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

Chapter Six

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

She didn't have anything as quaint as a breakfast nook so 
they sat at one end of her sleek dining room table, sipping 
black coffee from delicate glass cups.  Diana set hers back 
on the saucer and refolded the napkin in her lap.  "I guess I 
should get to the point of this conversation, shouldn't I?"

Mulder held his cup in both hands.  "You don't need a reason 
to ask me over here," he replied, and cast his gaze down at 
the shiny table.  "All things considered."

"Well, I do have a reason," she said as she smoothed her hair 
back over one shoulder.  "I want you and Scully to let me 
handle the Brandt investigation, all of it."

"I believe that's Kersh's line."

"This isn't about him.  I frankly couldn't give a tiny rat's 
ass what he says or thinks, but I am serious about this thing 
with Brandt.  It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous?  What are you talking about?"

"If our original suspicions about his research activities are 
correct, I imagine there's been some panic over his death.  
Twice yesterday and once the day before, I noticed a man in a 
car tailing me."

"Was it a black Lexus?"

She raised her eyebrows at him.  "Yes, it was.  I tried to 
spot the license number but the plate had been obscured."

"It may have been the same guy Scully and I saw following us 
when we left Brandt's office at the NIH."

"There are people who have a vested interest in making sure 
Brandt's research records remain sealed.  It's very possible 
this man is a spy sent to keep watch and make sure we don't 
try any breaking and entering this time around."

"So we find out who he is.  Maybe then we get closer to the 
people setting Brandt's research agenda."

She shook her head.  "I can't let you risk yourself on this, 
not with the X-files in such a tenuous situation.  Someone 
has to be left standing at the end of this, and by all 
rights, that person will be you. Me, I've got nothing left to 
lose."

"That's not true," he said, leaning forward to emphasize his 
point.  "You...you can beat this, Diana.  I've seen it 
happen.  All we need is to find a chip..."

"No."

"It worked for Scully."

She leveled him with a forceful gaze.  "I'm not Scully."

Taken aback, he let out a slow breath and then scrubbed his 
face with his hands.  He peeked out at her between his 
fingers.  "I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me -- not 
again."

"It's not your choice.  It never was."

"So you're just giving up, just like that."

"No, just the opposite.  There's nothing left they can do to 
me, Fox. I'm finally in a position to demand some answers, 
and all I'm asking is that you step back and let me get 
them."

Mulder tilted the front feet of his chair off the ground and 
set it back down hard. The coffee cups startled in their 
saucers, and Diana looked again at her lap.  He wanted to 
scream and shake her, make her jump like the cups.  

She didn't understand. The small personal battles were the 
only ones he ever seemed to win.

"You're no good to anyone if you're dead," he said.

She gave a wry smile.  "Oh, I don't know. I suspect Scully 
won't be shedding any tears at my funeral."

"That's unfair.  If she knew about your illness..."

"I asked you not to tell her," Diana said sharply.

"And I haven't."

She relaxed back into her chair and fingered the edge of her 
cup.  "Good.  The fewer people who know, the more I can 
accomplish.  I don't imagine she wants to sit around swapping 
bloody nose stories any more than I do."

He recalled Scully on her deathbed, her eyes sunken and her 
hair brittle across the pillow.  *If I can save you, let me.*

If this was truly what she wanted, he wished Diana could have 
let him remain an accomplice after-the-fact. 

"Maybe there is something in Brandt's work," he said, 
"something like a cure."

"Maybe," she agreed, but she did not sound hopeful.  "Someone 
is certainly worried we'll uncover something untoward or we 
wouldn't have an escort."  She hesitated.  "Also, I think 
someone broke in here the other night."

"What?  When?"

"Two nights ago.  I was working late, and when I came back 
home, this window was open."  She turned around and indicated 
the window behind her.  "It was closed when I left for the 
office, but it was unlocked."

She stood up and motioned for him to follow her.  "Nothing 
was obviously missing, but when I went to my office I found 
these marks on the lock to my file cabinet."

