Keywords:  None.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Eleven 
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

They looked like overgrown boys playing hooky on the dusty 
ball field, shirtsleeves rolled up, squinting in the summer 
sun.  Mulder waited by home plate with a battered baseball in 
his hand.  He tossed it into the air and caught it as 
Savioshy made his way across the field.  From the street 
behind the chain link fence, two uniformed cops in sunglasses 
got out of their squad car to watch the showdown. 

"I would have met you at Watts' place," Mulder said when 
Savioshy came to a stop along the first baseline.  "But 
thanks to you, I'm not allowed within a square mile."

"No, that's thanks to you."  Savioshy squinted as Mulder 
tossed the ball again.  "After the stunt you pulled Friday 
night, I probably shouldn't even be talking to you."

"So why are you?"

Savioshy shrugged.  "You worked all those years with the 
Bureau, chasing some pretty weird shit, and they haven't 
fired your ass yet.  I figure there's got to be a reason."

Mulder threw the baseball to him.  "You play ball as a kid?"

"Sure," Savioshy said, inspecting the worn stitching.  
"Didn't everybody?"

"Fly kites?  Climb trees?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Savioshy replied with a touch of 
impatience.  "What's that got to do with Watts?"

"When was the last time you did any of that stuff?"

"Huh?"

"You know, tossed the ball around, or built a fort in your 
living room?"

Savioshy looked at him like he was high.  "Mulder, I don't 
know what you're getting at here, but--"

"The tree house," Mulder told him.  "In Watts' backyard. He's 
been too old for that thing for over ten years now but it 
hasn't been torn down.  It has meaning for him somehow.  Ten 
to one that's where you'll find his stash." 

Savioshy threw the ball back.  "The tree house, huh?"

Mulder nodded.  "Probably hidden, but it's there."

"We'll check it out," Savioshy said, already starting to jog 
away.  "Thanks," he called over his shoulder.

"Let me know!" Mulder yelled after him, and Savioshy waved an 
arm in the air to show he'd heard.  Mulder watched through 
the backstop as both he and the uniformed cops went roaring 
away.

Mulder pulled his arm back and flung the ball as hard as he 
could into the outfield, shielding his eyes to watch it arc 
and fall under the sun.  It landed beyond the imaginary 
centerfielder on a patch of brown grass.  Mulder kicked home 
plate with his dress shoe and then went to warm the home 
team's bench.  And he waited.

XxXxX

The shrill ring of her telephone greeted her as she walked in 
the door.  Scully made no move to answer it, but approached 
the phone table as if it were a dangerous animal.  The red 
light on her machine flickered madly.  She stared at it, 
transfixed, until the ringing stopped.  Quickly, she 
unplugged it before the noise could start again.  Then she 
went and did the same thing in the bedroom.

Late afternoon light bathed her room, yellowing the walls and 
lengthening shadows across the carpet.  Scully pulled her 
suitcase from the closet and bounced it open on top of the 
bed. It smelled like dust and airplanes and backwater 
mutants.  She sprayed it with Lysol and went to stare at her 
rack of suits for a while.

Ten years ago, it would have been a dream assignment, heading 
up an FBI forensic team, solving cold cases under a national 
spotlight.  Now it was a punishment she felt obligated to 
accept.

She kept thinking it was over, that the worst had happened, 
but somehow her life was still sliding away from her, an 
avalanche under her feet.

Numb, she stood in front of her closet, unable to make even 
the smallest decision.  At last she grabbed the first three 
suits from the rack and shoved them in her suitcase.  She 
could sort it all out later, away from everything.  Shoes, 
shirts, nylons -- she packed in a flurry, hardly noting what 
she threw into her luggage.

Wait.  She stopped, surveying her work.  Something was 
missing.

Scully went back to the closet in search of her white blouse, 
the one she took everywhere because it matched everything and 
she didn't have to think about it.  She muttered a curse when 
she saw the empty hanger and remembered where the blouse had 
gone.  Crossing the room, she fished it out of the garbage.

The flecks of Rentham's blood had dried to brown.  Scully 
fingered the silky edge and considered the piles of folders 
back at the office.  Whatever those people had been seeking, 
Rentham hadn't been able to deliver it.  She went to shove 
the blouse into the trash again, but hesitated at the last 
second.

Scully took the blouse to the kitchen and wrapped it in a 
plastic sack, figuring she could drop it by the lab on her 
way out of town.  It was as much of a goodbye note as Mulder 
was going to get from her.  

