XxXxXxXxX

Chapter Four

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She was sleeping when the car whooshed across the San Diego 
border, so he reached over in the dark and found her hand.  
"Hey," he said softly, giving her a squeeze.

Her fingers tightened around his as she blinked herself 
awake.  "Hey," she said through a yawn.  She squinted out at 
the night scenery.  "We're almost there."

"Yeah, I need directions from here.  It was either wake you 
up or take a detour to Mexico."

He caught her smile in the passing street lights.  "It's the 
exit after next, then a right off the ramp."  She leaned her 
head back against the seat and smothered another yawn.  
"Sorry for passing out on you like that.  I guess I didn't 
get much sleep last night."

Mulder gave a humming noise in answer and smoothed his hands 
over the steering wheel, unsure whether her remark was meant 
as an invitation to discuss the horror of the last few days 
or whether he was supposed to pretend she'd just had an 
ordinary restless night in a strange bed.  "Bad dreams?" he 
asked, sticking his big toe in to gauge her temperature.

"Not that I remember."

No, she often didn't.  Instead he would wear her memories as 
inkblot bruises on his ribs and half-moon nail craters in his 
arms.  A hundred nights he had unrolled her from her tinfoil 
tight ball of terror, soothing out her crinkles until she was 
smooth against him once more.  

Then one day, just like that, it had stopped.  She'd brought 
home a set of vanilla-colored sheets that were soft like a 
tee-shirt washed the perfect number of times.  Together they 
had stood on opposite sides of the bed and snapped the top 
sheet up in the air above their heads.  He had smiled at her 
under the parachute as it fell back to earth, and that night 
there had been no more dreams.

"Mulder?"  Her voice brought him from his memory, and he 
found them stopped at an intersection.  "The light is green."

He looked out at the unfamiliar road.  "Which way do we go 
from here?" 

XxXxX

It was a small matter to get inside the motel room.  Unlike 
DC, where everyone wanted to be bundled up inside the same 
hulking building, Southern Californians all wanted their own 
door to the outside world.  Fewer steps to Disneyland!  Fewer 
steps to the ocean!

Carl smirked as he peered from behind their drab blue 
curtain.  In this case, the ocean was a concrete one -- six 
zillion lanes of Interstate 5.

The room seemed to be Mulder's alone as far as Carl could 
tell.  He counted only one suitcase, and there were no female 
toiletries in the bathroom.  But rustling through the 
garbage, he did find a tissue with a lipstick print kiss.

The bed was still made, but the end of the spread was mussed, 
as though someone had sat on it.  Carl sat and bounced up and 
down a few times in their absence.

Square and dull, the room bored him quickly.  No shoes lay 
about; Mulder seemed to require just the one pair.  Carl 
decided he had better leave before they returned.  Why 
forfeit the game early?

He rose from the bed.

"Mulder?"  Knock, knock at the door.  Carl froze.  "Mulder, 
are you in there?  It's Amelia."

XxXxX

Mulder pulled the car into the driveway and cut the engine.  
"Looks like they left a light on for you," he said, nodding 
at the shining yellow window at the front of the house.

"Mom always did like to wait up," Scully said as she opened 
her car door, letting the salty night wind blow inside.  "I 
told her I would be very late."

Mulder got out and gave her a sideways glance as they walked 
up the path.  "So if we start making out on the front steps, 
will she flash the porch light at us?"

"Mom was more of a 'peek through the curtains' kind of woman.  
Dad would just fling the front door right open."

On cue, Mulder saw the lace in the window pull aside.  "And I 
never even got a peck," he groused.  Scully gave his hand a 
hard squeeze just before the front door opened to reveal Mrs. 
Scully, still fully dressed.

"Dana, I was worried!"  She frowned at Mulder.  "Fox, it's 
nice to see you again."

Said like you might welcome a foot fungus, Mulder thought, 
but he managed a smile.  "Mrs. Scully, how are you?"

"Tired," she answered as she opened the screen door.  "It's 
past midnight."

Inside, the house held a strange night quiet, the feel of 
people present but out of sight.  Mulder leaned against a 
stuffed sofa and did his best to blend in with the furniture.