Mulder knelt, and sure enough, he saw tiny score marks on the 
lock.  "Was it opened?"

"I've no idea.  My key still works, so it wasn't damaged.  
But whoever it was tried to go through my desk drawers as 
well.  See?"

He touched the small round lock and felt the same scratch 
marks as he'd seen on the cabinet.  "Any idea who it was or 
what they were looking for?"

"I'd bet even money he drives a black Lexus."

"You can't stay here alone, not after this.  What if this guy 
comes back and tries again?"

The end of her mouth curved in a smile.  "I am armed and 
trained, Fox.  If he'd like to take his chances with me, I 
invite him to try.  But I think it's clear from the evidence 
it's not me he wants -- it's whatever he thinks I've got.  
And that's why it's so important that I find it before he or 
anyone else does."

"First you've got to know what you're looking for."

Her smile both thinned and broadened.  "Somehow, I think I'll 
know it when I see it."

X-X-X-X-X-X

The bullpen was quiet for a Monday morning but Scully 
couldn't hear past the static in her head.  She had an F622 
form open on her monitor and her phone tugged protectively 
close to her.  Every sixty seconds, she looked at the empty 
cubicle next door and then back at the clock again.

Mulder was forty-two minutes late and he had not called.

She wasn't sure what she'd thought she would prove to herself 
by sleeping with him.  The horrible lump at her middle hadn't 
shrunk a bit.  

She had applied her makeup carefully that morning, hiding the 
tender bruised spots under her eyes.  In the car, she had 
practiced what to say, how to be when she saw him again.  Of 
all the things in her life that she couldn't control, Mulder 
was the most powerful.  

But Mulder loved mysteries and she had the sinking feeling 
she had given the last of hers away.

She got up to use the bathroom, head down on her way to the 
hall, but she heard women's voice chatting inside and veered 
away at the last minute.  Her feet kept moving down the 
corridor and she ran squarely into Kersh.

"Going somewhere, Agent?" he asked archly.

"I was just, uh, just going to the supply room.  My pen ran 
out."

"Your pen."  He looked down at her but she held his gaze.  "I 
notice your partner is AWOL this morning.  Any ideas about 
that?"

"Perhaps he's ill."

"He'd damn well better be.  If I find he's out bothering the 
Brandt investigation again, it's six weeks suspension without 
pay for both of you."

"I understand that, sir."

"Make sure Mulder understands it."  He started to move past 
her, and then stopped.  "Agent Scully..."

She turned, and he took out a pen from his breast pocket.

"Here you are," he said as he handed it to her.  "Let's be 
getting back to work now, hmm?"

She stood there holding it like an idiot while he walked 
away.  It was warm from the heat of his body.  She had a 
flash of herself jabbing the tip of it repeatedly through his 
eyeball.

Then somehow, she was walking again, but not back to her 
desk.  The red "exit" sign glowed in the distance like a 
beacon.

She ditched the pen in the trash on her way out.


It wasn't hard to guess where Mulder was, but she still felt 
sick at the sight.  There was his government-issued Taurus 
parked in Diana's driveway.  Scully hung back, three houses 
down, with her motor idling and her knuckles white around the 
wheel.  

She knew with sudden clarity that this wasn't about sex, but 
the realization turned the dread in her stomach to clawing 
panic.  Sex was her last card and she'd played it.  Whatever 
this was between Mulder and Diana, she had no way to battle.

She rested her head back against the seat and closed her 
eyes.  She could leave.  Go back to work and wait for him to 
appear and pretend that everything was still the same.  She 
and Mulder were master pretenders.

Or she could ring the doorbell and confront them.  She 
imagined the surprise on Diana's face, the chagrin on 
Mulder's, as she caught them in the middle of... whatever it 
was they were doing.  But unless they harbored an alien in 
there, tied to a kitchen chair while they flogged it with 
rubber gloves, she had precious little hope of finding out 
what they were plotting together.

