~ Split the Lark ~

XxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter One
XxXxXxXxXxX


This time, she left her gun at home.  Mulder had 
called after three days away testifying at a retrial 
in Oregon -- an old monster threatening to escape the 
box again -- and said he was back and she should come 
over.  Phone curled to her ear, she'd heard the sound 
of his bag hitting the floor, barely home.  She 
imagined him like the last reel of a John Wayne movie, 
where the dusty but victorious hero bursts through the 
saloon doors, lit like the blazes from behind, and 
sweeps his beloved into his arms.  Or, in Mulder's 
case, his cell phone.  

"Come over," he'd said, his voice rich with 
invitation.

"You're not tired?"

"Not yet," he'd said, and she'd shivered.

He didn't mention files or folders or bogeymen, so 
Scully left them at home too.  She left the gun in its 
holster on her dresser, next to her badge. She 
bypassed the line of black suits in her closet in 
favor of a long wrap-around skirt that she hadn't worn 
since college.  It still fits, she realized with a 
pleased smile as she ran her hands over the soft 
cotton that hugged her hips, like it had been waiting 
for her all these years.

She pinned her hair off her neck and slipped on some 
sandals and left with nothing more than her wallet, 
her keys, and a tingle of anticipation.  The night 
heat wilted her shower-fresh skin, leaving Scully to 
perform emergency resuscitation with a blast of AC in 
the car.  She checked her progress in the rearview 
mirror at a red light.  Eyes bright and cheeks pink, 
she blew out a long breath and gave up.  Mulder would 
take one look at her and know she was hot.  

A car honked behind her.  

It was silly to be nervous, she thought.  She'd come 
over before.  She had brought her trench coat and her 
files, and he had ordered the pizza.  But somehow "Let 
me help you off with that coat, Scully" had melted 
into "Let me help you off with that bra, Scully," 
while the files and pizza grew cold together on the 
table.  Then, just the week before, he'd asked her to 
come over and help him with his crashed computer, so 
she'd brought her manuals to tackle the problem.  
Together they'd managed some manual relief, but as far 
as she knew, Mulder's computer still remained broken.

His low voice from the phone echoed in her head and 
warmed her ears anew.  Come over, he'd said, without 
pretext this time.  No books.  No files.  Just come.  

She got as far as Duke Street before she lost her 
nerve and stopped for Chinese.  Mulder would be 
hungry, she told herself.  And if she showed up with 
an armful of takeout boxes, she might not look so... 
expectant.  Decision made, Scully drove to Ming's 
Delight, their favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese joint 
from Mulder's end of town.

Ming's shared a block of brick buildings with other 
small shops, so street parking was often a problem.  
Scully eyed the line of cars out front and turned down 
the narrow alley to the tiny parking lot in back.  No 
neat white lines and smooth tar for Ming's -- their 
lot featured crumbling pavement, a large dumpster and 
a chain-link fence.  The only light came from the open 
back door at Ming's, which poured out steamy air and a 
long string of loud Chinese.  At the back, an urban 
jungle had sprung up from neglect, as saplings took 
root and brambly bushes spilled out onto the gravel.  
Scully stuck the nose of her car in the leafy thicket 
and went in search of food.

Jun, the young man at the counter, recognized her and 
his eyes crinkled up in welcome.  Scully ordered their 
usual black pepper beef and Kung Pao chicken.  "And 
some of the ginger pork noodles," she added.  "Oh, and 
an order of spring rolls."

Jun's eyebrows lifted.  "You are hungry tonight!"

Scully felt her cheeks flush.  "I guess so."

He boxed the food and tossed in double their allotted 
fortune cookies.  "For luck," he told her with a wink.  
Scully thanked him and returned to her car.  
Awkwardly, she tried to balance the food between her 
hip and the car door as she fumbled with her keys.  
Then her phone rang.  She set the keys on the roof to 
answer it. 

"Scully."

"You're not here."

His impatience made her smile.  The good thing about 
Chinese food was that it reheated well.  "I'm five 
blocks away."

"Ming's?"

"The very same."

"Fantastic.  I could use something to supplement my 
plane peanuts."

"I figured as much."  The heat from the food burned 
through her skirt.  "I'll be right there."

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"You aren't going to make me dress up for dinner, are 
you?"

"Why, Mulder?  What are you wearing?"  As soon as the 
words left her mouth, she realized she'd been set up.  

"Right now?  Nothing."

Scully shook her head a bit, letting him enjoy his 
moment.  "Well, then," she answered, voice pitched low 
as she hefted the food, "I guess my fortune cookie 
came true."

She hung up at his delightedly shocked silence.  
Groping for the keys with her two free fingers, she 
missed and the keys slid from the roof.  "Dammit."  
She cradled the bag to her side and crouched down in 
the dark.  A breeze ruffled the leaves.  She managed 
to hook the key ring with her pinky and stood up 
again, face to face with a man in a stocking mask. 

He knocked the keys and the phone from her hand with a 
sharp blow.  Scully sucked in a breath as he advanced.  
"My wallet is on the roof," she said.  

"Shut up."  His mouth curled beneath the pantyhose.  
She saw now that he clutched a knife.  "Lose the 
food."

Scully set the bag on the ground.  "Take whatever you 
want," she told him.  He grabbed her bare upper arm 
and yanked her further into the darkness.  The knife 
grazed her neck.  Behind her, she felt him fumbling, 
and he thrust a small roll of black tape into her 
hand.  "Tear it off," he breathed near her ear, "and 
cover your mouth.  Do it now."

Cold fear dripped down her spine.  "Please, no--"

The knifepoint bit into her neck.  "Now."

Scully complied with shaking fingers.  When she was 
done, he turned her roughly around.  She stared at his 
mashed features -- the blunt nose, the slitted eyes, 
and his wet, open mouth.  Her knees threatened to give 
way. 

"Down on the ground," he ordered.  He followed her 
down, knife coming to rest at her jugular.  Her skirt 
gaped open and he pried her legs apart.  "That's it," 
he said.  "You're a hot little bitch."

Scully closed her eyes and turned her head away.  He 
smelled like beer and sweat.  Silent tears streamed 
down her face into the dirt as he yanked off her 
underwear and unzipped his pants.  She tensed but he 
pushed himself inside her anyway.

"You like this, huh?"

Scully struggled for breath, panting through her nose.  
She heard the cheerful shouts from Ming's kitchen, 
smelled the feast she'd bought for Mulder.  Her 
attacker grunted.  Abruptly, she felt the heat of his 
body leave her.  Sweat glued her T-shirt to her chest.  
She burned between her legs.  He rustled around not 
far away and she made herself look.  He was cleaning 
up, tucking in his shirt.  

"You tell anyone, you're dead."  He pointed the knife 
at her.

She watched as he thrashed his way back into the 
bushes.  Her heart thudded in her throat but she lay 
perfectly still, listening.  His noises faded away.  

With a small, choked sound, Scully rose to her hands 
and knees.  Her muscles were stiff and uncooperative.  
She crawled out from behind her car and located her 
phone.  Her hair had come undone, falling in her eyes, 
sticking to her teary face.  She pushed it aside and 
ripped off the tape.  After several shuddering 
breaths, she leaned back against the rear left tire of 
her car and opened her phone.  Her hand shook so hard 
she could barely hit the buttons.  

"Nine-one-one.  What is your emergency?"

"I--I've been assaulted in a parking lot.  I need 
help."  She gave the requisite information and curled 
up to listen for the sirens.  With every twitch of a 
leaf, she was sure he was coming through the bushes 
again.

Dirt clung to her hair.  Her underwear was gone.  
Scully shivered in the muggy night air.  She wanted to 
go home and stand in the hot shower until she felt 
clean again, but she did not move.  She was an 
investigator, and this was her crime scene.


XxX


Scully sat alone, her back to the car, with her cell 
phone cradled to her breast.  She swiped at her cheeks 
with one hand as the first black-and-white appeared on 
the scene.  The ambulance followed, squeezing through 
the narrow alley, red lights spinning circles in the 
trees.  She heard radios squawk when the heavy car 
doors opened and the officers approached.  The clump 
of their boots on the pavement made her nervous.  She 
should stand up, organize the facts, but she couldn't 
seem to move.

"Ma'am?"  The larger man peered down at her.  "We're 
from the Alexandria Police Department.  Are you the 
one who called?"

"Yes."  She looked behind him at the darkened bushes.  
"Yes, I called."

They asked her name and she told them.  The smaller 
man crouched down next to her, eyes dark behind his 
round glasses.  "Can you tell us what happened?"

She could remember every second but not in any order.  
The bits zoomed in and out of focus in her mind:  his 
breath on her cheek, the blade at her neck, the food 
getting cold as he ground her into the dirt.   Her 
hand went to her throat.  "He came from there," she 
said, indicating the bushes.  "A man, about six feet 
tall, twenty-five to forty years old.  He wore jeans 
and he had a -- a stocking over his face.  No gloves."

"Race?" 

She pictured him and her throat seized up.  She shook 
her head.  "Too dark."

Scully gave the details as though she were recording 
autopsy data, how he had knocked her keys and phone 
away, had cut her throat, had forced her down and 
raped her.  Two of the officers, armed with guns and 
flashlights, set out into the trees after him.  A 
third, the gentle giant who'd first found her huddled 
against the car, stayed with her while the EMTs began 
treating her wounds.

"Officer Lou Paulson, Ma'am," he said, his knees 
cracking as he bent.  "You say he knocked your phone 
out of your hands?"

Scully still had it clutched close.  "Yes."

"We should have it checked for prints."  He turned 
without getting up.  "Carlos?" he yelled at the other 
man back near the car.  "Can you bring me a bag?"

Scully's heart bumped against her ribs.  "I don't 
think he touched it," she said tightly.  "He hit my 
wrist, not the phone."

"Can't be too sure."  He held out a gloved hand, his 
expression softening at her hesitation.  "We'll have 
it back to you real soon, I promise."

Wordlessly, Scully stretched out the phone for him.  
If he noticed her tremor, he didn't comment.  The 
phone rang inside the paper bag, and Paulson peered in 
like schoolboy at lunchtime.  Scully already knew what 
name glowed inside.

"Fox Mulder," Paulson read off.  

Scully nodded, hugging herself.  "He's expecting me 
for dinner."

Paulson's thick brows knit together, and he reached 
for his back pocket.  "Here," he said, handing her his 
cell.  "You can call him if you like."

The foreign phone felt like lead in her hands.  She 
licked dried lips and stared at the buttons.  
"Thanks," she replied, but made no move to dial.  
Mulder.  Tears threatened to overwhelm her again.  She 
didn't want to have to call.  She wanted him to appear 
magically without having to say the words.

One of the EMTs appeared with a stretcher.  "We should 
get her to the hospital now," he told Paulson.  
Paulson stood as the two other officers returned from 
their mission in the trees.

"No sign of the guy," said one.  Brubrek, she thought 
his name was.  "We found your keys but not your 
wallet," he told Scully.  She rose on shaky legs.  Her 
driver's license, her business cards -- he had 
everything.

"He'll know where I live," she said, "where I work."

"Give us your address," the Brubrek said.  "We'll make 
sure he's not headed over there.  Where do you work?"

Scully faltered.  She knew what was coming.  "The 
FBI."

"You're a Fed?"  He looked up from his notes for her 
nod.  She could feel the other men resisting the urge 
to look too.  He raked her once from head to toe and 
returned his eyes to his pad.  "Don't think you'll 
have to worry about this guy bothering you on the job 
then."

"Dana?" said the closet EMT.  "We should go get you 
checked out now."

Scully nodded, numb.  She moved stiffly to climb onto 
the stretcher, but Brubrek had one last question.  
"Did he take anything else?" he asked.  "Any jewelry?"

Scully swallowed.  "My underwear."

The EMT covered her with a blanket and avoided her 
eyes.  Officer Paulson preoccupied himself with the 
trees, and Brubrek cleared his throat.  "Okay, that's 
it for now.  We'll talk to you again at the hospital, 
okay?"

Scully realized she still had Paulson's phone.

"You keep it," he told her.  "Call your friend.  I'll 
get it back at the hospital."

As they wheeled her to the back of the ambulance, 
Scully saw that the Ming family had filed out from the 
kitchen to watch the commotion.  They stood in silent, 
sad formation -- Jun the tallest, with his tiny father 
and two teenage sisters at his side -- all still 
wearing their neat white aprons.

Scully looked away.  She knew she would never come 
back there again.

XxX

Mulder used two fingers to scissor an opening in his 
blinds and peered down at the street for the fourth 
time.  Still, no Scully.  He chewed his lip and hit 
her number on his speed dial, but again, her voice 
mail answered.  It should not take her over half an 
hour to travel five blocks.  He fished his keys from 
the desk and started for the front door, when the 
phone rang in his hand.

"Scully," he said with relief.  "Where are you?"

There was silence on the other end, and he noticed for 
the first time that the caller ID read "Paulson" not 
"Scully." 

"Hello?" he tried again.

"Mulder?"  She sounded small and far away.  

"Scully," he said, exhaling once more as he sank onto 
his sofa.  "What's going on?  Where are you?"  He 
heard muffled voices in the background.

"I'm okay," she said, and his blood went cold.  He 
lurched forward on the couch.

"Scully?"

"There was a man in the parking lot," she said, "at 
Ming's.  He--he...  He held me up and took my wallet.  
He got away, but the police came and now I'm on my way 
to the hospital.  Can you meet me there?"

"Of course," he said, already moving.  His heart stuck 
like peanut butter to the back of his throat.  "Are 
you okay, Scully?"  He stopped at the door, silent for 
her answer.

"I'm fine, Mulder."

Her flat affect did not make him feel better.  "'kay," 
he said.  "I'm on my way out the door now."

"Okay."  He listened to her breathe for a moment.  
"Mulder?"

"Yeah?

"Please hurry."

Mulder got the name of the hospital and tripped over 
his feet getting to the car.  He slammed through the 
city at high speed, and it hit back with a fiery 
summer temper, red sirens and crowds of restless 
people slowing him down at every corner.  He cursed 
and banged the steering wheel.  "Come *on*," he 
hollered at the lumbering cars in front of him.  His 
tires squealed as Mulder passed a Buick on the right -
- a make-believe lane between the side mirror and the 
sidewalk.

She's okay, he told himself.  You know she is.  She's 
all right.

He parked and yanked the key out of the ignition, 
jogging towards the emergency room.  The glass doors 
slid open to chaos -- bandaged people lined three 
deep, children crying, and two admitting nurses trying 
to keep a lid on it all.  Mulder sifted through the 
wounded, moving them bodily if he had to, but found no 
sign of Scully.  He cut to the front of the line.