"I told you not to wait up," Scully said.  "I told you not to 
worry."

Mrs. Scully reached out and brushed some hair from her 
daughter's face.  "Of course I worry.  You run out from 
vacation for some unknown reason, don't come back for all 
hours...we're supposed to leave in the morning."

"Mom, about that..."

"You're not coming back with me."

Scully looked down at the fluffy beige rug.  "The case turned 
out to be an old one, one that Mulder and I have worked on in 
the past."

Mulder watched as his partner avoided her mother's gaze and 
wondered if maybe this was the real reason she didn't include 
him in more family functions; mothers could turn you back 
into a twelve year-old with just a few choice words.

Mrs. Scully pursed her lips in a sad smile.  "There's always 
another case, isn't there?  Always another reason to run out 
the door.  You have more of your father in you than you know, 
Dana.  Both of you out to save the world."

"This is different," Scully said, and Mulder held his breath 
at how much she might confess.  Her family knew about 
Quentin; the DC papers had talked of little else for weeks 
after his escape last year, and the one woman who'd escaped 
Carl Quentin had earned a few two-inch high headlines 
herself.

But her mother, perhaps long out of practice, perhaps unable 
to reach the dark corners that Scully knew, failed to catch 
the twinge in her daughter's voice.  "Well, I know how you 
are about work.  At least we've had these past few days all 
together.  That was nice, wasn't it?"

Mulder saw Scully echo her mother's melancholy smile.  "It 
was nice."

"Have you eaten?" Mrs. Scully asked, already headed towards 
the kitchen.  "Fox, can I get you something to drink?  Some 
coffee, maybe?"

"Mom, it's late.  Go to bed.  We're not staying, anyway.  We 
just came to get my things."

"What?"  Her mother stopped and turned around.  "You can't be 
serious.  It would be two a.m. before you got back to Santa 
Ana."

Mulder's bones ached at her words.  The long day of travel 
and anxiety had left him feeling spent and rubbery.  "We'll 
be fine," Scully told her mother.  "I'm mostly packed as it 
is."

Mrs. Scully caught her daughter's arm as Scully moved for the 
stairs.  "Dana...you said yourself it's late.  Stay here 
tonight and leave in the morning.  Your bed is already made 
up, and Fox can stay on the sofa."

"Mom..."

"She's right," Mulder said, and Scully turned to look at him.  
He noted the slump of her shoulders and the pale blue fatigue 
in her eyes.  "It's not like we're going to get anything more 
done tonight."

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Scully announced.  "I'll get some 
sheets and a blanket."

Scully looked heavenward, and Mulder chuckled.  She sighed, 
shrugging out of her suit jacket and walking over to him with 
slow steps.  He liked the way her hands looked on his knees.  

"You don't have to stay on the couch," she murmured, leaning 
into him.  

He rested his forehead against hers and patted the arm of the 
sofa.  "It's okay.  The couch and I have been making friends 
while you argued with your mom."

"But if we went upstairs and had--"  She stopped for a yawn.  
"--mad passionate sex--"  Another yawn.  "--it might finally 
jolt Mom from her denial."

"Scully."  He cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing each velvet 
curve.  "If you think we're having mad passionate anything 
tonight, I'd say you're the one in denial." 

"Mmmn.  There goes my fantasy about having my way with you in 
a racing car bed."

He pulled back, his hands slipping to her hips.  "Um, what?"

She smiled a bit.  "I have Matthew's room.  His bed comes 
with wheels and a horn."

"I can just imagine *that* going off at an inopportune time," 
he said, and watched as Scully smothered a giggle.  Standing 
as they were, with him seated on the sofa arm, they were just 
the same height.  His warrior woman who fit in a child's bed.  

"I should go help Mom," she said, her hands making a 
reluctant slide down his shoulders.  "She's probably trying 
to find sheets that don't have Barney or Big Bird on them."

"Do you have anything in a Star Wars motif?" Mulder asked.  
He framed the living room with his thumbs and forefingers, as 
if sizing up the a film shot.  "'Cause I'm thinking I could 
make a killer pillow fort."