In the end, that he would leave Scully out, after everything, 
this was all that mattered.

She opened her eyes resolved to going back to work and not 
talking to him for the next ten years.  Just as she was 
shifting into gear, Diana's front door opened and Mulder 
strode out, wearing sunglasses and a suit.

She was parked down the block, but not far enough from 
Captain Observo, because he spotted her immediately.  She 
considered driving away as he started toward her but decided 
this was childish, so she set her jaw and waited for him to 
reach the car.

He opened the passenger door and got in without asking.  "I 
know what you're thinking," he said.

"Actually, I bet you don't.  Kersh is looking for you, and 
you'd better have a doctor's note or a pardon from the 
governor when you get back, or we're both suspended for the 
foreseeable future."

He took off the shades. "I didn't mean to get you involved."

"That much is obvious."

"I'll handle Kersh.  Don't worry."

"I can look out for myself, Mulder."

He studied her a moment.  "I know that."  He reached over to 
touch her knee, but she flinched and he drew his hand back.  
"Scully, I just want to say..."

Her cell phone cut him off, and she yanked it out from her 
pocket.  "Scully," she said.

"Agent Scully, this is Imogene Brandt.  Do you recall the 
name?"

"Of course," she said, eyeing Mulder, who was listening 
openly.  "What can I do for you, Dr. Brandt?"

"I was going through my husband's private study at home, and 
I came across something rather disturbing.  I thought you 
should perhaps take a look at it."

"What is it?"

"I don't wish to say over the phone."  She paused.  "But it 
involves someone you work with, and it's possible it could 
impact your investigation."

We don't actually have an investigation, Scully wanted to 
say, but she held her tongue.  "What would you like me to 
do?"

"I think you should come here as soon as possible.  We're at 
44 Ingleside Drive; just hit the buzzer at the gate and I'll 
let you in."

"Okay, I'm on my way."

She snapped the phone shut but held it cradled in her hands.  
"That was Imogene Brandt.  She's found something of interest 
her husband's study, something that pertains to 'someone I 
work with.'"

"I'll go with you."

"She called me, not you."

"If it involves me, I want to know what it is."

"And if it involves you, she might not give it to us if you 
show up."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Mulder..."

"Look, did she ask you to come alone?"

"Not specifically."

"Then let's go," he said, fastening his seatbelt.

"What about your car?  You're blocking Diana in."

Mulder considered for a moment.  "Right now, that might be a 
good thing.  Come on, before she catches me."

Scully put the car in reverse, and Diana's house in the 
rearview mirror.

X-X-X-X-X

Scully read every inch of the autopsy report on Diana's body, 
but she found no other illumination.  From the description of 
her tumor and the blood work, it seemed Diana had perhaps a 
few months left to live at the time of her murder.  The tumor 
was large but had not yet metastasized. 

What Scully was looking for, and what she could not find, was 
any evidence of a chip in the neck or anywhere else in the 
body. If the Smoking Man thought this report would somehow 
prove Mulder's innocence, he was sadly mistaken.

The picture remained unchanged.  The cops had a fight, a dead 
woman killed with a 9 mm round consistent with FBI artillery, 
a missing weapon, and Mulder on the run.

Helpless and restless, she took all of her evidence to 
Skinner's office.  Mulder had called Skinner for some reason, 
and she wanted to know why.

Strong afternoon sun filtered through the slits in his 
blinds.  Skinner himself looked tired, with shirtsleeves 
rolled up and his eyes narrow behind his glasses.  "What's 
this?" he asked as she slapped the folders down on his desk.

"Research.  This is Diana's autopsy report.  She was dying of 
cancer, did you know that?  A nasopharyngeal tumor."

From the look on Skinner's face, she gathered this wasn't 
news.  "Where did you get that?"

"Your smoking friend gave it to me."

This was news.  "What?"