"Dana Scully?" he asked.  

For once, they were too distracted to give him any 
flack.  "Room three.  Through those doors and on the 
left."

A round-bodied sentry caught him on the other side.  
"May I help you?" she asked, planting herself between 
him and Room 3.

"I'm looking for Room 3.  Dana Scully."

At Scully's name, the set of her jaw relaxed.  "Ah," 
she replied softly.  "Let me show you the way then.  
It's right down here."

Mulder's heart hammered as he followed her down the 
hall.  The instant access made him more nervous than 
the refusals he usually got.

"Is she okay?"

"This way," she said over her shoulder.  "Just let me 
knock once, all right?  The doctor is with her now."

Mulder hovered behind her as she stuck her head in the 
door.  He tried but he couldn't see Scully.  The woman 
emerged again and the door widened to disgorge a 
second woman, this one with longer hair and thinner 
hips.  "Anne Lehne," she said to Mulder as she shook 
his hand.  "I'm taking care of Dana."

"She's okay?"

"She's doing just fine, considering what she's been 
through."

A thousand terrible images filled his head.  "Can I 
see her?"

"Of course. She's been waiting to talk to you, so you 
can go right in.  I'll just be back in a few minutes." 

Mulder nodded, barely listening.  His heart sped up as 
he pushed the door open with the flat of his hand.  
"Scully?"

She came into view and Mulder's pulse relaxed.  Fine.  
She looked just fine.  No mugger had beaten her to a 
pulp.  There were no tubes coming out of her or 
machines to help her breathe.  She sat on the exam 
table in a pink cotton gown, looking perfectly whole.  
He could see a small bandage on the side of her neck 
and that was about it. 

"Hey," he said.  "How are you doing?"  

"You're here," she said, and her chin trembled.  She 
reached for him.

"I'm here."  He stroked her hair as she pressed 
herself into his squishy middle parts.  She held him 
with a fierce grip. He rubbed her shoulders gently but 
she did not let go.  "Scully?" 

"There was a man in the parking lot," she said into 
his shirt, not looking at him.  The hairs on the back 
of his neck rose.  He knew.  All of a sudden he knew.  

"Don't," he blurted, but she kept talking.

"He had a knife, Mulder.  I was on the phone with you 
and he came out from the trees before I knew what was 
happening.  He forced me down on the ground..." She 
touched the bandage at her neck.  "He said he would 
kill me.  I--I had no choice."

"God, Scully."  His hands roamed over her back.  "I'm 
so sorry."

"I had no choice," she repeated, angry.

"Of course not.  Of course you didn't."

"He was going to kill me."

Mulder reeled.  He had never imagined this.  "You're 
safe now," he said, his voice hollow in the empty 
room.  "You're okay."

She snuffled and he felt her hot breath through his 
tee shirt.  "I don't know how this happened.  I had 
the food, I was leaving, and then suddenly he was 
there.  He held the knife to my throat and forced me 
down.  Everything was so fast.  I can't think--I can't 
think how it happened."

He rocked her, helpless.  He couldn't think either.  
"I'm so sorry, Scully."  He kissed the warm crown of 
her head over and over and tried to fold her into him.  
"Are you hurt anywhere?  Did he hurt you?"

"No."  She quivered, sounding uncertain.

There was a knock at the door and Scully jerked in his 
arms.  She pulled away a bit, sniffing hard in quick 
succession as Dr. Lehne reentered the room.  Mulder 
left one hand resting awkwardly on Scully's knee, 
gnawed his lip and watched her out of the corner of 
his eye as she answered the doctor's questions.  She 
sat stone still.  Her blue eyes were wet, lashes glued 
with tears, and her new smattering of summer freckles 
stood out against her stark white skin.  The gown was 
too big, yawning open at the neck and sleeves and 
revealing the fine slope and bones of her.  So much 
violence, and yet there was barely a mark to show it.  
Scully had absorbed it all inside.

"We need to complete the exam now," Dr. Lehne was 
saying.  "Kristi here is going to help me check you 
out and collect any evidence that might be useful for 
later prosecution.  Agent Mulder can stay here if you 
like, or we can have him come back in when we're 
done."

Mulder took his hand from her knee, preparing to go.  
Scully conducted all her medical treatments behind 
closed doors, like a feral cat licking her wounds in 
private.  "I'll just be outside."

She grabbed his arm.  "Mulder?"

"What?"  He stopped and looked at her.  "You want me 
to stay?"

"Is that all right?"

"Of course."  

So he sat in a squeaky, rolling chair by Scully's head 
while Dr. Lehne did the exam.  Scully mashed his 
fingers in her hand but did not move, barely 
breathing, and so he made himself hold still too until 
his muscled ached from the effort.  The peach walls 
blurred around him as he tried not to watch what they 
were doing to her.  He noticed a tray with shiny 
silver tools on it that reminded him of the dentist, 
and he held Scully's hand a little tighter.

Scully stared straight up at the ceiling.  She 
answered all their questions in a calm, unwavering 
voice, but every so often, he saw a tear slide from 
the corner of her eye into her hair.

He knew the doctor wasn't hurting her, but he wanted 
to knock the woman out of the way and run out the door 
with Scully and never look back.

"Okay?" he asked Scully unsteadily.  She didn't look 
at him.

"Yes."

Dr. Lehne glanced up.  "You're doing great, Dana.  
We're almost done."

"Almost done," Mulder repeated to Scully, and she 
nodded at the ceiling.  He lapsed into silence, a 
little desperate and totally tongue-tied, the only man 
in a room full of women.   

I'm five blocks away, she'd said.  They had been 
around the world together but five blocks turned out 
to be the only distance that mattered.  He couldn't 
think what he'd been doing when the man came out of 
the bushes.  Did that even happen anymore?  The man 
with the knife in the bushes -- that man was a punch 
line, a spook story, like the guy with the hook for an 
arm and the albino alligators in the sewer.  Wheel of 
Fortune.  That's what he'd been doing.   I'd like to 
solve the puzzle, Pat.

HANS CHRISTEN ANDERSEN

Ming's restaurant, he'd been there dozens of times, 
had asked Scully to stop there for food on her way 
over more than he could remember.  God, if he'd 
known...  

His empty stomach flipped and growled.  Mulder 
convulsed his gut to try to shut it up.  

Scully turned her head and looked at him.  She'd 
heard.  She knew.  They were supposed to be eating 
dinner.  "Sorry," he tried to say, but she turned her 
head back before he got the words out.

Dr. Lehne sat back in her chair.  "We're all done," 
she said, and Scully let out a long, controlled 
breath.  "You can sit up now, Dana.  You did fine.  
Kristi will get you some clothes, okay?  And then we 
can talk for a bit.  I'll answer any questions that 
you have, and I want to write you a couple of 
prescriptions before you leave."

Mulder got to stay while Scully changed, but she 
kicked him out for the final talk.  Escaping into the 
hallway, he leaned his back against the cool white 
wall and covered his face with his hands to stop them 
from shaking.  His heart felt like a baker had pounded 
it, swollen and bruised inside his chest.

"Agent Mulder?"

He jerked his hands down and looked in the direction 
of the voice.  Detective Ruben Savioshy was walking 
towards him down the hall with another suited man 
following behind.  Mulder straightened and prepared 
for the onslaught he knew was coming.

"Agent Mulder, tell me I got this information wrong."

"Detective."  He couldn't say it was nice to see him 
again, so he left it at that.  The last time they'd 
met, Philip Padget had been dead in Mulder's basement 
and Scully'd been drenched in her own blood.   Mulder 
took a deep breath.  "I wish I could tell you it was 
wrong."

Detective Savioshy nodded heavily.  "Okay, then.  Tell 
me what happened."

"I don't really know any of the details.  I--I wasn't 
there.  She was at Ming's restaurant, in the parking 
lot, and a man attacked her.  That's all I know."

Savioshy gestured at the door with his pen.  "She's in 
there?"

Mulder looked at the smooth gray door, at the light 
shining from under it.  "Yeah.  She's talking to the 
doctor."

Savioshy turned and said something in a low voice to 
his companion, who nodded.  "This is Chris Clark with 
the DA's office," Savioshy said.  Mulder's handshake 
was harder than he intended.

"You have someone in custody?"

"No," Clark said, easing his hand away.  He looked at 
Savioshy, who looked at the floor.  It was clear 
they'd been through this routine before.  "No, I'm 
sorry.  We're trying, believe me.  We're doing 
everything we can.  That's really why I'm here, to 
make sure we don't miss anything that could be useful 
down the road at prosecution."

A layperson might have been confused, or grateful, 
that a clean-cut, broad-shouldered man from the DA's 
office was looking after the case personally, but 
Mulder had spent too many years in law enforcement not 
to know what Clark's presence really signaled.  "There 
are others," he said.  "He's done this before."

"Yes."  Savioshy cleared his throat.  "We don't know 
for sure yet until we talk to Agent Scully, but the 
case as the earmarks--"

"How many?"

"Nine, that we know of."  He paused.  "Now maybe ten."

"Ten?"

"The attacks cover a broad area through three 
counties.  It took us a while to realize we were all 
looking for one man."

The door opened and Dr. Lehne appeared.  She and 
Detective Savioshy spoke in low voices about sample 
collection, and Mulder felt his legs stabilize beneath 
him.  This part he knew.  The law, the investigation, 
he could handle that.

Then Scully came out, wearing foreign sweats and an 
oversized white T-shirt that made her seem even paler.  
Her hair was down flat and tucked behind her ears, and 
she'd scrubbed her face clean of makeup.  Her toes 
curled in her sandals as she hung back against the 
doorjamb.  It wasn't a version of herself she let many 
people see, usually not even him, and Mulder felt a 
sharp stab of protectiveness.

"Scully?" he asked, and she jerked her attention from 
Savioshy to him.  "You okay?"

Savioshy joined them before she could answer him, 
approaching Scully the same careful way that he had 
when she'd been soaked in blood.  "Agent Scully, 
hello.  Sorry to hear about what you've been through 
tonight.  Are you up to answering a few questions?"

"Of course," she answered, drawing herself up.  She 
handed Mulder several slips of white paper.  "Mulder, 
could you take these to the pharmacy and wait there 
for me?  I'll be along in a few minutes."

He looked down at the prescriptions and then at her.  
"Um, sure, Scully.  Whatever you want."

"Thank you."

He waited a beat but she didn't say anything further, 
both she and Savioshy clearly waiting for him to leave 
before they got on with their business, so he started 
a slow amble down the hall.  He peeked back once and 
saw Clark nodding at something Scully was saying.  
Savioshy had his notepad out.  Mulder hit the button 
for the elevator and looked away.  Here, discussion of 
how to get the sick bastard, here was where he could 
be of some use.  Fuck all Savioshy seemed to be doing 
about the problem anyway.  Mulder had worked rape 
cases before, some with Scully.  She knew what he 
could do.  You profile one sick sonofabitch, you'd 
profiled them all.  

The elevator dinged and Mulder took a last glance down 
the hall before he stepped inside.  In line at the 
pharmacy, he flipped through the prescriptions, which 
told Scully's horror in an entirely different 
language: amoxicillin, alprazolam, D-norgestrel, and 
Tylenol 3.  The sharp slips of paper sliced up his 
heart and he found himself trying not to cry in a room 
full of people.  He handed the rape victims' cocktail 
to the man behind the counter, who took one look at 
the list and nodded.  He could read between the lines.  
"It'll be about twenty minutes," he said gently.  "If 
you'll just have a seat over there."

Mulder sat in the hard, narrow chair and rested a 
magazine in his lap without looking at it.  Scully 
appeared about fifteen minutes later.  He stood at the 
sight of her, only to sit back down as she took the 
chair next to him.  She sat like an old woman, slow 
and careful, and he pretended not to know why.  
"Everything go okay with Savioshy?" he asked.

"Yes.  I guess I'm glad it was him, all things 
considered."

"He's very professional," Mulder offered lamely, and 
Scully nodded.  She didn't comment further so he 
didn't press.

"Dana Scully?" the man at the pharmacy window called.

Scully stiffened.  "I don't have any money.  He took 
my wallet."

"It's okay.  I've got it," Mulder said, reaching for 
his wallet, but Scully looked near tears again.  
"Scully?"  He cupped the back of her head and slid his 
thumb behind her ear in a tender caress.  "It's no big 
deal, okay?"

She squared her shoulders, nodding again.  "I'll pay 
you back," she said and moved from under his touch.  
He got up and fished for his car keys while she picked 
up the prescriptions.  For the second time that night, 
Scully left with a large bag of take-out food, this 
kind in capsule form.  She cradled her parcels to her 
side and regarded him with tired eyes.

"Home?" he asked.

"Please."

She hunched down in the shadows of his car.  He drove 
with extra care, as one might with a new baby on 
board.  The car glided to a halt outside her apartment 
but Scully made no move to get out.  He took the key 
from the ignition and waited.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

She looked at him, small face bathed in the half-light 
from outside.  "I'm sorry about dinner."

"Oh, Scully."  He reached over and pulled her to him 
until their heads rested together.  "Me too.  Me too."  
He kissed her cheek, her eye.  She was so tense he 
thought she might snap in two.  "It's okay now.  It's 
going to be okay."

"Yes," she said, sounding like she was trying to 
believe it.  He rewarded her with more kisses.  She 
squeezed his leg and pulled away.

"Do you want me to come in?" he asked as she opened 
her door.  She halted and peered back over her 
shoulder.

"Do you want to?"  Before he could say anything, she 
continued in a rush, "I have things for sandwiches, if 
you want.  Maybe a bag of chips.  It's not much."

He smiled. "Sandwiches it is."

Inside, she stopped and stared at her living room like 
she's walked into the wrong apartment.  Mulder stood 
behind her, looking down at the top of her head.  
"Scully?"

She turned, nearly bumping into him.  "Can you find 
you way around the kitchen?" she asked  "I--I'd like 
to take a shower."  This last confession she made 
quietly to his shoes, as if he might think her too 
cliché. 

He pressed a kiss to the part in her hair.  "Go," he 
said.  "I'll make food."

"Make what you want.  I'm not hungry."

He let her go without argument, and base though he 
felt, he went and inhaled two roast beef sandwiches.  
The last thing he needed was his belly grumbling in 
bed with Scully tonight.  Bed, he thought, and stopped 
chewing with a lump of bread stuck in his throat.  Did 
she want him there?  Maybe he should offer to stay on 
the couch.  He had never slept in Scully's bed with 
her in it, and he wasn't sure she'd welcome him 
tonight.  It was still her space.