Maybe this way, he would have some answers.

XxXxX

Mulder took the steps to her apartment two at a time.  
Pounding on the door with the fleshy part of his fist, he 
crowded near the knob, eager to enter.  "Scully?  Scully, 
it's me."

The door opened and Scully appeared, looking annoyed.  
"Mulder, what is it?"

"I tried calling you but you weren't answering your phone," 
he said as he pushed inside.  Scully stepped back, palms up.

"Mulder, this really isn't a good--"

"We found the stuff," he told her, and her eyes grew round.  
He nodded for emphasis.  "Yeah, we did.  Watts had it stashed 
in the old tree house at his parents' house.  It's all there, 
Scully.  All of it."

She shook her head faintly.  "I don't understand.  You were 
supposed to stay away from Watts, Mulder."

"I did!  Savioshy and his men went in.  I just told them 
where to look."

She stared at him, and he smiled a bit, pleased he'd been 
able to do this one small thing for her.  There would 
certainly be a trial now.  Scully would get her day in court.  
He nodded some more, still smiling at this welcome piece of 
good fortune.  

"How did you know where to look?" Scully asked, and his smile 
faded.

"Uh, it was a guess, really.  A hunch."

"You called Savioshy in on a hunch?"

"A strong hunch."

"Uh huh."  She narrowed her eyes at him, and Mulder knew he'd 
been caught profiling again. 

The adrenaline from the hunt, the tension from waiting, it 
had all been worth it when he had gotten Savioshy's terse 
call.  "We have the stuff."

Mulder had seen it, too, briefly at the station as they'd 
brought it in and tagged it all as evidence:  the wallets, 
the licenses, the rainbow of women's underwear.  Mulder had 
looked, but he hadn't known which pair was hers.

"The cops never would have found his stash," he told her now.  
"They were all giving up.  Savioshy, Clark... even--"  He 
stopped and her head snapped up.

"Even what?"

He looked at her hard for a second.  "He'll go to trial on 
all counts, Scully.  Isn't that what you wanted?"

Scully's face fell, and she absently stroked the back of her 
sofa.  "None of this is what I wanted," she said at last.

"Well, then tell me what it is you want, because I sure as 
hell can't guess anymore."

"No one asked to you guess!  No wait, I did ask something of 
you, Mulder.  I asked you to leave this alone, but that was 
the one thing you couldn't seem to do."

"So you'd rather I sat on my hands and did nothing.  You'd 
rather he just walked.  Jesus, Scully.  The cops were 
practically turning cartwheels when we brought the stuff in.  
Your friend Clark was over the moon.  They're even talking 
about ways to drop the charges against me.  I thought you'd 
be happy that the cases can go forward."

"Oh, I am," she said, hugging herself.  "I'll be happy right 
up until tomorrow morning when the papers come out with this 
latest riveting installment:  FBI hero Fox Mulder defies law, 
charges to his partner's rescue.  Maybe I should call Sabrina 
right now and offer her the exclusive."

"I am sorry for that, Scully.  I am.  But I think the greater 
good outweighs a little uncomfortable publicity here, don't 
you?"  She said nothing.  Mulder gathered his words 
carefully.  "You're not the only one this happened to.  
Scully, there were nine other victims hidden in that tree 
house."

"And the men in their lives, where were they?  I didn't see 
them hunting Watts."

"Scully," he said, and waited until she looked at him.  "I am 
here to tell you unequivocally:  they would if they could."
	
She searched his face, and he let her, let her see the truth 
in the new lines around his mouth, the sweat on his collar, 
the fatigue in his eyes.  She nodded, resigned.  "Maybe 
you're right," she said.  "But thanks to you, they don't have 
to."

"Thanks," he repeated ironically.  This was some thanks he 
was getting.

"Yes," she said with more conviction. "Thanks."  She 
shuddered and squeezed the sofa back.  "You're right.  What 
you did, it was right.  You're--you're a good man, Mulder."

He gave her a wry smile.  "Why does that sound like an 
epitaph?"

Her eyes had watered but she worked to return his smile.  
"There are worse ways to sum up a life."

"Certainly mine," he said, and took a step forward.  "Just 
think of your other possibilities, Scully.  Fox Mulder:  man 
who never organized his computer desktop.   Or, Fox Mulder:  
man who held the record for consecutive hours of grade B 
movie viewing.  Fox Mulder: man who could burn water in a 
pan."