"I had to get this on my own, though," she said, shoving the 
phone dump at him.  "Mulder has Diana's cell phone, but then 
you probably already know that because he's called you.  At 
least, I'm reasonably sure it was him and not Diana, since 
she was in the city morgue at the time."

He glanced at the report and nudged it back at her.  "So?"

"So I thought we were both trying to find him.  You never 
mentioned this call to me."

"You've talked to him too.  I didn't notice you coming in 
here to share that conversation."

Scully ignored this.  "I want to know what you talked about."

"I tried to get him to turn himself in.  He refused to listen 
-- much the same way you've refused to listen when I told you 
to stay away from the autopsy report."

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me the whole 
truth?"

"You want to talk truth?  Let's discuss that argument between 
Diana and Mulder the day she was killed.  I'm pretty sure you 
could tell us what it was about."

She was surprised he didn't know. Or maybe he did, and this 
was some sort of test.  "You should have asked Mulder."

"What makes you think I didn't?"

"He must have needed something from you or he wouldn't have 
called.  I don't know what it was, but I have some guesses.  
It looks like you and Agent Fowley had at least one name in 
common in your Rolodex.  See that number at the top?"

He looked, but didn't comment.

"It's the Smoking Man.  Now why would she be calling him?"

"I've no idea.  Perhaps she was hoping he might be able to 
cure her illness."

"Why would she think that?"

He blinked owlishly at her.  "Because that's what he did for 
you."

Her heart started pounding so fast she was momentarily dizzy.  
"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That chip in your neck.  Where did you think it came from?"

"Mul-Mulder got it from the DOD."

He shook his head, askance at her ignorance.  "I can't 
believe you didn't know."

She resisted the urge to touch the bump at the base of her 
neck.  "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you like.  The Smoking Man gave Mulder the 
means to cure you, and he no doubt had his reasons.  He 
grants favors only for the purpose of calling later to 
collect.  You might ask yourself why he gave you that autopsy 
report."

"I'll worry about that in the future if I have to.  Right now 
I want to know where Mulder is."

"I don't know," he said, and held up his palms before she 
could protest.  "That's the God's honest truth.  I talked to 
him two days ago and he hasn't called since."

She searched his face and still didn't quite believe him.  
"Fine.  I'll find him myself."

She tried to collect her research from his desk but Skinner 
stopped her.  "I can't let you take this," he said as he 
tugged it from her hands.

"It's mine."

"Not anymore."

"With all due respect, sir, you have no more right to this 
evidence than I do."

"Actually, that's not true.  My name is on the material 
witness warrant for Mulder.  It's my investigation, and I 
decide what agents work under me."

"I see," she said evenly. "And just which agents are those?"

"Not you.  I'll take your ID and weapon too."

"I don't think so.  You have no grounds."

"I have plenty of grounds.  Your partner is the chief suspect 
in a murder investigation.  That alone should earn you some 
desk time.  But you and Mulder have been behaving like rogue 
law enforcement lately, and I don't like it.  You are not 
helping his cause.  If he calls you again, tell him to get 
his ass back in here.  Now hand it over."

"If he calls, I'll be sure to let him know about this," she 
said as she jerked her gun out of its holster.  

"Go home," he told her.  "Get some rest.  I'll handle the 
Mulder situation from here on out."

"You'll pardon me if I don't find that especially 
comforting," she said.  "Tell your Smoking friend I said 
hello."

She walked out into the orange blaze of the setting sun, 
lighter without her folders and her weapon.  She had hit a 
dead end, run around by lies.  There was only one person left 
who would tell her the truth.  Fortunately, she had his phone 
number.

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

Scully wasn't sure what the formal definition of "mansion" 
was, but she suspected the Brandt homestead would qualify.  
Set on the Virginia border on at least an acre of gleaming 
green lawn, it had a formidable brick face, black shutters 
and large white pots filled with greenery along the front.  
She hit the buzzer at the front gate and identified herself 
over the intercom; the door swung open and she drove up to 
the main entrance.  