He finished his food and cleaned up the plates, but 
Scully had still not come out of the bathroom.  Pacing 
the soft carpet in front of the door, he listened but 
heard only the sound of rushing water.  Steam curled 
out from the cracks.  Mulder stroked the smooth wood 
instead of the woman inside.

The pipes groaned as the water stopped.  Mulder backed 
a few steps away so she wouldn't think he was 
hovering.  She emerged a few minutes later, wrapped in 
a fluffy white robe, her skin pinked up from all the 
hot water.  He noticed her eyes were red too.  "Hi," 
he said softly.  She shuddered.

"Did you get something to eat?"

"I'm fine.  Don't worry about me.  How are you?  Any 
better?"

She opened her mouth but couldn't seem to get any 
words out.  He held out his arm to her.  "Come here."  
She went willingly and he tucked her wet head under 
his chin, crooning her name near her ear.  Her 
fingernails pricked his back as her shoulders hitched 
under his hands.  "Anything you need, Scully, okay?  
Anything."

She nodded, mute, and clutched him tighter.  "Thank 
you for coming to get me."

"Always."  He kissed the line of her hair, shower 
water sweet on his lips.  "Are you hungry?  Do you 
want anything?"

"No."  She pulled back a bit. "I think I'm just going 
to go to bed."

"Okay."  He let his arms fall away, but Scully didn't 
move.  She stood with her head tipped forward, eyes 
focused on the floor, until a heavy lock of hair 
slipped down over her face.  He felt like he should 
say something further, but he hadn't the slightest 
idea what.  Even his breathing sounded huge, magnified 
off her silence.  "Scully?"

Her head snapped up.

"Do you want me to go?"

"You're going?"

"Not if you don't want."

"What I want," she said to herself.  "Yes."

He tucked the hair back behind her ear, and she closed 
her eyes, leaning into his hand.  "How about I stay?" 
he whispered.  "All right?"

She nodded and led the way to her bedroom.  Scully's 
sleeping quarters were so different from his, full of 
mirrors and giant wooden furniture.  He spotted the 
loaned hospital clothes folded neatly on a delicate 
chair.  She left him to go blow dry her hair, and he 
sat on the high, firm mattress.  The light bedspread 
was white with tiny indigo flowers embroidered on it.  
Mulder stroked one with his thumb as he listened to 
the roar from the bathroom.  He had no things here, no 
toothbrush or bedclothes.  

Scully returned, all business as she prepared for bed, 
and Mulder turned away.  He bit his lip and looked 
down at his jeans.  After a moment's indecision, he 
decided to strip to his boxers and leave the T-shirt 
on.  It seemed more respectful.  When he turned again 
he saw the expanse of Scully's naked back flash before 
she huddled beneath the covers.  Naked.  Okay.  Mild 
shock dulled his brain, and he stood rooted to the 
carpet with the top sheet bunched in his hand.

"Are you coming?" she asked, and he reached over his 
head and yanked off his shirt in one smooth motion.  
He kept the boxers on.

The bedside lamp on her side blazed away, and Scully 
made no move to turn it off.  Mulder refrained from 
comment.  She lay on her stomach but facing him, so he 
rolled until he matched her position.  One wide blue 
eye stared at him from the pillow.  "Think you can 
sleep?" he asked.

"I'm so tired."

"Yeah."  He reached over and stroked her from the top 
of her head down to the small of her back.  Her eye 
slipped closed so he repeated the slow caress.  She 
didn't move and he thought she had fallen asleep.  His 
hand rested near her hip.  She grabbed it suddenly and 
tucked it under her, between her breasts, and he 
startled at the feel of her heart beating like a 
trapped bird.  He looked closer and saw that her eyes 
were screwed shut.

"Scully, what...?"  

She cut him off with a choked sob, curling into 
herself under the covers.  Horror flooded through him 
and he shifted closer.  He drew her against him, her 
elbows to his ribs, and pressed his face down into her 
neck.  Hot tears leaked onto his chest as she shook in 
his arms.  His throat ached.  He rubbed her, rocked 
her, but there was nothing he could do to get at the 
pain inside her.  

"It's okay, it's okay," he repeated as she cried.

He wanted to say she was beautiful.  He wanted to say 
he loved her.  But they didn't say these things, and 
he feared if he said them now she would hate him 
forever.  He gave her his hands, his lips, his tears.  
He laid her on his chest and let her listen to his 
broken heart as it said her name over and over until 
they slept.

XxXxXxXxX


Chapter Two

Fear made her open her eyes like a jungle cat sensing 
a predator.  She clawed the edge of the mattress and 
did not breathe.  Her heart thundered wildly as the 
room came into focus, full of gray light and the sound 
of rain slapping against the windows.  Her room.  It 
was okay.  She relaxed one centimeter at a time, 
squeezing her eyes closed again.  Her body hurt in 
places she didn't want to name, and her head was heavy 
with an odd combination of terror and drug-induced 
fuzz, an iron spike wrapped in cotton.  She didn't 
remember falling asleep.

She turned with a jerk and found Mulder dead to the 
world on the other side of the bed, his jaw slack and 
his porcupine hair spread out on her pillow.  The 
noise inside her hadn't woken him. She gave him a sad 
half-smile and reached out to touch the hard slope of 
his cheekbone and the scratchy Braille covering his 
chin.  He rubbed his face against her fingers but did 
not awake.  Scully withdrew and slipped out of bed 
into her robe.

The bright bathroom light flickered on and Scully 
stared at her wan reflection in the mirror.  Her hair 
had flattened overnight, making her face seem pale and 
puffy.  She drew it back into a tight ponytail at the 
base of her neck.  She turned her face to the side and 
fingered the bandage on her throat.  One quick yank 
revealed pink skin and an angry scab shaped like a 
knifepoint.  Scully made herself look.  Next she 
tugged open her robe and regarded the wide bruise 
darkening on her ribcage where his left elbow had 
pinned her down.

Inch by inch, she catalogued her new body.  Prognosis: 
she would live.  She sighed and swallowed her pills 
one by one before hiding the bottles in the medicine 
cabinet again.

The metal shower rings clattered along the rod as she 
drew back the curtain.  She turned the water on to 
heat and let her robe fall to the ground.  Her sore 
muscles protested as she climbed into the high tub.  A 
bath would have been better to ease them, but she 
wanted the feel of rushing water on her skin.  She 
stood under the bracing hot spray, steam rising, and 
scrubbed the exfoliating cloth over her arms, her 
breasts, her belly.  She turned slowly, rinsing the 
soap clean, and watched the layers of herself swirl 
away down the drain.

When she emerged many minutes later, Mulder wasn't in 
bed.  She heard the TV going in the living room.  Hand 
on the door, she hesitated about whether to go greet 
him, but decided she wasn't ready to face him just 
yet.  She sealed herself inside her room and began a 
careful dressing procedure that featured soft knit 
pants and long sleeves that hid the finger marks on 
her arm.  Her hand shook when she tried to put on 
mascara so she left that step out.  She rubbed her 
palms over her hips and contemplated the door again. 

It's just Mulder, she told herself.

With a deep breath, she turned the knob and went down 
the hall to find him.  The earthy smell of strong 
coffee tickled her nose before she reached the 
kitchen, where Mulder stood‹completely dressed save 
for his shoes‹leaning against her counter.  She 
stopped in the doorway.

Mulder had a sheaf of papers in his hand that he 
shoved aside at her entrance, as though she'd caught 
him with his hand in the cookie jar.  She recognized 
the pamphlet on top as the one that Dr. Lehne had 
given her.  "It's okay," she told him, moving into the 
room.  "You can look.  It's not anything you haven't 
seen before, I'm sure."

"Actually," he said, and cleared his throat, 
"actually, I've never read one all the way through 
before."

She nodded.  "I guess you wouldn't have had reason 
to."

"I didn't mean to pry." 

"You weren't."

 They held themselves away from each other, stiff like 
strangers.  "I made some coffee," he said, "if you 
want."

She let him pour her a mug, which she wrapped in her 
cold fingers instead of drinking.  He sipped his 
coffee and studied a crayon drawing from Matthew that 
she had taped to her fridge.  "A cow?" he asked 
eventually.

"A Dalmatian.  Matthew saw the movie last month, and 
he says if he doesn't get a dog right away, he will 
die." 

He nodded sagely. "Death by lack of canine ­ it's a 
silent but vicious killer.  That's how I lost my best 
friend Kenny in third grade."

"Mulder," she said.  But she shook her head, amused, 
and he smiled, really looking at her for the first 
time since she'd entered the room.  He held out an arm 
in invitation, and she pressed against his side, cheek 
resting on his soft T-shirt.  Mulder squeezed her 
lightly around the shoulders.

"Feeling any better?" he asked.

She closed her eyes and took inventory.  The truth was 
she didn't feel much of anything.  Maybe it was the 
drugs.  "I'm all right."

They lapsed into silence, Mulder drinking his coffee 
over her head and Scully listening to it slide down 
inside him. A TV commercial sang in the other room.

"I was thinking," he said, just as the TV switched 
back to news.  "Maybe I could‹"

She didn't hear what he could do because the morning 
anchor started recapping last night's big stories in a 
loud, clear voice:

"Police are continuing their search for a serial 
rapist after another woman was attacked last night in 
Alexandria. This is the fourth attack in the city 
inside of three months, and police are saying they 
believe they are looking for one man. WRC reporter 
Sabrina Kimbrough is live in Alexandria with the 
story."

Scully pulled away, drawn to the sound.  Mulder caught 
her hand.  "Scully..."

She kept walking until footage of Ming's parking lot 
stopped her dead in her tracks.  A woman in a dark 
raincoat and red umbrella stood not three feet from 
where Scully had been forced down into the dirt.

"...believed to be at least the fourth in a series of 
related attacks that have occurred in the area over 
the last few months.  All of the attacks have followed 
the same basic pattern, a pattern that repeated itself 
here last night.  The woman had just been to order 
takeout from Ming's Chinese Restaurant and was 
returning to her car when a man came out from these 
bushes."  The camera zoomed in on the thick, wet 
leaves.

"He held a knife to her throat and forcibly raped her 
while dozens of people were just a few yards away.  So 
far, no witnesses have come forward."

The story cut to a tape of Jin's mournful face.  "I 
talk to her, yes.  She come in before many times, very 
nice.  I didn't see or hear anything after she leave."

Sabrina, still in the parking lot, continued the tale.  
"As in the other attacks, the man wore a stocking mask 
that has made it difficult to get a physical 
description.  This morning I spoke to Detective 
Savioshy about what is being done to stop these brutal 
crimes."

On tape, Savioshy looked gray and wan.  "We're still 
exploring a number of angles right now.  Each new 
attack, terrible as it is, brings new evidence and new 
possible witnesses.  We've got men and women working 
round the clock, and we will find this guy.  In the 
meantime, the Chief has stepped up patrol to try to 
minimize the chances of this happening again."

"Three women in two months," Sabrina's voice said from 
off camera, "and you still have no suspects."
 
"No lead suspects," Savioshy said.  "As I mentioned, 
we're interviewing a number of people who might have 
information pertinent to this case."

"WRC news has learned that you have linked attacks 
from last year to this same man.  Can you comment on 
that, Detective?"

"We have looked at older open cases, yes.  That's all 
that I am prepared to say at this time."

"What would you say to the women out there?  How can 
they protect themselves?"

"Avoid walking alone in isolated areas when you can, 
especially at night.  Be vigilant.  If you see or hear 
anyone behaving in a suspicious manner, call the 
police right away."

It wasn't meant as a slap, but Scully flinched.  She 
had failed to protect herself.  She stood frozen two 
feet from the TV, devastated.  And Sabrina wasn't 
done.

"I carry mace and pepper spray," said one woman she 
interviewed.  
A second woman looked defiantly at the camera.  "I've 
got a gun and I know how to use it.  He tries anything 
with me, and I'll shoot his <bleeping bleep> off."

Sabrina closed from Ming's parking lot: "Indeed, the 
rapist may have caught a fortunate break last night.  
A source close to the investigation informs me that 
the latest victim is a trained FBI agent, a fact the 
rapist probably wasn't aware of when he attacked her.  
The source says, and I quote, 'Too bad she wasn't 
carrying last night, or it could have all been over 
right here.'"

The news switched over to a possible bacteria outbreak 
in a YMCA swimming pool, but Scully remained 
transfixed, awash in flickering light.  Tears smeared 
the images in front of her.  When she still hadn't 
moved as the breakfast commercial blared into song, 
Mulder touched her shoulder.  She shook him off.

"Scully, please."

"Don't."  She swiped at her eyes and hurried out of 
the room.  Behind her, his footsteps fell hard on her 
bare floor.  She kept going until she could put a door 
between them.  Mulder knocked as she made up the bed 
with quick, furious movements.  "I don't want to talk 
about it," she yelled through the door.

His voice came back hollow and muffled.  "I won't make 
you.  I just... I just want to make sure you're okay."

Her face crumpled again, pillow hanging from one limp 
arm as she tried to hold in the sobs so he wouldn't 
hear.  "I'm okay," she called when she could get her 
breath again.  The watery words sounded completely 
unconvincing.
"Scully?"

She dragged the pillow with her to the door.  Sniffing 
hard, she opened it and looked him the eyes.  He 
looked scared and sad, the way he always did when she 
cried, no matter how many doors she tried to put 
between them.  "I'm okay," she repeated.

She went back to work on the bed, and Mulder followed 
her into the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets.  
He watched her go back and forth from her side to his 
side until the bedspread was smooth again.  He was 
waiting, she knew, for her to give him some further 
cues, but perversely she withheld any.  A basket of 
laundry sat by the chair, from before, so she set 
about putting it away while Mulder started a slow 
patrol of her bedroom.

"I can stay as long as you like," he said at last, 
"but I need some things."

She poked her head out from the closet.  "That won't 
be necessary."

He stumbled over his words, surprised; she'd made a 
hit.  "Not to move in, not permanently.  I was just 
thinking a couple of days, the weekend at least, 
Scully--"

She returned to her closet, snatching hangers along 
the rail. 

Mulder kept talking.  All right.  All right, if that's 
what you want I won't argue with you.  I just thought 
after last night--"

Scully froze.  Her face flushed hot remembering how 
she'd washed him in tears.  How long before she could 
look at him again not remember?  Outside, she heard 
him heave a sigh.

"Okay.  Should I just go now, then?  Would that be 
better?" He didn't sound angry, just resigned, as if 
he'd been waiting for this eventuality.  The weight of 
his disappointment bowed her head, but she didn't come 
out of the closet.

"I have to leave soon anyway," she said.  "I have to 
go down to the station and make a formal statement.  
They also want me to look at some pictures."

He appeared behind her, blocking out the light.  "They 
have a suspect?"

