly.

He shrugged.  "Too bad.  I hear that Mulder's in a spot of 
trouble."

"What do you know about Mulder?"

"He's missing, is he not?  And he left a body in his wake?  I 
heard there's a detective hot on his trail.  It seems he 
suspects our Mulder is a murderer."

"And yet it was your number in the victim's Rolodex.  Funny, 
that."

"I don't know what you're alluding to, but I can assure you I 
have only the best of intentions where Mulder is concerned."

"You probably set him up," Scully hissed back.

"On the contrary, I'd like to help him if I can."

"Tell me where he is."

At this, he raised his eyebrows.  "Would that I could, Agent 
Scully, but I expect you're liable to find him faster than I 
can.  He certainly won't be running to me."

"He might if he thinks you did it."

He looked her over appraisingly and then took another drag 
from his cigarette.  "I doubt very much he thinks that."

"Do you know who killed her?"

"I've my suspicions, but there's nothing I can prove."

"Tell me then."

He shook his head and stuffed out his butt.  "Idle gossip 
won't help Agent Mulder, but I've something else that might.  
Though on the face of it, I've got to say it won't look 
good."

"What?"

He reached down near his feet and she put her hand on her 
gun.  "Easy there," he said as he drew up a briefcase.  He 
put an unlit cigarette between his lips and took out a folder 
from the case.  He rested the folder in his lap as he reached 
for his lighter.  "This is fascinating reading," he said 
around the butt.  "I'm sure you'll agree."

"What is it?"

"Agent Fowley's autopsy report."

Scully's heart quickened and she looked around to make sure 
no one else was nearby listening.  "How did you get that?"

"You wanted a copy, didn't you?"  He slid it across to her.  
"Now you have one."

She opened it with a skeptical eye but at face it seemed to 
be the real thing, no obvious fake.  She scanned the front 
page and it confirmed what she already knew.  Diana died from 
a single gunshot wound to the head, fired at medium-to-close 
range with a 9 mm caliber bullet.

"The same as the FBI uses," the Smoking Man noted as if he 
could read her mind.  "Of course, without Fowley's weapon, 
they can't do an exact match."

"It's a common enough gun and a standard Luger 9 mil," she 
said, still reading.  "It proves nothing."

"I quite agree.  That's why the police are so eager to 
recover the gun."  He paused for another puff.  "I expect 
that's also why Mulder took it with him.  Have you gotten to 
page two yet?  The really interesting part is there in third 
paragraph."

Scully flipped the page.  "Oh my God."

"Yes," he said.  "I thought you might be surprised.  It seems 
Agent Fowley was dying of cancer.  An inoperable 
nasopharyngeal tumor.  Whoever killed her wasted a bullet."

X-X-X-X-X

End chapter five.  Continued in chapter six.

Okay, that's almost 12,000 words of writing in 36 hours.  I 
go sleep now. :)

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