A silver Mercedes sat parked in the driveway.

The large white front door opened before she or Mulder even 
reached it, and Imogene Brandt stood on the threshold.  "I 
thought you would come alone," she said when she saw Mulder.

"Then you thought incorrectly," Scully said.  "You had 
something you wanted to show me?"

Imogene held the door close to her body, considering her 
options, and then finally widened it to let them inside.  
"How is the investigation going? Are you any closer to 
proving that Christopher was murdered?"

"I'm afraid not," Scully said.

"We have these day jobs," said Mulder.

"If it's a matter of money, I have plenty of it."

Scully looked around the grand entryway, taking in the high 
white columns, the marble floor, and the large civil-war era 
oil painting on the wall.  "The FBI is not for sale," she 
told Imogene politely.

"I'm not trying to buy the whole Bureau."  She looked them 
over.  "A couple of agents will do."

"Ma'am," Scully began, but Imogene waved her off. 

"I jest. Come let me show you the study.  I think Agent 
Mulder might find this particularly interesting."

They followed her around the staircase and down a short 
hallway to Christopher Brandt's home office.  It featured an 
antique mahogany desk, thick gray carpet and the faint odor 
of cigars.  "I found the key to his files over here," Imogene 
was saying as she walked them to the cabinets.  "Imagine my 
surprise when I found this in the drawer from 1991."

She withdrew a blue folder and opened it up to examine the 
pages it contained.  "At first, I couldn't figure out why he 
held onto this information, but it does help explain his 
certainty that the FBI was involved in the break-in at his 
lab."

She offered the folder to Scully, who accepted, and Mulder 
looked over her shoulder.  The top page was the police report 
from the night of the break-in; they apparently found 
nothing.  But page two was an independent analysis from a 
private firm.

"I always said he was the smartest man I ever knew," Imogene 
said.  "He had them dust all the fire alarms.  Your Agent 
Fowley should have worn gloves."

"Wait, let me see that," Mulder murmured as he took the 
folder from her hands, and then it was she who had to look on 
over his arm.

The report found Diana's fingerprints on the lever of one of 
the first floor fire alarms.

"I guess you didn't know," Imogene said.  "I suspected as 
much, and I'll tell you why.  I got to wondering, if Chris 
had this sort of proof that the FBI was involved the break-
in, why didn't he tell the authorities back then?"

"This isn't proof of anything," Mulder replied, but Scully 
could see the artery in his neck pulsing. 

"It was proof enough to have your job in 1991, if Chris had 
wanted it.  That's the rub, though, isn't it?  Why didn't he 
want it?  So I did some more digging through his records 
here, and I found some old phone records."  She took an old 
bill from the desk.  "Chris saved everything.  He was a total 
packrat, like many scientists are.  You don't want to throw 
out any data because it might become useful in the future."

Suddenly, Scully knew where this was going, but she wasn't 
going to be the one to say it.  She kept her eyes down so she 
wouldn't have to see Mulder's face.

"I mentioned my husband's proclivity for pretty women.  Agent 
Fowley is very pretty indeed."

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully saw Mulder take the 
phone records and look them over; she could guess very well 
what they said.

"Didn't you wonder how she knew the floor plan so well?" 
Imogene asked.

Despite everything, Scully felt the need to rescue Mulder.  
"You said this had to do with your husband's death," she 
said.  "All of this happened years ago."

"Yes, I'm aware.  But since history has a way of repeating 
itself, I went and found the latest phone bill.  This number 
here is Agent Fowley's current residence, is it not?  She 
answered when I dialed it."

Mulder took the second bill, and Scully glanced at it.

"They were in contact during the days before his death, and I 
have to ask myself if it might have been she whom my husband 
was meeting the night he was killed."

"Even if it was, she wouldn't have killed him," Mulder said 
as he folded the bills and tried to return them to Imogene.

"Keep them," she said.  "Keep it all.  It's evidence."