"No."  She glanced over her shoulder.  "I got the 
feeling this is just procedure, covering the bases.  
It will be the usual lineup of local sex-offenders, 
and I won't recognize any of them because it was dark 
and the guy had a stocking over his head, but I have 
to go look anyway so that Savioshy can tell the 
reporters that he is doing everything he can."  She 
emphasized her last words with a jerk of the hanger. 

Mulder went still.  "You have other channels available 
to you," he said, low and serious.  "If you want."

She turned so fast the hangers clattered.  "What's 
that supposed to mean?"

"The FBI has resources Savioshy only dreams about, 
Scully. Maybe the others have to rely on him for 
information, but you don't." 

Her skin tingled with possibility.  In the slanted 
light, the narrow alley of her closet, he was one of 
their shadow men offering a way around the law.  
"Mulder... no."  She sounded horrified and breathless 
and tempted. 

"Scully," he protested, and she shook her head.

"No."  She pushed past him into the open air, glad it 
was over, relieved he'd been the one to say the words.  
What Mulder argued, she argued the opposite.  She 
could say "no" now with a clear conscience.

"No one would have to know," Mulder said as she sat on 
the bed to put on her shoes.

"I'd know."  She looked up at him. "And you'd know, 
and if we did what you're suggesting, maybe we'd catch 
the guy, Mulder.  Maybe we would.  But maybe we 
wouldn't.  And either way, it would always be between 
us."

Mulder turned his head away.  "Savioshy is out of his 
league."

"Maybe," she conceded.  "But it's not our call."  When 
he didn't say anything, she reached out and grabbed 
his hand.  "Mulder... promise me you'll leave this 
alone."

He sighed.

"Promise me."
"Of course I promise."  She looked at him, skeptical, 
and he sighed again as he squeezed her hand.  "I think 
you're wrong, Scully -- it is your call.  But you've 
made it, and I respect that."

Will you, she wondered?  She imagined him in front of 
the camera with Sabrina: "It's too bad Scully wouldn't 
investigate this guy, or it could have all been over 
right here."  

There was safety in numbers.  She was one of many, the 
burden somehow lessened.  You're not like the others, 
Mulder had said, but it wasn't true.  He was ready to 
crusade with the weight of her and nine other women on 
his back; she could barely stand on her own two feet.

"I have to go," she said, pulling her hand from his.

He went for his shoes.  "I'll give you a lift."

"Mulder--"  

"Scully, you're going two blocks from my apartment, 
which coincidentally happens to be my destination.  
Besides," he said, and broke off.

"What?"

"Your car.  It's, um, still there."

Scully closed her eyes.  She'd forgotten that her car 
was still parked in Ming's lot.

"I'll pick it up if you want," he offered, "while 
you're talking to Savioshy."

"No." She set her jaw and stood up.  "Just drop me off 
there and I'll drive it over."

They set out in the rain, fat tears streaking down the 
windows of Mulder's car as he drove the same streets 
that she had the night before.  She watched the 
passing familiar landmarks -- old buildings and tall 
trees, the river bouncing raindrops, the long stretch 
of bridge that took her to the other side.

The memory began in her stomach, and viciously she 
shoved it back down.  Mulder fiddled with the radio -- 
no news this time -- while she forced herself to look 
at the shops outside.  He drove slowly, to ease the 
way, but the steady, inexorable progress was somehow 
worse.  She knew what was waiting at the end.  

Mulder kept glancing at her.  She couldn't look back.  

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yes."  They had reached the street where it happened.

The vibrations from the car engine threatened to make 
her sick.  Her fingers bit into the edge of the plush 
seat as Mulder made the hard right into the 
claustrophobic parking lot.  Her car, beaded in rain, 
was the only one in sight. 

Mulder pulled up close next to the driver's side.  She 
would only have to hop out one door and into another.  
"So," he said as they idled with the windshield wipers 
still running.  They were parked right on top of where 
it happened.

She looked at her lap.  Even so, she could see the 
dark maw of the bushes waiting outside.  "So," she 
said.  "Thanks for the ride, Mulder.  And everything 
else.  You've been a big help."

He said nothing for a moment, and then reached over 
and rested one hand on the top of her head.  "You did 
everything right, Scully.  You lived.  Anyone can come 
back here with a camera crew and make up a story about 
what should have happened."

She nodded and his thumb slid behind her ear.  "Yeah."

"I'll be home watching the Yankees make the Twins 
squeal like schoolgirls," he said, "if you need 
anything.  Call, okay?"

She looked up and out at the bushes.  "I should go.  
I'll call you later."  His hand fell away as she 
opened the car door into the windy rain.  Two steps 
later she was safe in her own car.  She gripped the 
wheel, breathing hard.  The heavy, waving branches 
reached out and slapped her hood.  Scully swallowed 
and started her engine.  Mulder watched, blurry 
through two panes of rain-mottled glass, waiting to 
see that she was all right.
XxXxX

Even after all her years on the job, some part of 
Scully always registered the fact that walking into a 
law-enforcement building meant walking into a room 
full of men.  She was used to the approach.  She 
slipped around them in hallways -- small spaces they 
couldn't occupy -- and surprised them with her serious 
presence over and over until they stopped being 
surprised and grudgingly accepted that she was there 
to stay.  So she took her badge and gun and entered 
the Alexandria Police Department to see what she could 
do to help Savioshy with his case.

They had the AC off and the old windows open, muggy 
summer air mixing with the close scent of human bodies 
that had just come in from the rain.  Scully shook the 
water from her umbrella and eyed the desk sergeant, 
whom she thankfully did not recognize.  He pointed her 
to the back, where Savioshy was working rape cases 
from a battered desk piled high with his children's 
photographs. His glasses had worn deep red marks on 
the sides of his nose, and he had paper cups stained 
with coffee lined up in front of him.  At Scully's 
appearance, he smoothed his tie over his paunch and 
pulled a stack of files off the nearest chair.

"Agent Scully, thanks for coming in," he said as she 
sat.  "Sorry about this god-awful mess."

She took in the faxes, the folders, and the mess of 
memos he had taped to every viable surface.  The one 
stuck on his desk lamp was from the Mayor and marked 
"urgent."

"I saw you on the news this morning," she said. 
Savioshy stopped shuffling papers.  They stared at one 
another for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"You want my advice?  Don't watch that crap.  I 
wouldn't watch it myself except that the brass hauls 
me in for regular quizzes so I have to know every word 
they're saying."

"They said this man has been attacking women for over 
a year now.  Is that true?"

Savioshy's chair creaked as he leaned back.  "Yeah.  I 
hate to say it, but yeah.   It took us a while to pick 
up on the pattern because we're talking at least three 
different counties involved now.  There's a detective 
in Metro and another one in Fairfax with a desk that 
looks just like mine."

"But no leads," Scully said.  The top folder on his 
pile had a fresh tab with her name on it.  She assumed 
the stack under her represented all the others.  Nine, 
she counted.  Hers was the skinniest.

Savioshy caught her looking and cleared his throat.  
"Tell you what," he said.  "Come with me.  You want 
anything?  A coffee or a soda?"  

Caffeine sounded perfect, but with the humid air, 
coffee was out.  "A soda would be great, thanks."  He 
stopped and pulled a Coke out of the fridge.  Scully 
popped the top and followed him down a hall into a 
windowless room, which featured a large map of the 
city and surrounding area tacked on the wall. Nearby, 
a dry-erase board listed the dates and locations of 
the attack, which were marked on the map with orange 
pushpins.  To Scully, the pattern formed a snake 
through the cities.  She was the belly.

"I have a theory," Savioshy said as they stood next to 
the map.  The soda can sweat in Scully's palms.  "See 
the dates of the attacks?"

Scully looked.  The first one was just over a year 
ago, near the end of May, and the second took place 
five weeks after that.  They occurred more frequently 
as the summer progressed -- two more in July, three in 
August -- but in September, they stopped cold for 
eight months, only to start again in May. 

"I think he's in college," Savioshy said, "and not in 
the area or he would have kept at it during the school 
year."

DC had a lot of college-age kids walking the streets.  
Occasionally she would pass an intern in the Hoover 
building and wonder if she had ever looked that young. 
"No prints?" she asked.

"Actually, yes.  In the third case, he got sloppy and 
put his hand down on the woman's car.  But when we ran 
the prints, we came up with nothing.  That's another 
reason I think this guy's got to be young: no adult 
record."   

The stocking face flashed in her memory, features 
half-human under the nylon, and her heartbeat doubled.  
Her attacker was just a kid.  Scully sipped her soda 
to give her time to think.  She knew very well that 
none of the others had been allowed to see the facts 
spelled out like this.  Savioshy wanted her informed, 
professional opinion.  Any hint of panic and he would 
have her back out front, looking through mug shots 
while a uniformed cop patted her hand.  "You could 
contact schools," she said at last.  "Find out which 
ones have a schedule that matches the timeline of the 
attacks.  See if they have had any trouble with sexual 
assaults on campus."

Savioshy nodded.  "We're doing that, but it's a slow 
process.  There are thousands of colleges to cover, 
and we don't have any way of narrowing the search at 
this point."

She looked at the board again, the names written in 
messy block letters next to the dates: CHAMIAN, 
DESANTO, WEBER, and so on, until the very bottom, 
where it said "SCULLY."  With no one else to pin it 
on, the victims got to own the cases.  "Does he--does 
he follow a particular strike pattern?" Scully asked.

"He's hit every day but Sunday.  Who knows?  Maybe 
he's too busy confessing his sins that day to go out 
and commit any new ones."

Tomorrow was Sunday.  She had not planned to go to 
church.  Scully drew a long breath and swirled the 
last of the soda in her can.

"There's your search factor then."  Off his look, she 
explained, "Start with the religious universities."

XxX

Mulder sat with his recycling in front of the TV.  
Sure enough, when he looked for it, it was there in 
black and white:  two articles within the last week 
about the search for the rapist.  He could have known, 
if he'd bothered to look past the front page and the 
sports section.  In Mulder's world, the important news 
always came to him.  There were coded emails and files 
under the door, meetings in darkened cars and 
anonymous faxes in the night.  When aliens were 
hatching in the Antarctic, the local police blotter 
seemed like a bunch of kindergarten cops.

He fanned the large sheets like cloth and gathered 
what few facts he could.  Head in hands, he bent over 
the news.  No one told me, he thought, that it could 
happen like this.

It was nearing two hours since he'd dropped Scully off 
at the station.  He paced often to his thin, rattling 
windows, to see if her car might be pulling up.  The 
streets and the gray sky looked suddenly threatening, 
danger lurking on the naked sidewalks.  He checked his 
phone to make sure it was working and kept his cell in 
one hand.  

But Scully didn't call.

XxX

The flat, unsmiling faces in the mug books stared up 
at her -- class pictures from the school of hard 
knocks -- and Scully made herself look at each one for 
any glimmer of recognition.  She braced anew at every 
page but no one seemed familiar.  Her neck ached, her 
eyes dried around the rims, and her nerves grew 
increasingly jittery.  Each menacing eye seemed 
equally familiar, equally possible.  None of the men 
was her rapist, but they all could have been.

Just as Scully declared defeat and closed the last 
book, there was a knock at the door and Christopher 
Clark poked his head in the room.  "Hey," he greeted 
her with a smile.  He was dressed in jeans and a faded 
T-shirt that read, "1998 Boston Marathon."  His dark 
hair was curled over his forehead, either from a 
shower or the rain, and Scully blinked at the casual 
attire for a moment before she remembered it was 
Saturday.  Her rape was less than twenty-four hours 
old.  "Savioshy told me you were back here," Clark 
said.  "How goes the search?"

She shook her head and pushed the books away.  "I 
didn't see his face well enough to make an ID."

"Yeah."  Clark took the seat next to her, flipping it 
around so he could rest his arms across the back like 
a little kid.  "That's par for the course at this 
point, but thanks for trying.  Every little bit of 
information we can get on this guy helps."

"I wish I could be of more help." 

"You can be.  That's part of why I'm here."  He rapped 
his knuckles lightly on the table in front of her.  
"Listen, have you eaten?  Because there is a great 
little bakery about two blocks from here that makes 
the best chicken salad sandwich you will ever eat."

He was good, Scully realized as her frustration ebbed 
under his relaxed posture and conversational tone.  He 
had guileless gray eyes she was sure played well with 
a jury. She had seen that look somewhere before...

"I know you," she said suddenly.  "That airline pilot 
who murdered his wife -- Aaron Henderson -- that was 
your case."

"Guilty."  He flashed her a grin.  "And so was he.  So 
what do you say?  Can I buy you lunch?"

"Why?"

He patted his middle.  "Because it's half past two and 
my stomach is threatening to secede from the union?"

"You don't need me to eat."  She was tired.  She was 
hungry too, but this man was a stranger and she wasn't 
sure she could keep her game face on for another hour 
while he talked about chicken salad sandwiches.

"No."  He sobered.  "But I will need you in court."  
She hesitated, and he nodded at the door.  "Just hear 
me out, Agent Scully.  Any time you want to leave, 
it's okay by me."

Her stomach, empty since before the attack, gave a 
feeble growl as though it didn't expect her to listen.  
"One sandwich," she said finally.  "I guess that would 
be all right."

She spoke to Savioshy before leaving and set out with 
Christopher Clark towards the bakery.  The rain had 
changed to mist, which floated under her umbrella and 
curled her hair.  Clark walked beside her, heedless of 
the elements.  "So, Mr. Clark," she asked, "do you 
always invest this much time in cases you're not even 
trying?" 

He laughed.  "Call me Chris."

"Chris," she said, "I think I picked the wrong career 
if you guys in the DA's office really have this much 
free time."

He chuckled again and pulled a large wet leaf from a 
nearby tree.  "My daddy was a southern trial lawyer, 
the kind that come straight out of the pages of Harper 
Lee.  It didn't make any difference to him that we 
lived in New York.  He learned his law in old time 
Alabama, and he preached it with a passion I didn't 
see anywhere else but church on Sunday.  Mama let him 
thunder on at her while she did her cooking, but what 
he really wanted was someone to argue back.  She gave 
him me, and her kitchen finally saw some peace.  Daddy 
was the defense, and I--" He stopped and spread his 
arms.  "I became the prosecution."

"I see," she said.  Scully understood about fathers 
who were larger than life.

"So I don't really know any other way."  He shrugged 
and tossed his leaf into the rain-soaked gutter.  
"Work is what I sleep, what I breathe, what I eat."

"Except," Scully said as they reached the bakery door, 
"for the chicken salad sandwiches."

"These sandwiches are always an exception."