He stood just inches in front of her now. She was focused 
intently on his shirt buttons. "No," she said, "it would 
probably read, 'Fox Mulder: man who regretted sticking his 
finger in that goo.'" 

His laugh caught in his throat.  "Yes," he said, taking her 
by the shoulders, "it probably will."  He rubbed her up and 
down until she softened.  She did not resist when he pulled 
her to him, but neither did she hug him back.  He put his 
lips to her hair.

"It'll be okay, Scully.  You'll see.  By next week the papers 
will have--" He stopped short when he saw the suitcase 
sitting in the living room.  "You're going somewhere?"

She stiffened again under his hands, and he pushed her back a 
bit so he could see her face.  She kept her lashes lowered, 
but the down-turned mouth, the slumped shoulders, and the 
heavy silence were all too familiar.  He dropped his hands 
away from her.  "Let me guess: Utah?"  

"Atlanta."  She looked at him.  "It's just temporary."

"How long?"

"Not that long."

"How long?"

"Six weeks to three months."

"I see," he said.  "And what?  You were just planning to drop 
me a postcard with a peach on it?  'Toured the Coke Museum, 
Mulder!  Wish you were here'?"

Scully glared at him. "Yes, I could have sent it care of the 
county jail."

Mulder glared back at her for a second before taking a deep 
breath and running both hands through his hair.  "Okay, fine.  
I suppose I deserved that."

"No," she sighed.  "Look, Mulder, I realize this is 
unexpected, but I didn't know myself that I was going until a 
few hours ago.  It wasn't my idea."

He straightened at the news.  "Then don't go."

"What?  I--I can't."

"You can't," he repeated, as if it would make sense when he 
said it.

"I already said I'd go, but more than that, I want to.  I 
have to."

"Scully--"

"Mulder, I swore I wouldn't let what happened to me affect my 
life, but it's *become* my life.  Worse yet, it's become 
yours."  Her chin lifted in challenge, daring him to deny it.  
He scuffed his toe along the floorboard.

"It'll be different now.  The case is closed.  The charges 
against me will certainly be reduced, if not outright 
dismissed, and Watts is a slam-dunk at trial."  

She was shaking her head even as he argued.  Finally, he just 
stopped, deflating. "I am going for a lot of reasons.  But 
mainly... I look at you," she whispered in a small voice, 
"and it's like I can't even see you any more.  There's just 
too much in the way."

His heart broke.  "I'm right here, Scully.  I've always been 
*right here*."

"I know that."  She swiped at her eyes.  "I'm not blaming 
you.  I'm not."

"Then tell me what to do.  Whatever you need, I'll do it."  
He was the Red Queen, running as fast as he could just to 
stay in place.  Everything he'd been working so hard to save, 
it had been lost all along.  He just hadn't noticed. 

"I need to go to Atlanta," she said, drawing herself up.  "I 
need to help find those girls.  I need to think about 
something other than my life for a while."

"What about... what about the X-Files?"  It sounded slightly 
less pathetic than, "What about me?" but he figured after 
seven years together, her answer would apply equally to both.

Scully gave him a sad smile and went to her bedroom.  When 
she returned, she was carrying something wrapped in a plastic 
trash bag.  She placed it in his hands.

"The truth is still out there, Mulder."  A horn honked 
outside, and Scully turned toward the window.  "That's my 
taxi."

As she gathered her things and they walked to the door, 
Mulder scrambled frantically for something, anything, to halt 
the slide.  Don't leave me, she'd said, and now she was the 
one disappearing down the hall.  She stopped at the end, 
window ablaze with light behind her, and turned back to him.  

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, I'm coming."

Outside, the taxi driver shut her suitcase in the trunk with 
a very final-sounding slam. He climbed back behind the wheel 
while Scully lingered at the rear door.  Mulder cradled his 
trash sack.

"So, don't call you, you'll call me?" he joked.

She took a step forward. "Two months," she said.  "Maybe 
less."

"What happens then?"  The words felt tight in his throat.

"Fall," she said, managing a wobbly smile, and she touched 
his cheek. 

Mulder hated fall.  Hated to watch the leaves die and the 
darkness creep in.  Under the orange summer sun, it felt a 
million years away.  He took her hand and squeezed it hard.  
"October," he said, "a month for monsters, madness and Fox 
Mulder." 