"It's evidence of nothing," said Mulder.

"She's a liar," Imogene answered, her voice turning cold.  
"And she slept with my husband.  That's not enough to 
convict, I'll grant you, or half the city would be guilty.  
But if she's the one at the end of the line, then she's put 
herself on a very short list of suspects."

In the car afterward, they sat in silence outside the Brandt 
home.  Mulder had the evidence of Diana's infidelity tucked 
in the folder on his lap.  He stared out the windshield but 
didn't appear to see anything.

"Mulder, I..."

"Told you so?" He gave her an ugly look.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."  He clutched the folders and turned his 
gaze to the distance again.  "She didn't kill him."

Scully started the car.  For once, she hoped he was right.

X-X-X-X-X-X

She stopped at a shopping mall on her way home, careful to 
make sure no one followed. The sky had turned dusky and 
starless. It was the dinner hour, and most of the traffic 
flowed the other way, leaving a semi-scattered parking lot.  
She concerned herself with the short line of phones along the 
wall.

Scully glanced over her shoulder one last time and then 
blocked the phone buttons with her body, just in case anyone 
was watching from afar.  She dialed the numbers she now knew 
by heart.

Please be there, please be there.  She clutched the receiver 
close to her ear and scanned the lot for anyone who seemed 
overly interested in her conversation.

At the third ring, he picked up.  "Hello."

"It's me," she said, surprised to find tears in her eyes.  
She blinked them away.

"Scully," he replied with relief.  "I was going to call you."

She gave a watery laugh and wiped her eyes with the cuff of 
one sleeve. "That's what they all say."  She rested her 
forehead against the cool plastic.  "Mulder, I need to talk 
to you."

"I'm listening."

"I got the autopsy report.  I know about Diana's cancer."

"Yeah."  It was hard to hear him over the passing cars.  "She 
didn't want me to tell you."

"There's more. I traced this number, and I know it's her cell 
phone from overseas.  She talked to the Smoking Man in the 
days before she died."

"That explains the heavy breathing on the other end.  It 
wasn't phone sex; it was emphysema."

"He called you?"

"Someone did, and the person didn't identify themselves."

She gripped the hard metal cord.  "I'm worried about you.  
Mulder, I know you've been in contact with Skinner, but he 
might not be a friend.  He took the autopsy report and phone 
records away from me today.  He also took my gun and ID."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"Did you hear what I said?" she asked.

"I heard."

"I don't know what to do next.  I don't know how to help you.  
Maybe if you told me exactly what happened the night she 
died..."

"I think we should meet."

Just the forbidden words made her look around again.  "You're 
nearby?"

"Not far.  You know the little park in old Annapolis? The one 
we arrested Fred Murtaw in?"

"Yes, there's a children's playground there."

"Meet me by the jungle gym at ten tonight."

It was really too risky.  She should refuse.  "I'll be 
there."

They hung up and she decided not to go home first.  With her 
luck, Rivera would be waiting there to either drag her in for 
questioning or to tail her on her rendezvous with Mulder.  
Instead she drove around rather aimlessly, watching to make 
sure no one else had a similar lack of aim.  

She stopped at a gas station for a refill and a diet soda, 
but her stomach had twisted into such a knot that she could 
barely drink half of it.  At the last moment, she also 
purchased a wrapped ham-and-cheese from the fridge and a sad-
looking orange.  Mulder could be hungry.

Out of caution, she parked four blocks from the park, in an 
empty church lot.  With her small paper sack in hand, she 
walked back quickly, her shadow cast long and slim from the 
streetlamps overhead.  Her heels made the only sound on the 
quiet road.

She went straight to the jungle gym and waited on the dark 
side, nearest the bushes.  The cold metal bar pressed into 
her back as she looked around the playground.  The swings 
stirred in the breeze.

She tilted her watch toward the light to see the face and it 
read ten of ten.  The bushes rustled and Mulder emerged from 
them, looking both ways before joining her at the bars.  