They ate at a small table near the window, plates 
piled high with thick sandwiches and crispy chips.  
Once Scully started eating she realized how starved 
she'd been, and she did her best not to wolf down the 
meal in front of ADA Clark.  As her blood sugar rose, 
she felt almost human again.  For five straight 
minutes she was just another patron in a sandwich shop 
and not the woman who had been shoved down in the dirt 
and raped.  That changed as soon as Clark opened his 
mouth.

"How are you holding up so far?"

Scully put her sandwich down and looked at her plate.  
"Fine" would sound absurd.  Anything else was too 
personal to share.

"I'm sorry," he said, reading her silence.  "I don't 
mean to make you uncomfortable.  Forget I said 
anything."

She took a deep breath.  "No, it's okay.  I'm 
managing."

"I'm really glad to hear that."  After an awkward 
pause, he continued, "Agent Scully, I know you must 
have seen these kinds of cases before, so I figure I 
can just be straight with you:  the trial, if there is 
one, will be hard."

"I realize that."

"I'd love to tell you that we're all enlightened here 
in the twenty-first century, but the dirty truth is, 
when it comes to rape trials, we're not much better 
than my father's day.  Blaming it on the victim might 
be not be PC, but it works often enough that some 
defense attorneys will still try it."

Scully swallowed and looked out at the wet streets.  
Having her life ripped open for everyone to see was a 
kind of hell she didn't want to contemplate.  She 
believes in aliens, they'd say.  Perhaps little green 
men came down and probed her.  She likes trouble; just 
look at her record.  She's had sex with a married man.  
Maybe they could even get Ed released long enough to 
testify:  "She certainly liked it rough with me!"  If 
she'd fuck a psychotic killer, what else might she do.
"Agent Scully?"

She turned her head back and looked him in the eyes.  
"He held a knife to my throat, forced me down in the 
parking lot, and he raped me.  Nothing I've done, 
ever, gives him the right to do that."

"No, and given the chance, I will say that loud and 
often. I just want you to know what we're up against."

"But there are others," Scully protested.  "Surely 
that would work in our favor.  One woman can be 
dismissed, but ten are harder to overlook."

"That's assuming he stands trial for ten counts at 
once, and that all ten agree to testify.  I can tell 
you right now that isn't looking too likely."

"They won't testify?"

"Well, things could change.  We haven't even nailed 
the bastard yet, so any trial would be months off."

"How many?"

"How many?"

Her hands clenched.  "How many would testify?"

"Right now?"  He sighed.  "You and one other.  But I'm 
working on a third woman, and I think she'll come 
around.  Others could change their minds when we have 
the guy in custody, and with forensics, I may be able 
to proceed in some cases without the victim's 
testimony."

Scully stared at her half-eaten lunch.  Suddenly it 
was clear why her participation was so necessary.

"Hey," Clark said softly, and she jerked her attention 
back to him.  "Savioshy finds this asshole, and I will 
nail him to the wall.  You have my word.  I just need 
to know that you're with me."

Her phone chirped, and it took her a moment to 
recognize the foreign ring.  She fished out her old 
cellular, now bulky and heavy in her hand.  Mulder's 
number glowed at her from the tiny screen.  Irritation 
flashed through her; she'd told him she would call 
later.

"Hey, Scully," he said when she answered.  "Are you 
still at the station?"

"No, I'm having lunch.  What do you need?"

"Lunch? It's like three o'clock, Scully."

"Mulder‹"

"I just wondered how you were doing."

"I'm fine."  Scully looked across the table at Clark.  
"Mulder, now's not really a good time.  Can I call you 
back later?"  Just then, the girl behind the counter 
dropped a china plate, startling everyone.  Clark's 
knees bumped their small table and Scully reached out 
a hand to steady it.

"You're not at home?" Mulder asked at all the noise.

"No, I'm with ADA Clark."

"Oh, okay."  Mulder sounded the way he did whenever 
she got called into Kersh's office without him.  "I'll 
let you go.  I just wanted to say..."

She half-turned, distracted by the scrape of broken 
china on the ceramic floor.  A trio of laughing women 
walked past on their way out the door.  "What?" she 
demanded, when Mulder didn't get to the point.

"I thought, if you want, since you're still in the 
area, if you're not too tired or anything, that maybe 
you would want to get pizza and a video tonight.  
Something with no redeeming social value."

Scully froze, suddenly choked, and the bakery noises 
faded to a dull buzz.  She blinked furiously to keep 
the tears away.  She wanted to find Mulder and wrap 
herself around him.  Every so often, he said the exact 
right thing. 

"Scully?"

"Yeah," she said, ducking her head so her face hid 
behind a curtain of hair.  "That sounds good."

"Yeah?" he repeated, brightening.  "Just come over 
when you're done there.  I've got to run out for a 
bit, so just let yourself in, okay?  I'll be back in 
an hour."

Scully hung up with Mulder and tucked her hair back 
behind her ear as she faced Clark again.  "I'm sorry 
for the interruption," she said.  "The answer is yes.  
Whatever I need to do, I'll do it."

He nodded, and his gaze slid to her phone, which she 
had placed next to her plate.  "I met Agent Mulder 
last night, and Savioshy says good things about him.  
How long have you two been together?"

"We've been partners for over six years."  She tucked 
the phone away.

"And the other?"

Scully narrowed her eyes at him and reached for her 
water.  "Does it matter?"

"Not to me."  He leaned across the table.  "But what I 
am saying, Dana, is the questions only get tougher 
from here on out."

XxX

Mulder's shadowed apartment was draped in thistledown 
quiet, the windows shut tight from the swishing cars 
outside.  It smelled like dust and clean laundry.  
Scully slipped her off her shoes by the door and 
crossed the room without turning on the light.  On the 
coffee table, she could just make out a note in 
Mulder's scrawl:  Back soon -- M.

Sore and tired, she took her gun out of its holster 
and sank into the sofa.  The well-worn leather cradled 
her bones and she felt some of the day's tension ebb 
away.   As an afterthought, she pulled the old Indian 
blanket around her, closing her eyes and inhaling 
deeply.  His fish tank burbled a gentle song near her 
head.  Scully slept.

XxX

He crept in the door before knowing she was asleep, 
walking soft the way one did in the wake of tragedy, 
and squinted in the direction of his couch.  Scully 
lay half-hidden by a cliff of blankets.  The plastic 
bags rustled as he stepped closer, so he hushed them 
up in the kitchen before returning to where she slept.  
Her mouth slightly parted, one arm flung free of the 
blanket, Scully looked like she'd passed out hard.  He 
stroked her hip and she snuggled deeper into his sofa.

Mulder sat down in the nearest chair, feet on the 
table, and that's when he noticed the gun.  He turned 
on a lamp.  The revolver lay with its butt facing 
Scully, mere inches from her hand, close enough to 
dream.  He stretched for it slowly, stomach muscles 
clenching as he reached over his toes.  The barrel 
glinted at his fingertips.

Scully sat bolt upright, eyes wide with horror.  
Mulder froze.  "Scully?"

"They're coming again," she told him.

"Who's coming?"  In answer, she clawed the whole 
blanket into lap.  He moved to the couch.  "Scully?  
Who's coming?"

She looked confused.  He could see the pulse thrumming 
at her neck.  "Mulder?"

"It's me."  He stroked the back of her head.  "What 
happened?  You okay?"

"I don't remember," she said.  "It was a dream."

She was shaking so he drew her against him, smoothing 
his hand over the sharp planes of her back.  "It's all 
right now, Scully."

Her voice quivered into his neck.  "It must have been 
a dream."

XxX

Chapter Three

Just after sunset on the third day, right about the 
time it happened, Mulder went back to the parking lot.  
He already felt a little guilty, slinking down the 
narrow alley to the back, but no one was there to 
witness his transgression.  Even the back door to 
Mingıs kitchen was shut up tight.  Mulder stood at the 
mouth of the alley and surveyed the lonely yellow 
street lamp, the rusted dumpster, and the cracked, 
weed-infested pavement.  The smell of wet dirt wafted 
from the dense thicket of trees and bushes.  He 
imagined her car back where it had been, glinting in 
the shadows, and prickles broke out across his skin.

The dark trees waved from across the lot, beckoning 
him, and Mulder pushed into their leafy fold.  
Branches snapped and rebounded, slapping his arms and 
face.  Mulder switched on his flashlight and the beam 
quivered across the roof of leaves.  He turned, 
breathing hard, and peered out through a break in the 
vegetation.  It was a perfect view of Scullyıs spot. 

Mulder shone the light at the soft ground; had he 
stood here?  She would have been only five feet away, 
lit well, talking on the phone while she juggled the 
food.  Mulder could call up the picture easily.  He 
had seen her this way a million times -- knew how her 
voice would sound bouncing off the far brick walls, 
heard the low jangle of her keys, felt the hot surge 
of lust when she bent over in front of him.  

Bile roiled up from his stomach, and Mulder staggered 
back, swallowing convulsively.  He had not been sick 
at a crime scene since he was twenty-five years old; 
she would never forgive him if he did it here.  
Gulping in air, he steadied himself against a tree.  
He cast the light around as he calmed.  Crumpled 
Dunkinı Donuts cups mixed with dead leaves and other 
random garbage.  He found a rusted bike wheel and a 
wet sock.  Cigarette butts littered the makeshift path 
between the weeds.  Mulder followed the trail out, his 
heart still pounding.  This was the way he had gone 
after it happened.

Mulder stumbled along over roots and saplings until he 
reached the back of the thicket, where a sagging 
chain-link fence separated it from yet another parking 
lot.  A jagged hole provided a way through to the 
other side.  Mulder emerged as if from the jungle, 
wild and sweaty, his flashlight clutched like a 
weapon.  He looked left and right, chasing a phantom, 
and slowly made his way between the parked cars.  
Loose bits of gravel crunched under his sneakers.  He 
could hear the street traffic on the other side of the 
buildings, but there was not a soul in sight.

Mulder tapped the hood of the nearest car.  He would 
have parked here, he thought, and began looking 
around.  The lot was similar to the one behind Mingıs, 
with only one narrow entrance/exit.  Mulder followed 
it out to the bright street and whizzing cars.  He saw 
no sign to indicate the availability of parking in the 
rear, suggesting that the rapist must either be 
familiar with the area or have scoped it out ahead of 
time.  How easy it would have been to just disappear 
into the crowd.

A group of college-aged kids jostled past him, pushing 
each other around and laughing.  One bumped Mulder, 
and Mulder reflexively grabbed the kidıs arm.  They 
stared at each other, while the friendsı laughter died 
away.

Were you here?  Mulder wanted to ask.  Did you see 
him?


The boy grinned at Mulder and shrugged free.  "Sorry, 
man.  Didnıt see you standing there.  Sorry."

Mulder stood, shell-shocked, as they drifted down the 
street.  Cars rushed past and vibrated the sidewalk 
beneath him.  Nearby, a shaggy black dog that had been 
tied to a lamppost lifted his huge head from the 
ground and looked up at Mulder with wet eyes.  Mulder 
sighed, glanced around one last time, and walked back 
down the alley to the crumbling lot.

Back in the trees, it was quiet enough that he heard 
his own breathing.  He shrugged one shoulder to wipe 
the trickle of sweat that slid down his neck.  The 
jittery beam from his flashlight gave an otherworldly, 
underwater feeling to the dark tunnel. 

He stopped again where the man had stood and peered 
through the leaves.  His phone rang.  Startled, Mulder 
thrashed in the bushes and dropped his flashlight.  
"Shit!"  He left it lying there as he fumbled for his 
phone.  Scully's name appeared on the screen.

"It's me," she said.

"Hey, Scully," he answered, sounding too cheery by 
half.  He winced at himself and dialed it back down.  
"I was, um, just thinking about you." He began 
carefully working his way through the bramble to 
retrieve his flashlight.

"Where are you, Mulder?  I tried your apartment and 
you weren't there."

Mulder halted in an awkward half-bent position.  "Uh, 
no.  I went out for..."  A branch caught him across 
the cheek.  "I went out for a run.  Just cooling down 
now.  Is everything okay?"

"Fine.  I just wanted to let you know that I won't be 
at work tomorrow morning until after eleven.  I have a 
doctor's appointment."

He stood up.  "You're working tomorrow?"

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?"

"I, uh, I just wasn't sure if you were, that's all."

"I'll be in before lunch."  Her tone had the ring of 
finality to it.  "See you then, okay?"

"Scully--"

"What?"

He sighed.  "Take as much time as you need."

"Before lunch," she repeated.  "I'll bring 
sandwiches."  She paused.  "Good night, Mulder."

"Night."  He punched the "end" button and fetched his 
flashlight, switching it off as he climbed out of the 
bushes.  Just as he emerged from the trees, the back 
door to Ming's opened and Jun ran out with a bag of 
garbage.  He gasped when he saw Mulder move in the 
shadows.

"It's okay," Mulder called across the lot.  "It's just 
me."

But Jun said nothing.  He threw the sack into the 
dumpster and hurried back inside>, shutting the door 
tight behind him.

XxXxX

The story did not get easier with repeated telling, so 
Scully kept the details of her attack to a minimum 
when she went to her regular doctor for the follow-up 
exam.  "Healing nicely," was the pronouncement, but 
Dr. Putney also urged her to talk to a woman named 
Evelyn Wheeler in mental health services who 
specialized in rape trauma.  "I called over there," 
Dr. Putney said, "and she's free right now if you'd 
like to meet her.  No commitment necessary."

Scully took an internal inventory.  The tears had left 
her withered.  She felt coiled and tense, her body 
ready for an attack that had already happened, and a 
heavy sadness had lodged in her ribs like oatmeal.  

Can't hurt to go one time, Scully reasoned, since she 
had gotten all of her other parts examined by experts.  
Now she could check the box marked "not crazy" and get 
on with her life.

"Okay," she said.  "I'll meet her."

Dr. Wheeler's office was in the building across the 
street, in a suite she apparently shared with other 
mental health professionals.  Scully could hear but 
not see the receptionist, who was hidden behind closed 
mottled glass.  She looked around at the other people 
in the room -- two women and one elderly man -- but no 
one would make eye contact.  Scully finally noticed a 
row of names with buzzers next to them, and she hit 
the one marked "Evelyn Wheeler."

Scully waited there in the too-cold lavender room with 
its silk plants and unpadded chairs, listening to the 
sound of the others flipping through their magazines.  
Strains of piped-in classical music wafted from the 
ceiling.  Scully checked her watch three times in two 
minutes.  In between, she wondered about the other 
patients.  They didn't look particularly troubled.

They're probably worried that I'm the crazy one, she 
thought.  

She stood up, prepared to leave, and they all looked 
at her.  Scully grabbed her purse.