This year he'd be forty, half his life gone, and that was if 
he were lucky.

"It's a date," Scully replied, squeezing him back.  She got 
into the taxi then, and he stood with exhaust curled around 
his feet, watching as she grew smaller and smaller in the 
distance.  

Scully escaped to a new shiny life, and Mulder was left 
holding the bag.

XxXxX

They found the first one, Emily Randall, buried in a field 
behind an abandoned factory, right where Henry Eames said he 
had left her.  Low gray clouds hung in the sky, threatening 
rain, and periodic wind gusts blew the grasses flat.  No one 
said much of anything.  The factory looked on with its broken 
window gap-toothed smile as men and women in uniform 
reclaimed Emily's bones.

Thirteen when she'd died, she would have been twenty-six now, 
in the ground as long as she'd been above it. 

Scully stood and watched the bones come up.  They would go to 
her now, laid out on a shiny metal coffin under the bright 
lights of the big city.  Scully's job was to do what Emily's 
parents no longer could: identify their little girl. 

She thought of herself at thirteen, with braces and glasses, 
riding her bike all afternoon and hunkering down under the 
covers with a flashlight and a book every night, and for the 
first time in many weeks, Scully felt grateful for her life.  
For the first time, she realized she was still breathing.

The morgue was her oyster, and she was in control. Six other 
agents did exactly as she asked, and none of them whispered 
when her back was turned. Scully worked harder than all of 
them, up to her elbows in tiny bones that all told the same 
sad story.  

She filled herself with their lives and forgot about her own.

XxXxX

Stan Serrano was puffed up like a skinny peacock inside his 
gray suit.  "Glad you came to your senses, Adleman," he said 
as the prosecuting attorney signed off on all charges against 
Mulder.  Mulder had spruced up for the occasion, looking like 
a law-abiding citizen with his new haircut and buffed shoes. 

Adelman made a sweeping signature.  "Don't thank me," he told 
Serrano even as he glared at Mulder.  "I think it happened 
just like Watts said.  I think your client went off half-
cocked and attacked an unarmed man in a parking lot.  But I 
can't *prove* he did it, not when my complainant in this case 
is about to go down for serial rape."

Mulder clenched his clasped hands but said nothing.  "You say 
nothing," Serrano had commanded before the meeting.  Mulder 
figured the order left little room for interpretation.

"Between you, me and the lamppost," Serrano said, "your 
victim is a viper.  He should watch himself or someone else 
might decide to take a crack at him."

"Off the record, I might agree.  On the record, I remind 
Agent Mulder that the restraining order against him still 
stands.  He is not to go within one mile of Gregory Watts, 
Watts' family, or his residence."

Both men looked at Mulder, who sat forward.  "Is this the 
part where I say, 'I do'?"

Serrano swung his briefcase up onto the edge of Adelman's 
desk and began collecting the paperwork.  "He agrees."

And so Mulder slipped through the cracks once again.  He had 
been in and out of jail more often than a two-bit hooker, but 
the justice system never managed to hold him.  Privately, 
Mulder suspected that this was because justice recognized him 
as a fellow naïf, running around with his blindfold and his 
scales, expecting that the truth would win out in the end.

In the hall, Serrano clamped him on the shoulder.  "Your life 
is your own again, Agent Mulder.  Stay out of dark parking 
lots for a while, eh?"

He was not going to jail, but he didn't have his job back and 
Scully was living in another state.  If this was his life, 
Mulder did not recognize it.  "Thanks," he told Serrano, as 
he shook his hand.  "I appreciate it."

Serrano strolled off whistling, and Mulder shook his head.  
It was four-thirty in the afternoon.   If he hurried, he 
could make the Avengers rerun on at five.

"Mulder!"  

He turned at the sound of his name and saw Christopher Clark 
coming down the hallway.  Mulder rocked back on one heel, 
smoothing his tie over his stomach as he waited for the other 
man to catch up.  Clark stopped, a bit winded, and slapped a 
folder against Mulder's back.

"Heard you were in the building," he said.  "How did it go 
with Adelman?"

"All charges dismissed."

Clark stuck out his hand to Mulder.  "Fantastic news," he 
said as Mulder shook it.  "But I can't say I'm surprised.  
Bob wasn't relishing the idea of taking this one to trial.  
He'd tell the story, and twelve men and women would wish 
they'd been the one to bloody Watts' lip."