"You're early," he said.  He wore his glasses and three days 
worth of beard.

"So are you."

He was dressed in blue jeans and a non-descript navy 
sweatshirt she recognized as FBI with the iron-on label worn 
off.

"What's in the sack?" he asked, nodding at it.

"Oh.  Just a sandwich and an orange.  It's not much, but I 
didn't know what your situation was exactly, and--" She broke 
off as he crushed her in a hug.

"Are you okay?" His voice was rough near her ear.  

She nodded, unable to speak.  She hugged him as hard as she 
could with one arm and the gas station food trapped between 
them.  He felt solid and whole and real, not at all like the 
ghost she had been chasing for days. "Where have you been?"

"Never mind that." He pushed her back enough so that he could 
see her face.  His thumbs were warm against her cheeks.  "You 
weren't followed?"

"No, I don't think so."  Shuddering, she broke free and set 
the bag at their feet.  She took his hand again and leaned 
against the jungle gym.  "You can't keep this up forever, 
Mulder."

"I know, I know.  This wasn't exactly a well thought-out 
plan, if you know what I mean."

"They have a witness who saw you, but then again I suspect 
you know that already."

"The lady next door with the big eyes."

She looked up at him.  "You caught her attention 
deliberately.  I just don't understand why."

"Tell me more about the case.  What else do they know?"

"They have the bullet but Diana's gun is still missing, and 
it's presumed to be the murder weapon.  As far as I know, the 
police have not uncovered the content of your argument with 
her the evening that she died."

His hand tightened on hers. "I burned those papers."

"Mulder, it's evidence."

"Exactly."

"No, it's evidence against Brandt, against Diana, against the 
men who run the tests -- you can't have burned it."

"It's also motive, Scully."

Underneath all that hair, his face was troubled, and fear 
began niggling in her heart.  "Mulder, tell me what happened 
that night."

"I was still so angry.  I went there... I don't know why I 
went there.  I wanted some sort of accounting, I guess.  I 
wanted to see if there was anything left of her that I could 
recognize.  She was dead on the floor when I got there."

"I suspected as much," she said, and Mulder looked at her 
sharply.

"The gun was on the floor in the living room.  The phone was 
on the table. I took them both."

"You have the gun," she said, the words just sinking into 
consciousness.  "You took the gun?"

"Yes."  He scratched at the dirt with one sneaker.  "I 
thought it was yours."

"Mine!" She levered herself away from the bars and faced him.  
"You thought I'd killed her?  God, Mulder.  If I'd killed 
her, I'd sure as hell have taken my gun with me."

"Maybe you weren't thinking straight."

The soft words drew her up short.  He didn't appear to be 
joking.

"It's not my gun.  I told you that Skinner took mine today.  
Diana's is missing, so it's bound to be hers.  Mulder, you've 
been harboring the murder weapon.  If the police are curious 
about why you'd flee the scene of the crime, they're 
certainly going to wonder why you took the murder weapon with 
you."

"Scully..."

"And we can't go telling them that you thought I did it 
because that gets back to motive again, which won't do you 
any good at all."

"Scully, it's got your fingerprints on it."

She halted, her mouth hanging open.  "What did you say?"

"The gun has your prints on it."

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "That's not true.  No."

As before, she heard the gunfire in her head.  She saw Diana 
sprawled on the floor.

Mulder caught her before she hit the ground.  She grabbed the 
bar as he held her slumped against his chest.  His fingers 
bit into her flesh, and vaguely she heard his voice over her 
head.  "Now you see why I burned the papers."

X-X-X-X-X-X

End chapter six.  Continued in chapter seven.

So I got some eye drops and powered through the chapter, 
despite being nagged by an adorable dog to go out and play in 
the sunshine.  We tossed the toys around and still had time 
to write.  Hope you enjoyed the results.

Feedback = love

Cheers, syn

Syn_tax6@yahoo.com