Just then, the door to the inner offices opened and a 
woman with smooth white hair and a long purple skirt 
came out.  "Dana Scully?" 

The other patients were still watching.  "Yes," Scully 
admitted.

"I'm Evelyn Wheeler.  Won't you come in?"  She had 
smooth skin for someone with such white hair, and thin 
black eyebrows.  Scully gripped her purse with both 
hands and walked across the room. 

Dr. Wheeler led her down the hall to an office lined 
with mahogany bookshelves.  Green Venetian blinds 
barely held back the strong summer sun, and a large 
Oriental rug covered the floor.  There were two 
loveseats, an armchair and a beanbag.  Scully noted 
that, like herself, Dr. Wheeler did not seem to own a 
proper desk.  

"Sit where you like," Dr. Wheeler said as she selected 
the armchair.   Scully picked the loveseat that 
allowed her to face the door.  Dr. Wheeler reached for 
a mug and sipped from it.  "So," she said.  "Welcome.  
Linda Putney mentioned that she'd told you a little 
about me, but I'm happy to answer any questions you 
might have."

When the woman paused and waited, Scully cleared her 
throat and tried to think of something.  "I don't 
know.  I don't know that I even need to be here."

"What made you decide to come?"

"Dr. Putney recommended you.  She said you'd helped a 
lot of women, and I thought maybe I should just come 
and see..."

"See what?"

Scully hesitated.  "Well, I thought it was usual to 
speak to a counselor afterward."

"Many women do, but not all."

Scully's head snapped up.  "And they're all right?"

Dr. Wheeler smiled gently.  "Contrary to what the 
Lifetime network would like you to believe, yes.  
There is no predetermined recipe for healing.  How are 
you holding up, generally?"

"Okay, I think."  Scully took a deep breath.  "I mean, 
I'll live.  I'm going back to work today."

"Dr. Putney said you're an FBI agent?"

Scully nodded even as the sting of the news broadcast 
came back to her.  She looked at her lap.  "The cops 
think I should have been able to stop him."

"What do you think?"

Scully thought a long time, trying to imagine anything 
she could have done differently.  "He had a knife to 
my throat.  I wasn't armed.  I think--I think if I had 
resisted he truly would have killed me."

"But still you feel guilty?"

"I feel..."  Scully searched for the words.  "I feel 
like I let everyone down.  Even myself."

"I see."  Dr. Wheeler ducked her head, trying to meet 
Scully's eyes.  "Would it surprise you to learn that's 
normal?"

"No.  I've worked rape cases.  Everyone always thinks 
they should have been able to stop it from happening.  
It doesn't make the reality any easier to accept."

"I think it may go deeper than that."  Dr. Wheeler set 
her mug aside.  "Let me ask you something:  did you 
know about rape in high school?"

"Of course."

"Junior high?  Elementary school?"

"Yes.  I had an older cousin who was raped when I was 
eight.  I can still remember my mother and my aunt 
talking about it on the phone."

"Do you remember what your mother said?"

Scully thought.  "That Allison would never be the same 
again."  The power of the words hit her as she said 
them aloud.

"And how is Allison doing today?"

"She's married with three kids.  Happy, as far as I 
know."

Dr. Wheeler nodded and sat forward in her chair.  
"Rape is such a horrible thing, and such a horribly 
common thing, that we start warning our girls early:  
'Watch out at night!  Check the back seat of your car!  
Don't go anywhere alone!'  It's not bad advice as it 
goes.  Certainly one should always take precautions.  
But I've found that it also has the peculiar effect of 
creating a generation of women who feel like part of 
their mission in life is not to get raped.  If it does 
happen, they feel like they've failed.  All that 
training was for nothing!  And then, like your mom 
said, there is the sense that life will never be the 
same."

"Won't it?"  Scully's voice was rough with tears.

"Maybe not.  But maybe it will be.  And it will 
certainly be good again."

They talked for a while longer, and Scully decided 
that, at the moment, she did not need regular 
meetings, but she took Dr. Wheeler's card in case she 
wanted an appointment in the future.  As Dr. Wheeler 
walked her back down the hall she said, "I also 
facilitate a group discussion on Wednesday nights at 
eight.  You're welcome to join us any time."

Scully had a flash of the MUFON women and their 
haunted eyes.  "No," she said quickly.  "Thank you all 
the same."

XxX

Monday morning the basement was so quiet that the dust 
particles sat suspended motionless in the air, visible 
to Mulder only because of the piercing sunbeam that 
split the office in two.  He looked beyond the light 
to Scullyıs shadowed corner, to her silent table and 
the fat textbooks with brains on the cover that lined 
the shelf above.  The wall clock read after eleven; 
she was fifteen minutes late.  Mulder shifted, chair 
squeaking, and forced his attention back to the 
folders on his desk.  The clock ticked as the words 
blurred in front of him.

When the phone rang, he jumped on it.  "Mulder," he 
said, and held his breath for her voice on the other 
end.  Instead, there was a strange pause, followed by 
Skinner:

"Agent Mulder, Iıd like to see you in my office."

"Sir?"

"At your convenience."

Mulder sent the chair rolling backward as he lurched 
to his feet.  Skinner never wanted to see him at his 
convenience.   In the elevator, he tried to imagine 
the possible reasons for his summons, but kept coming 
up blank.  The last time Skinner had sounded that 
strangled on the phone, Mulder had accidentally 
exploded a water main in downtown Philadelphia.  But 
that conversation had not been at his convenience and 
had definitely involved a lot more expletives.

"Come," Skinner called when he knocked. Mulder entered 
and found Skinner not at his desk, but squinting out 
the window.  He glanced once at Mulder and then 
returned his attention to the outside.  Mulder 
caressed the brass tacks at the edge of his usual 
chair but did not sit down.  Skinner sighed.  "I've 
been debating for an hour whether to even have this 
conversation with you."

"Oh, a debate.  I'm afraid I left my rebuttal notes at 
home."

Skinner did not turn around from the window.  "Agent 
Scully didn't come in this morning."

"That's right.  I believe she had an appointment.  If 
you want to talk to her, I can--" 

"You read the newspaper, Agent Mulder?  Watch the 
news?"

Mulder stopped fidgeting with the chair, suddenly 
afraid where this was leading. "Sure," he said at 
length, "I follow the news."  

Skinner nodded as if to himself.  "There's a serial 
rapist loose in the area.  He hit again this weekend."

"I, uh, I'd heard that, yes."

"Sources say it was an FBI agent who was attacked.  I 
was down in the bullpen earlier, and they were 
speculating who it might have been."

Mulder's heart broke a little more.  He could keep her 
in the basement with him today, he thought, and maybe 
by tomorrow everyone would have forgotten.  "I 
wouldn't think that it's anyone's business who it 
was," he said stiffly.

"And I agree."  Skinner turned around at last, his 
forehead creased.  "I didn't think too much of it 
myself until I saw this."  He reached over and pulled 
the newspaper from his desk.  "Ming's restaurant.  
It's where the woman... where she was attacked."

Mulder felt Skinner watching him as he took the 
newspaper.  He had memorized the story that morning, 
of course, but he made a show of looking it over 
again.  "So?"  He tossed the paper back on Skinner's 
desk.

"Isn't that down in your neighborhood, Agent Mulder?"

"What, you think I'm a suspect?"

Skinner scowled.  "For Chrissake, Mulder."

Mulder tapped his fingers lightly on the smooth wood 
of Skinner's desk and looked at the floor.  "I wasn't 
there," he said quietly.  He risked looking up at 
Skinner again, and the AD narrowed his eyes behind his 
glasses, searching Mulder for the truth.  When he got 
it, Skinner blew out a long breath and scratched the 
back of his head.

"Well, then," he said gruffly, "if you weren't there, 
you couldn't know anything, could you?"  He tossed the 
newspaper in the garbage can by Mulder's leg.

"No, sir."

Skinner took his seat and began shuffling papers.  
"That will be all, Agent." Mulder started toward the 
door, when Skinner stopped him. "Mulder?"

Mulder turned.

"Is she in yet?"

The clock said Scully was now half an hour past due.  
Mulder bit his lip.  "No, Sir.  Not yet."

"When she gets here, tell her--"

"Tell her what?"

Skinner dropped his chin.  "Her report on the 
Speigelmen case:  it was a good job.  The Director was 
extremely pleased."

Mulder's hand tightened on the door handle.  "I'll 
tell her."  He left then, past the secretary and down 
the hall, and in the elevator, he remembered, finally, 
to breathe.

XxXxX

When he got back to the basement, Mulder found Scully 
seated at her table, chewing thoughtfully on a tuna 
sandwich as she read some journal article spread out 
in front of her.  "You're back," he blurted, and she 
looked up.

"Hi," she said, in that easy open way she did when it 
was just the two of them in the basement. "I got you 
roast beef.  I hope that's okay."

He didn't make a move toward the sandwich on his desk.  
"I thought you were supposed to be here ages ago."

"It took longer than I thought."

This bit of information derailed him a moment.  
"Everything..."  The shiny dentist tools came back to 
him and he stopped.  He didn't have the vocabulary for 
this conversation.  "Everything okay?"

"Fine."  Scully resumed reading and chewing.  He 
looked at her, with her pressed suit and her perfect, 
smooth hair, and felt stupid for having worried.  His 
cheeks flushed hot.

"You could have called," he told her as he went to his 
desk.  She blinked at him, not answering.  "When you 
were late," he clarified.

"I wasn't that late."

He shrugged and didn't look at her.  Self-righteous 
anger was the first familiar emotion he'd had in three 
days, and he wasn't about to let it go that easily.

"Mulder," she said, sounding annoyed, "I was a half-
hour late."

"Forty-five minutes."  Which, as he recalled, was more 
than late enough.  He tore open the paper around his 
sandwich.  Scully let him rustle for a minute before 
saying anything.

"You were just upstairs?" she asked.

"With Skinner."  Go ahead, he thought, ask me why.

"What did he want?"

Her tight little words punctured the balloon in his 
chest.  Mulder leaned back in his seat, swiveling 
until he faced her.  "He said..."  Mulder stopped, 
searched for words, and then shook his head.  "It was 
nothing.  Just paperwork."

She held his gaze for a minute longer.  "Glad I missed 
it then," she said at last.  She went back to reading, 
her head bowed, while Mulder chewed the lie in his 
mouth and swallowed it down with a side of roast beef.

XxX

One of the curious things about the Hoover building 
was its placement of women's restrooms.   It had been 
constructed during a time when no one could fathom 
females running around with guns, and the amount of 
space allocated for women's bathrooms reflected this 
fact.  They had been added later, an afterthought, and 
thus tended to appear not with their male counterparts 
but around odd corners or down long halls.  The 
basement did not have a women's restroom at all.  
Once, out of desperation, she had ducked into the tiny 
room Mulder used and found a lone urinal and a stall 
with no paper in it.  Never again.

The main floor's facilities were large and bright, 
with a high ceiling.  Someone had ordered them new 
porcelain sinks just a few months before.  Women's 
voices bounced hard and echoed hollow off the walls.  
Scully couldn't help but hear.

"Do you think it was really an *agent*, though?  
Probably it was just someone from accounting and they 
blew it up on the news."

"Guess we'll find out if they catch the guy.  They try 
to keep the names secret at a rape trial, but you know 
it will come out eventually ­ especially in this 
joint."

Scully leaned her forehead on the cold door.  Her 
neighbor flushed the toilet and shouted over the 
noise.  "The woman who got attacked week before last 
was shopping at the grocery near me.  My sister won't 
go there anymore."

"I don't blame her.  Ten women and they don't even 
have a suspect."

"I'm not worried.  I've got this baby right here.  Any 
guy tries to get the drop on me, and he'll be eating 
the end of my gun."

"God, Nora.  You're so butch."

"Laugh if you want.  Women know he's coming now.  One 
of these days he's going to pick the wrong one." 

They left, door sliding shut into blessed silence.  
Scully shuddered and pressed clammy palms to her face.  
Her stomach quivered.  You're okay, she told herself 
over and over.  You're okay.

Then she turned around and threw up.

XxXxX

That first night back, he asked her if he could walk 
her to her car, and she said no.  He did not ask 
again.  Mulder found himself locking doors he hadn't 
before, eyeing every moving shadow.  Once, when he had 
come home late at night, something had rattled the 
bushes near his door, and Mrs. Korloff's tabby 
"Mittens" had ended up staring down the business end 
of Mulder's SIG.  Mittens had calmly licked her paw 
while he lowered his shaking arms. 

XxXxX

In his fantasy, Scully always wore the navy skirt with 
the side slit and her blouse unbuttoned halfway down 
to her waist.  She was round and young, the way she'd 
looked when the fantasy was first born, with pinky 
white skin and full lips that loved to tell him he was 
wrong.  That was how it started, too -- in the 
basement, arguing.  "God, Mulder," she'd say, and it 
would sound so sexual despite the haughty look on her 
face.  "God, Mulder, that's ridiculous!"

Anger made him hot.  Hot to grab her, shake her.  "You 
know I'm right."  The details were never important.  
It could have been a hundred different cases or none 
of them at all.  All that mattered was that he was 
right and she was wrong and for once he wanted to hear 
her say it.  He pushed closer, crowding her up against 
the wall.  "Say it, Scully.  Admit it."

"No."  Her nostrils flared, breasts swelling with each 
shaky breath; her arms came up between them in self-
defense.   

"I want to hear it.  'You were right, Mulder.'"

"Stop it!"  She struggled and his chair crashed to the 
ground.  No one was around to hear.  Sometimes, she 
tried to slap him, and he'd grab her wrist, feel her 
pulse pounding.  She was angry too.  He felt her anger 
like a current, a force warring with his own, and he 
battled her back against the wall.  His erection poked 
at the front of his pants as he pinned her arms above 
her head.

"I'll make you," he breathed in her face.

"No."

The word fired him, sizzling nerve endings, and he put 
his hot mouth on her neck.  She hissed in his ear as 
her body went rigid.  Twisting, panting, she tried to 
break free but he held her tight to the wall.  His 
knee wriggled between her legs.  He kissed her mouth 
and felt her sharp little teeth.  Her tongue tried to 
push his away, sliding wetly, and her deep moan 
vibrated his ears.  He opened her blouse and fondled 
her breasts while they kissed.  Scully pulled away, 
gasping, her neck arched and her eyes narrowed to 
dangerous slits.

"Had enough?" he said as his hand found her naked 
knee.  Her leg jerked into his touch but she did not 
reply.  He kept her pinned as he raised her skirt, 
letting the fabric scrape against the tender skin on 
her thighs as he pulled it to her waist.  Mulder 
lowered his face down to hers, smelled her breath and 
her powdered skin.  "I think," he said against her 
swollen mouth, "you want it."