XxXxX

He fell into sleep like a man dropping off a cliff, only to 
pop awake again when the grandfather clock in the living room 
played its two a.m. chimes.  Blinking in the dark, he shifted 
under his plain blue sheets and listened to the hum and pitch 
of a foreign house.  The air conditioning rustled the drapes, 
the refrigerator added its low vibrato, and something was 
walking around on the roof.  An animal?  An intruder?

Mulder sat up, tilting his head to hear better.  The faint 
scratching continued, and he got up to investigate further.  
Climbing the carpeted stairs, he followed the noise up past 
the second floor and into a tiny doorway.  Light shone into 
the hall, and Mulder peeked around the corner to see another 
set of stairs.  Now that he could hear the footsteps better, 
he knew he didn't need his SIG or a can of 'Raid' to venture 
into the attic.

He saw the bottoms of her feet first, her bare heels up off 
the ground as she stood on tiptoe.  Apparently, she was 
reaching for a box on the highest shelf of a storage unit.  
"Need a hand?" he asked from behind, and she yelped. 

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"Sorry."  He joined her in front of the wall of shelves.  
"What are you up to?"

"I just wanted to see something," she said, eyeing the box 
again.  "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, that honor belongs to Big Ben in the living room.  
Here."  He stretched up and lifted the box down for her.  It 
read "Old Photos" on the top in black marker.

"Thanks," she said, and sat it on a large trunk.  

As she began sorting through the contents, Mulder wandered 
around the rest of the attic.  There was a jade green lamp in 
the shape of an elephant in one corner that he was willing to 
bet wasn't broken so much as hidden out of sight.  Next he 
found a wooden rocking horse with button eyes and white yarn 
for a mane.  He smiled and touched the smooth head to set it 
in motion.  One open box held a collection of tea cups with 
tiny rose buds around the rim.  Tracing one delicate 
porcelain edge, Mulder made up his mind to examine the 
collection of heirlooms his mother had left behind once he 
returned to DC.

He threaded his way back through the boxes to Scully, who sat 
cross-legged on the floor with a photo album spread across 
her lap.  She tucked her hair behind her ear as he lowered 
himself next to her.  "Whatcha got?"

"This was Carolyn."

Mulder leaned in closer in the dim light and saw an black and 
white photo taken at Halloween.  Scully was pointing at the 
little girl dressed as black cat on the left, but Mulder 
fixated on the other redhead decked out in a sailor's blues.  
"Is that you?" he asked, delighted.

"Yeah."  Scully stroked the picture through the protective 
plastic cover.  "This was taken before the sugar high kicked 
in."

"I love your little hat."

She made a face and tugged the book away from him.  "Not 
terribly original of me, as it turned out.  Half the kids on 
our base were either sailors or pilots."

"Even the girls?"

"Well, no."  She smiled.  "Carolyn and I used to collect the 
candy and trade afterward.  It was a great system because I 
could give away all my Tootsie rolls and she didn't have to 
eat the M&Ms."

"What kid doesn't like M&Ms?" 

"She only liked the yellow ones."

"They taste the same!"

Scully swatted him playfully on the arm.  "We were seven, 
Mulder.  Logic doesn't exactly enter into your dietary plan 
when you're seven.  I remember when Bill was little he 
wouldn't eat any red foods."

"Speaking of..."  Mulder leaned over her shoulder again.  
"Any naked bathtub photos of Bill in there?  I think we would 
get along much better if I could picture him all wrinkled 
with a tiny --"

"Mulder!"

"Okay, okay."  He sat back against the heavy trunk, ignoring 
the angular brass trim that tried to wedge between his 
vertebrae.  Scully settled into his side, and they resumed 
looking through the pictures.  "I like this one," he said 
when they found another of one of Carolyn hanging upside down 
on a jungle gym.  Her pigtails almost reached the ground.

"I remember that day," Scully said.  "Charlie slipped on some 
gravel and skinned his knees, so Mom took us all for ice 
cream to distract him."  

"Ice cream makes a good band-aid," Mulder agreed.

She rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for a long minute.  
"She had two kids Mulder.  Two little boys.  Who's going to 
buy them ice cream when they skin their knees?"

Mulder had no answer.  The girl in the picture seemed to swing 
off the page, she was so bright.  It didn't seem possible that 
she'd been reduced to bones in the desert.  "I'm sorry about 
your friend, Scully."

"This has to be the last time," she said.  "He can't do this 
anymore."

Mulder lowered his head, wishing he could assure her that 
there would be no more missing mothers, daughters and 
sisters.  But the truth was Carl Quentin could be next door 
or a thousand miles away.  There was little they could do but 
wait for his next move.

"We'll get him," he said aloud.

Scully tilted her head to look up at him, then touched his 
chin with a sad smile.  "Nice try," she said.

"You can change your mind about working this case," he 
answered.  "Any time."

She sighed.  "You want me to say I'm scared?  I'm scared.  
He's a big man, he's clever, and he clearly thinks we have 
unfinished business.  What's more, I didn't escape last time 
because of any special training I had.  There's no reason for 
me to think I could defeat him a second time, if it came to 
that."

"It won't," he said automatically.

"The posts in the headboard were loose," she continued, 
stretching an arm across his middle.  Her chin dug into his 
shoulder.  "All the women he had tied up before me had pulled 
so hard that one of the bedposts was nearly free.  That was 
the only reason I escaped.  I lived because they fought so 
hard."

He hugged her closer.  "Don't sell yourself short, Scully.  
You fought just as hard."

"But it wouldn't have done any good," she answered softly.  
"Not without the others who were there before me."

She had never told him this part of the story before, and he 
was sure he didn't want to hear it now.  Her life could not 
be due to mere happenstance, to a simple twist of fate, to 
anything that suggested the possibility of a different 
outcome.  The broken bed, the tattered sheets, the claw marks 
on the wooden walls -- it had never occurred to him that the 
shattered cabin in the woods had represented thirteen battles 
to live; he'd focused solely on the one that had been 
successful.

Scully laced her fingers through his, rubbing her cheek 
against his tee-shirt.  "I know it might be safest for me to 
go back to DC.  I know that.  But those women deserve 
justice."

"It's not on you alone, you know.  Just because he chooses to 
make this about you doesn't mean you have to play along."

"I know."  She tightened her arm around him.  "But I'm not 
alone.  And I can't walk away.  At least not yet."

They sat in silence on the hard floor for another few 
minutes, until he felt her yawn against his chest.  On cue, 
he yawned too, so wide it felt like he might split his face 
in half.  

"It's late," she said.

"Yes.  And my butt is numb."

With a chuckle, she shifted to get off the floor, offering 
him a hand as she stood.  She slipped the photo album back in 
the box, and he performed his tall male duty and replaced it 
on the shelf.  As they walked back down the stairs, he 
remembered why it was she was wandering the attic in the wee 
hours of the morning.  "I take it the racing car wasn't 
getting it done for you tonight," he said as lightly as he 
could.

She saw through him in an instant.  "It's not that," she 
said.  "It's not the dreams.  With everything that's been 
going on, I've just been so wired.  I'm exhausted but I can't 
seem to close my eyes."

They had reached the door to her room, but he took her hand 
and tugged her towards the stairs.  "I bet I can talk the 
couch into a threesome."

The hallway nightlight illuminated her arched eyebrow.  "A 
threesome?"

"Yeah, the stripes make it look all straight and narrow, but 
trust me, Scully -- your brother's got a kinky sofa."

"I'm going to attribute this strange conversation to jet 
lag," she said, but allowed him to lead her to the living 
room.  On the couch, she snuggled into his side as he covered 
them with a blanket.  "Just for a little while," she 
cautioned.

He felt the sweep of her lashes that signaled her eyes 
closing.  "Just for a little while," he murmured into her 
hair.  

The big clock ticked and the refrigerator rattled, but with 
the soft sound Scully's breathing, Mulder's night was in 
harmony once more.

XxXxX

End of chapter four.  Continued in chapter five.

Thanks to Alicia and Jerry for their help.

All comments are welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com