"No," she whispered, but her eyes glittered.  She 
gripped his thigh with her leg.  He felt the heat of 
her through their clothes.  Rocking her against him, 
he took her mouth again and set up a matching rhythm 
with his tongue until she was shaking with raw need.  
His leg came away wet, her eyes clenched shut as his 
hands tugged her underwear off.  He stroked the dark, 
humid place between her thighs.  She bit her lip and 
held her breath when he carefully pushed one finger 
inside.  He thrust it slowly in and out as Scully 
turned her head away, lashes swept down across her 
cheeks as she fought what he was doing to her.

Proper, buttoned-up Scully, with her skirt up around 
her waist and her legs spread for him right in the 
office, but still he wanted to push her further.   He 
wanted to push her all the way.  With fumbling 
fingers, he yanked down his zipper and took out his 
cock.  It trailed along her thigh, and Scully dragged 
open her eyes to look at him, challenge still glinting 
in her gaze.  He let down her arms and lifted her from 
under her ass instead.  His penis slipped between her 
thighs, teasing them both as Scully nails pricked him 
through his dress shirt.

They stared at one other, breathing hard.   Do it, he 
willed her silently.  She glared at him.  

Do it.

At last, her hand slipped down between them and put 
him inside.  Mulder bared his teeth as his cock pushed 
in slow and deep.  "Now," he told her. "You'll come."

She snorted as if he was telling her about lights in 
the sky, and he answered with a forceful thrust that 
made her gasp.  Her eyes slid closed as he began 
moving inside her.  She panted but would not look at 
him.  C'mon, he thought.  Come.   If nothing else, he 
could convince her of this.  Mulder fucked her slow 
and steady until she leaned her head back on the wall.  
Her mouth parted and he could feel the tension coiling 
in her.  "Yeah," he told her, speeding up, and she 
shook her head. 

Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades.  His 
muscles bulged and burned.  All the while, she milked 
his cock with steady clenches.  He was going to make 
her come.

"C'mon, Scully," he yelled at her, thrusting roughly.  
She answered with a protesting wail and he redoubled 
his efforts.  Her legs locked.  Her hands clawed in 
his hair.  

"No no no..."

"Yes!"

She cried out again, going rigid in his arms.  The 
back of her head clonked against the wall and he felt 
the ripples on his cock.  Victorious, he put his teeth 
to her collarbone and screwed his eyes shut against 
the impending wave.  He jerked inside her again and 
again and again, spent.

It was just a fantasy.  He had others.

But even now, after everything, it still made him 
hard. 

XxX

By Thursday, Scully had caught up on her backlog of 
email, read and photocopied six journal articles, and 
reviewed her notes on the Spiegelman case in the event 
that she had to testify in court.  Mulder was writing 
an article on Donnie Pfaster for Criminal Psychology, 
though he was careful to keep the photographs hidden 
on his desk.

"Hey, Scully," he said, turning his chair to look at 
her.  He had his glasses on and his shirtsleeves 
rolled up.  "How do you spell 'conscience' again?"

She smiled fondly.  The man with the most 
overdeveloped superego in the world still couldn't 
spell its name.  Somehow, she restrained herself from 
going over and ruffling his hair.  "C-O-N-S-C-I-E-N-C-
E," she told him.

"Thanks."  He turned around again, and she sat back 
and contemplated his hunched shoulders.  

"Mulder," she asked eventually, "are we ever going to 
leave the office again?"

"Hmm?  Oh, sure.  It's just been a busy week for 
paperwork."  He couldn't quite look her in the eye as 
he spoke.  Scully sighed, got up from her chair, and 
went to lean against his desk.

"It's okay, you know."  She tried to catch his eyes.  
"I'm ready to work.  I want to work."

"Of course, Scully."  He smiled at her.  "I never 
thought otherwise.  I just haven't found the right 
case is all."

Oh, god.  It was the Mulder-Scully version of the 
"It's not you, it's me" speech.  She picked up a stack 
of folders marked "X."  "What about this one?" she 
said, pulling off the top folder.  He grabbed it from 
her.

"Witness recanted," he said.  "The sea nymph turned 
out to be a frolicking golden retriever named Sven."
 
"I see."  Scully pulled out the next file and flipped 
it open.  "A troop of boy scouts disappears into a 
giant sinkhole in Acadia national park?"

"In 1943," Mulder said, taking the file away.  "It 
hardly seems pressing."

"Okay, then," Scully said as she tried the next folder 
in the pile.  "A pet psychic in Baltimore?  Mulder--"

"She interviews animals that witnessed crimes, Scully.  
I talked to a guy at the Baltimore PD who said they 
busted a guy for murder after this woman got a 
parakeet to give them the killer's description."

"Fine."  She held her tongue and handed him back the 
folder.  "It's an X-file, it's local, and it's not 
sixty years old.  I say we check it out."

Mulder sat up straight.  "Scully, I have this 
manuscript to write and--"  He was cut off by his 
phone ringing.  "Mulder," he said.  Scully watched him 
openly for signs of a juicy case.  "Yeah, this is he.  
Uh-huh.  Yeah.  When did this happen?"  He sat up and 
began jotting down some notes.  "You say you talked to 
the police already?  Uh-huh.  Okay.  Yes, I have an 
idea of where to start."

Scully folded her arms and waited for him to hang up 
the phone.  "Well?" she asked as he rocked back in his 
chair.

"That was Chet Appleby from Beabout, Texas.  He says 
his sister was abducted by a UFO cult and the local 
cops won't do anything about it."

Scully's internal organs did "The Wave" but she 
managed not to show it.  "MUFON?" 

"Maybe.  Seems a little radical for them."

"We should check it out."

He tilted his head, studying her.  She held his gaze.  
At last, he snapped forward and put his feet on the 
floor.  "I'll book the tickets," he said, excitement 
creeping into his voice.

Scully went back to her desk and picked up a journal, 
already mentally packing as she listened to him plan 
their future.

XxX

Chapter Four

Asleep against the side of the plane, Scully had been 
shifting like sand since take-off, so it took him 
longer than usual to notice her distress.  She yelped, 
twitching under the blanket, and Mulder lowered the 
journal he'd been reading.  It did not occur to him 
right away to wake her.  He stared at the fine tremor 
of her hand, the wrinkle of her brow.  The painful, 
private vision held him captive.  She'd been pulled 
away again, back to that awful place, and this was as 
close as he was ever going to get.  The magazine pages 
crinkled in his grip.

Scully let out a small, choked sob, and the sound 
jolted him from his stasis.  He reached out and 
stroked her cheek with his fingers, surprised to find 
her skin damp.  "Scully," he murmured, leaning towards 
her.  "Wake up."

She shot bolt upright, gulping in air, one hand 
stretched outward as if to steady herself.  The 
blanket slipped to the floor.

"Easy," he told her as she twisted in her seat, 
looking wildly around the plane.  "You're okay."

She let out a long breath.  "What time is it?"

"Uh, almost five.  We'll be landing soon."

She groped for her blanket, ducking away from him, and 
he leaned back to watch her struggle in the narrow 
space between the seats.  When she surfaced with 
pinkened cheeks and hair askew, he detected a faint 
quiver as she placed the cover primly across her knees 
and settled back in her chair.  

"Stop looking at me like that."  She smoothed her hair 
behind her ears with both hands.

He didn't turn his head away.  "Like what?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."  When he didn't say anything, she 
looked at him, defiant.  "I am.  It's just a dream."

The strong sun coming in the windows showed the tear 
stains on her cheeks.  He reached out and traced one 
trail.  "I just want to know that you're okay."

"I said I was."

"Okay," he said gently, agreeing with her.  This only 
seemed to make her more upset. 

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mulder.  You've 
already decided that I'm not okay, and I don't know 
how to prove otherwise.  I know you think it's 
horrible.  I know that.  But women--" She stopped and 
started over.  "It happens every day all over the 
world, and women just go on.  I think it's all you can 
do."

He looked at her for a long moment.  "You don't have 
to prove anything to me, Scully."

"Quit waiting for me to fall apart."  

"I'm not."

She glared at him, and then jerked a magazine free 
from the pouch in front of her and flipped it open.  
Dismissed, Mulder turned away and sighed.  He wondered 
if he had any Tylenol in his carryon.  Scully angrily 
turned pages to his right.  Mulder closed his eyes.

"It happened," she said after some time.  "But it 
doesn't have to mean everything."

He still didn't look at her.  "No.  But it doesn't 
mean nothing, either."

Scully did not reply.  She went back to reading, 
turning her pages quietly now giving him his answer 
louder than words ever could.

A storm brewing over Houston rocked their plane as it 
made its descent into the clouds.  Harried flight 
attendants took their seats early, and the passengers 
gripped their armrests as the planed bumped and 
pitched.  At last, the pilot brought them down safely, 
to scattered applause, and Mulder watched Scully 
release her breath.  They fetched their bags with 
everyone else, picked up their rental car, and drove 
off under the dark, rolling sky.

Beabout, Texas, was a three-hour drive from the city, 
but Mulder and Scully stopped for dinner after two.  
Their choices right off the exit consisted of fast 
food, the dining room of the Palmer Inn, and a Bar & 
Grill with three motorcycles parked out front.

"Inn?" Mulder asked, and jerked his thumb at the 
drive-thru burger joint.  "Or out?"

Scully squinted out the windshield at the Bar & Grill.  
"I could really use a beer," she said, and so she and 
Mulder joined the motorcycle brigade. 

Inside, the place was dark but not as smoky as he had 
expected.  The low-ceilinged room was divided between 
a dining room filled with black-lacquered furniture 
and a bar with a dozen or so stools, half of which 
were occupied.  Baseball played on the TV, and Mulder 
answered its siren call while Scully saw about a 
table.

"Mulder, come on," she called.

"Yeah, just a sec."  He watched as The Big Unit struck 
out the batter swinging.  Ambling back across, he 
paused at the refrigerator-sized jukebox.  He rattled 
the change in his pocket but did not make a selection.  
Scully already had her menu and water glass in front 
of her.  He took his seat and scanned the beer list.  

Their waiter let them sit there for a good five 
minutes before he showed up, scratchpad in hand.  "You 
know what you want?"

Mulder did a double take.  Bald head.  Wire-rimmed 
glasses.  The man was in his mid-forties and could 
have been Skinner's long-lost brother.  

"Mulder?" Scully prompted him.  

He ordered a burger and a pint of Guiness.  "Scully... 
Scully..."  He leaned across the table as the Skinner 
wannabe walked away.  Scully was busy rummaging though 
her purse and did not look up.  "Scully!"

"What?"

"Does our waiter remind you of anyone?"

She stopped rummaging and looked in the direction the 
waiter had gone.  "No.  Why?"

"C'mon.  When he asked what I was having, I wanted to 
say 'a stack of 302s, medium rare.'"

She pulled out a tissue and used it to wipe her fork. 
"What are you talking about, Mulder?"

He leaned back in his seat, exasperated.  "Just look 
closer when he comes back. You'll see."

The man returned with the beer.  "Here you go," he 
said, low and gruff.  Mulder looked meaningfully at 
Scully, who looked confused.  Then her eyes widened.

"Mulder!" she said as the waiter walked away.

"See?  Skinner in an apron!"

She laughed and sneaked another look across the room.  
"God, Mulder.  I feel... I feel..."

"Yes?" he asked, deepening his voice.

"Like I've been caught out past curfew by my father."

Mulder did his best Skinner impression.  "Agent 
Scully, could I please see you in my kitchen?  I have 
some questions about the Speigelman barbecue report."

"Stop," she said, but she was still smiling.  
"Behave." He grinned and nudged her under the table. 

"The victim was a small ground fowl weighing about six 
pounds.  Head and feet were removed, possibly to avoid 
identification--"

"Mulder!"

When the man returned with their food, Scully wouldn't 
look at him or Mulder.  She kept her eyes focused in 
front of her as the waiter put her burger down.  
"Medium?" he asked, and Scully answered with a tiny 
nod.   Her mouth twitched but she did not break. 

"Yes, thank you," she managed.  Mulder could 
practically hear her swallow "Sir."  He grinned and 
she kicked him under the table.  The waiter did not 
crack a smile.

"Well done," he said as he set Mulder's food down.  He 
pulled a ketchup bottle out of his apron pocket, put 
it on the table between them, and went on his way.  
Scully began silent, mirthful convulsions as soon as 
the waiter's back was turned.  Mulder leaned across 
the table and egged her on in a barely-controlled 
whisper.

"Well done," he said.  "Words I never thought I would 
hear from that mouth."

Scully leaned forward.  "Mulder, you're terrible."

"Ah," he said, "now *that* would be more typical."

She shook her head as she tapped the end of the 
ketchup bottle.  "Skinner must like you more than you 
think if he authorized this trip."

Mulder sobered, remembering his conversation with 
Skinner about their latest 302.  Skinner had spent 
much longer looking at the file than the scant 
information required while Mulder stood in front of 
him awaiting judgment.  "Texas," he'd said at last.  
"That's pretty far away."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Mulder had answered, and 
Skinner had signed off without another word.

"We've pursued cases on less," he told Scully now.  

"Yes, and that is why -- to borrow your analogy -- in 
Skinner's eyes, we will always be 'medium rare.'"

"I prefer just 'rare,'" he said, and that earned him 
another smile.

As they ate, the volume went up on the jukebox.  The 
Stones wailed about the Devil, and a few people 
gathered around to study other selections. U2 still 
hadn't found what they were looking for; Fleetwood Mac 
would never break the chain.  More people surged onto 
the floor, and the lights dimmed. Couples paired off, 
heat rising in the room from the sudden increase in 
bodies.  Mulder felt the tingle of beer in his veins. 
He eyed Scully across the table, but she was watching 
the shadowed twist of dancers.

"It's a marvelous night for a moon dance," Van 
Morrison sang, vibrating the air with invitation.  
Mulder looked at Scully again.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"  She turned her attention to him.  He wiped his 
palms on his pants.

"You, um, want to?" he asked as he jerked his head 
towards the makeshift dance floor.

"Oh!"  She blinked and then looked back at the 
dancers. "Mulder, we can't."

He wiggled in his seat.  "Speak for yourself, G-
woman."

Scully gave him a wistful look and shook her head.  
"Who knows if we might end up having to question one 
of those people tomorrow?"

His pulse slackened, losing the beat, and he leaned 
back in his chair.  "Yeah," he said eventually, "Yeah, 
I guess you're right."

"It's a marvelous night to make romance," Van Morrison 
crooned.

Scully set her napkin on her plate, the sign that she 
was ready to go.  "It's your turn to pay," she said.  
"Make sure to get the receipt this time."

Mulder dug out his credit card.  Just remember, he 
thought, that I asked.

XxX

The road to rural Beabout was a straight shot through 
the middle of absolutely nothing.  Electricity 
gathered in the air, quivering the trees as they 
flashed by in the glare of the Taurus's headlights. If 
either had believed in the power of omens, they might 
have turned back:  thunder cracked open the sky, 
releasing a torrential downpour, just as Mulder drove 
over a nail in the road and shot out their rear right 
tire.  He cursed as the car wobbled to the side of the 
road.  Scully already had the dome light on and was 
digging in the glove compartment.

"There might be a number in here to call for 
assistance."

"Yeah, I'm sure they're going to hurry out to help us 
in this mess."  Rain beat down against the roof.  
"We'll be out here all night.  I'll just change the 
damn thing and be done with it."

"Mulder, it's pitch black and pouring."

"So come hold the umbrella and the flashlight." 

This was how they ended up stopped along a muddy 
shoulder, crouched by their grimy car as rain blew 
sideways under Scully's umbrella.  Mulder changed the 
tire in less than fifteen minutes  but it was long 
enough for their clothes to stick like second skin.  
Despite his experiences wrestling in bile and being 
digested by a giant fungus, walking around in wet 
underwear still ranked in Mulder's top five most 
uncomfortable sensations.  Bow-legged, he trooped back 
to the car and ignored the water that oozed from his 
shoe as he stepped on the accelerator again.  Scully 
blotted ineffectually at her neck with a Dairy Queen 
napkin.

At the motel, they both stumbled into the room on the 
first floor.  Ownership could be decided later.  
First, there were towels.  Scully tossed him two large 
ones and disappeared with her bag into the bathroom.  
Mulder stripped off his wet clothes, rubbed the terry 
cloth over his clammy skin, and put on some dry 
sweats.  Behind the closed door, Scully's hair dryer 
whirred to life.  Mulder sat on the hard mattress and 
began toweling off his naked feet.

Scully emerged a few minutes later dressed in white 
pajamas, the damp ends of her red hair tickling her 
shoulders.  Behind her, he could see pantyhose 
dangling from the shower bar, and figured this meant 
Scully had staked out her territory.  She fixed him 
with her serious Dr. Scully look.  "Mulder, you're 
still wet."

It was true.  Water trickled down behind his ear.  
"I'm dry where it counts," he replied, and picked up 
the towel to rub his head.

"Here," she said, and fetched her blow dryer from the 
bathroom.  She plugged it in the wall and stretched 
the curly-q cord across the room.  Standing between 
his legs, she switched the dryer on and went to work 
on his hair.  

The shock of hot air tightened his scalp and warmed 
the tips of his ears.  Scully's lips parted as she 
concentrated.  When she assessed her progress by 
running small, strong fingers through his hair, it was 
all he could do not to squirm with pleasure.  She 
leaned forward, and he could see down her pajama top 
to the feathered shadow between her breasts.  She 
smelled like satin and powder and rain.

At last, she switched off the dryer.  "Better," she 
pronounced as the roar still rang in his ears.  She 
rested her hand on his head and smiled a little.

"Better," he agreed.  "Thank you."  She didn't move 
away, so he tentatively stroked her hip through her 
pajamas.  Her fingers toyed in his hair as they stared 
at one another.  Scully's eyes darkened, the color of 
his fantasy, but his arousal mixed with fear.  It 
can't be, he thought.  Not this soon.

"Scully‹"

"Shhh."  Her hand slid down so that her fingers 
stilled his lips.  She caressed his cheek with her 
thumb, and his protest died away.  Scully leaned down 
so their mouths brushed, their first real kiss since 
it happened, and Mulder had to grab her waist to keep 
from trembling.  He was a Japanese lantern, lit up and 
warm inside but fragile at the skin.  She kissed him 
lingeringly, her full mouth persuading his into a 
gentle dance.  The wet ends of her hair tickled his 
face and he was lost.

Mulder held her with both hands, stroking her back as 
she pressed even closer.  Her tongue was in his mouth 
and her hand did a slow rub across his shoulder.

Just a little more, he thought through the haze.  I 
can still stop.

He touched his tongue to hers and was rewarded with a 
muffled snort against his cheek.  She tasted the same, 
like warm mint.  He felt a corresponding flare of heat 
in his pants.  Scully wiggled closer, bumping the bed 
as she tried to feel him, but Mulder kept her away 
from his erection.  He didn't want her to feel 
obligated in any way.

Scully broke the kiss, breathless.  "Mulder," she said 
against his hairline.  "I have to tell you something."

His hands roamed her back.  "It's okay, Scully."  He 
could stop with kissing.  He could.

"We... we have to use a condom."

Mulder tensed.  "What?"

She had stiffened too, but she gripped him tight.  
"Just to be safe.  The first tests came back clean, 
but I have to repeat the one for HIV at least one more 
time to be sure.  I know it's not ideal, but until I 
know that everything's okay, I don't want to put you 
at any risk."

His mind was still absorbing this new information, but 
his first instinct was to soothe her.  "Shh, Scully," 
he said, hugging her.  "It's all right.  It's not a 
big deal.  We can pick some up later."

She kissed his head.  "I have.  I mean I did."

"Already?"

She pulled back and searched his face.  "Is that 
okay?"

Truthfully, he was a little unnerved.  In between the 
bouts of tears and the nightmares, she had been 
shopping for condoms?  "Um, of course.  Of course it's 
okay."  He kissed her collarbone and felt her heart 
pounding. 

"Good."  She relaxed some in his arms.  Her hands 
stroked his ribs and her lips found his again.  Mulder 
held her close and kissed her with all the reassurance 
he could muster.  I love you, Scully.  I'm so sorry 
this happened to you, Scully.

But Scully didn't want comfort.  She wanted him on his 
back on the bed.  Mulder ignored his anxiety and went 
along, allowing her to push him down and crawl up next 
to him.  She sighed into his mouth, pointed little 
tongue making it hard for him to think.  One silky leg 
slipped between his.

"Scully," he said when he could talk, "are you sure?"  
He stroked the hair off her face.  "It's not too 
soon?"

She frowned.  "I'm fine, Mulder."

His skin rippled from head to toe as she rubbed her 
thigh on his leg.  Okay, he thought, if she is fine 
then it must be all right.  He kissed her forehead, 
her eye, her nose, but Scully took his head between 
her hands and guided him back to her mouth.  While 
they kissed, she stroked his ears until he was humming 
into her mouth.

His heart thudded erratically, excited the way it 
sometimes was just before he threw up, but his 
erection strained against his cotton sweatpants.  He 
felt dizzy, out of control.  Scully was grinding her 
lower body against him.

"Mulder, please," she whispered.

He bore down on her, tried to give her what she 
wanted.  Scully tugged his shirt over his head, and he 
cooperated.  The sudden cool air made goose bumps 
break out across his back.  Touch her, his brain 
commanded, and somehow he worked his hand beneath her 
top to her breasts.  Soft, familiar and new at the 
same time, Mulder's tension eased a bit as he caressed 
one swollen peak.  She was hot, hard; she wanted this.  
He could give it to her.  

He focused on the tender nipple between his fingers.  
Scully panted, squirming beneath him.  She reached 
into his pants and he jerked his hips back as if 
burned.  

"Mulder?"

He kissed her again, slow and deep.  Her legs wrapped 
around him.  When she pulled her mouth from his and 
looked up at him, her face was flushed, lips parted 
and red.  Her eyes had gone from blue to black.  He 
had her pinned with his full weight.

*I can make you.*

"Mulder," she said again, pleading this time.  He 
couldn't breathe.  He saw her trapped with her legs 
spread, eyes dark with fear.  Gasping, he rolled off 
her and scrambled from the bed.  Scully sat up.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

"I can't," he said shaking his head.  Her expression 
went from puzzled to bruised.

"Oh."  She hugged herself.

"No, it's not like that.  It's not."

"You don't have to explain, Mulder."  She got up from 
the bed and headed for the bathroom.  Horror and panic 
chased each other around in his head.

"It's not you, Scully.  Wait, listen."

"Mulder, I said it was fine," she said over her 
shoulder.  He watched her gather up her wet clothes.

"I just think about what happened to you, and even 
though I know this is different, I just--"

He broke off as she pushed by him with her clothes 
still dripping on the carpet.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room."  Her voice was tight and controlled.

"This is your room."  He walked to her, touched her 
arms from behind, but she shrugged him off and 
continued packing viciously.

"No, this is your room," she told him. 

"Please don't go.  Not like this.  I--I... We can try 
again."

She shot him a look that chilled his spine.  Her 
suitcase refastened, she grabbed the other room key 
and walked to the door.  Mulder felt like a toad.  
He'd hurt her, and now she was going out in the dark, 
rainy night wearing just her pajamas.

"Scully," he said, his voice thick as he blocked her 
exit.  "Please let me explain."

She looked at the floor.  "You have.  You're not 
ready.  It's fine, Mulder.  Really.  Just let me go."

He slumped.  "At least let me be the one to go.  You 
can stay here."

"I don't want to stay another minute in this room," 
she whispered.  Mulder stepped aside.  What could he 
say to that?  Rain swept in when she opened the door.  
He stood at the threshold, getting wet all over again 
as he watched her march down the path to the stairs.  
He stood there even after he heard the upstairs door 
slam.  When at last he shut himself again inside the 
dull, quiet room, there was no one there to dry his 
tears.



XxXxXxX

She was too mortified even to cry.  Scully spent the 
night curled in a ball under the starched motel sheet, 
blinking in the darkness.  She hugged the pillow and 
tried to squeeze away the sound of Mulder's rejection.  
Of course he would be disgusted.  Another man had 
forced her down on the ground and shoved his way 
inside her.  She was disgusted when she thought about 
it.  

So she didn't.  Think about it.

But Mulder would never be able to follow suit; he 
thought about everything, all the time, perseverated 
on injustices great and small.  And now, when he 
looked at her, he only thought about one thing.  As 
long as he remembered, so would she.

Scully hid in her bed while the dawn crept up to her 
window, brightening the cracks.  By six she could no 
longer deny the sun.  She dragged her stiff body from 
beneath the sheets and dressed tiredly with just the 
light from the bathroom.  A quick look at her cell 
phone told her she'd received three new messages 
during the night.  She left the room without listening 
to a single one.

Outside, muggy morning air promised a scorcher of a 
day.  Already the rain puddles were evaporating back 
into the sky. It was still quiet, road traffic 
infrequent and birds flitting in the trees. Scully 
squinted as she walked down the stairs to the lower 
level.  At the bottom, the sight of Mulder's door 
stopped her in her tracks.  She would have to pass in 
front of it to get to the lobby, where coffee awaited.  
Her anxious heart buried itself between her ribs, but 
her head throbbed for caffeine.  Caffeine won out.  
Scully held her breath, kept her head down, and 
marched past room 134 without a backward glance.

Their motel fee included a continental breakfast, 
which was self-served in the alcove next to the check-
in desk, right between the pay phone and a rack of 
tourist pamphlets.  Scully skipped the lackluster 
pastries and poured herself a Styrofoam cup's worth of 
black coffee.  She got approximately five minutes of 
silence before a round, bland-faced couple and their 
three young children entered to raid the donuts. 

Scully shifted to stand near the front desk, where the 
young woman with a ponytail gave her a wide, friendly 
smile.  "Hello," she said.  "Is the coffee all right 
for you this morning?"

Scully raised her eyebrows as she sipped.  "Yes, it's 
fine.  Thank you."

"Y'all down for the Garden Grove square dance 
competition?"

Scully managed to swallow the coffee without choking.  
"Uh, no."

"Oh."  The smile didn't fade.  "Folks come from all 
over this time of year, and I just assumed when the 
two of you checked in last night together that's what 
you were here for.  Leastways, that's true for most of 
our couples."

"No, we're here to see--"  Scully searched her memory 
for the man supposedly in charge of the UFO cult. 
Jared Rentham.  Do you know him?"

The smile faltered and then reappeared.  "Jared?  
Sure, everyone around here knows him.  He runs that 
group out at the old army compound.  I see him every 
now and then at the farmer's market buying corn.  My 
mom said that he moved here from New Orleans, that he 
used to be a fortune teller there."  She lowered her 
voice and leaned toward Scully.  "His wife was 
murdered.  That's why he came out here."

"Do you know how she died?"

The girl looked to make sure the vacationing family 
wasn't listening.  "I heard she burned to death."

"What about Tina Appleby?  Do you know her?"

"Never met her. Saw her in the papers, though, when 
she joined up with Jared's group.  Her family wasn't 
too happy about it, on account of Tina had two little 
kids."

"Why did Tina join?"

The girl again cast a look over at the family before 
answering.  "Jared, he believes in UFOs.  He says that 
the aliens come and take people for experiments, and 
that the government knows about it but doesn't protect 
people.  Supposedly..."  She stopped and fiddled with 
the cord coming out of the computer keyboard.

"Supposedly what?"

The girl sighed.  "I don't know if I believe it, but 
some folks say he can tell by looking at you whether 
you've been tested by the aliens."

"Excuse me?"

She pointed at the sky.  "You know, probed...or 
whatever."

The hairs stood up on the back of Scully's neck, right 
about where she'd been probed, and the coffee sloshed 
in her cup.  "And Tina, uh, she'd been tested?"

"That's what the paper said."  The girl shrugged.  
"But it also said she's failed out of AA three times, 
so who can know for sure if it's true?  Jared looks 
harmless enough to me, but I don't go out of my way to 
talk to him, if you know what I mean.  My boyfriend 
Jimmy's a cop, and he told me Jared checked out okay, 
but then he said to stay away from him just the same.  
So I do.  Maybe Jared's not dangerous or anything, but 
he sure is crazy."

"What makes you say that?"

The girl rolled her eyes.  "He believes in aliens, 
doesn't he?"

As if on cue, the front bell tinkled and Mulder came 
through the door.  He stopped, feet still on the mat, 
and all heads except Scully's turned to stare.  She 
looked at her cup.  

"Good morning," the girl behind the counter said.  
"Help yourself to coffee and pastries right over 
there."

"Yeah, thanks," Mulder said.  Scully could feel him 
looking at her, felt herself shrinking inside.  She 
watched his shadow move towards her across the floor 
until it disappeared into her own.  Mulder breathed 
down on her.  "Morning," he murmured, and she nodded 
to her coffee.  She wasn't sure how this was going to 
work if she could never look him in the eyes again.  
"I called you last night," he told her, his voice 
still low.
 
"Did you?"

"I left you messages."

"I haven't checked."  She took a deep breath and met 
his gaze.  There were dark smudges under his eyes, and 
she could