Mulder spread his hands and looked at them.  "I'd line them 
all up to take turns."

"Listen, I said this to Dana already, but I wanted to tell 
you too:  I'm sorry for going off on you before about this 
whole thing with Watts.  If I'd been in your position..."  He 
shook his head. 

"You talked to Scully?"  Mulder shifted.  "Um, recently?"

"Yeah, we spoke last week.  She's going to testify at the 
trial in September."

"Oh.  Right, of course."  Mulder had not talked to Scully 
since she had left for Atlanta.  He'd glimpsed her on CNN 
once, shot with a telephoto lens from far away as she had 
worked the crime scene in her FBI windbreaker.  POLICE LINE -
- DO NOT CROSS, it had said in front of her, and Mulder was 
heeding the advice.  He had not called.
 
If she couldn't see him any more, it was a fair bet that she 
wouldn't be able to hear him either.

Clark was still standing there, so Mulder kept talking.  
"How's that going?" he asked.  "The trial?"

"So far, so good.  Bellamy sure has been quiet since you guys 
found all the stolen property Watts had stashed away.  I 
expect Greg Watts will leave prison an old man, if he ever 
gets out at all."  He slapped Mulder with the folder again.  
"I've got to run.  Good to see you, Mulder.  I'll make sure 
to save you a front row seat, huh?  We can watch the bastard 
go down together."

Mulder nodded and waved because Clark was already walking 
down the hall.  He didn't bother to explain.

The restraining order would keep him far away from any trial.

XxXxX

God clapping his erasers, Sister Mary Caroline used to say 
when it thundered, and He was smacking the clouds together 
with extra force as Scully made the hundred-meter dash from 
her car to the hotel.  The ground rumbled and water fell in 
sheets, soaking her blouse to her skin. 
 
Inside her room, the A/C evaporated the warmth from the rain 
and sent her shivering into the bathroom for a thick white 
towel.  She blotted her wet hair and wiped the moisture from 
her face.  Her makeup looked like something from the "The 
Texas Chainsaw Mascara," and her bra stood out in stark 
relief against her now transparent blouse.  She had it 
halfway unbuttoned when her phone rang.

"Dana, it's Chris," came the voice on the other end.  "I 
didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

"No, no." Scully lay back with her towel against the pillows. 
"I just got in."

"I saw on the news that you guys found another girl today."

Tamara Jenkins, aged fourteen.  Her mother had called her 
home from a friend's house for dinner eleven years ago and 
never seen her again.  Eames had broken both of Tamara's legs 
before he'd crushed her skull.  The shattered bones waited 
for Scully back at the lab.

Scully pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers.  
"Yes, although we haven't made a conclusive ID as yet.  Her 
parents were there when we raised the body.  I don't think 
they had seen each other in three years before today."

"How are you holding up?"

Scully's eyes snapped open.  "Fine.  This is what I was 
trained to do."

"Of course," Chris said, backpedaling.  "I just meant that it 
seems like a rough case, all those dead children."

"They've been dead a long time."  There was a hard silence on 
his end.  "I've shocked you," she said.

"No, no," he replied, perhaps too quickly.

"You cry for all the victims in your cases?"

"Not all."  He paused.  "Some."

Scully raised her knees to her chest and took a deep breath.  
"The part with the parents, it never gets easier, but that's 
not why I'm here.  This wasn't my case.  I didn't search for 
the girls, never hoped to find them alive, never had to meet 
their killer.  I just give them a name."

"Closure," he said.

"Of a sort."  She leaned back against the pillows again.  
"But I'm sure that's not what you called to talk to me 
about."

"Actually, in a way, it is.  The trial is getting closer, and 
I'll need to go over your testimony in person.  Any chance 
you'll be back up this way soon?"

"Oh."  Scully looked at the rain against her window, as if 
the outside would provide some answers.  She hadn't allowed 
herself to think about going back.  "Uh, I won't be finished 
here for at least another three weeks.  I could come up 
sooner if it were really necessary... as soon as this 
Friday?"  Her heart sped up and she held her breath for his 
answer.

"Friday would be great.  We could meet in the afternoon and 
you'd be home in time for dinner.  Hey, you'll never guess 
who I ran into today in the hallway:  Mulder."

"Oh?"  Mulder was another thing she hadn't allowed herself to 
think about.

"Adelman dropped all the charges against him in the assault 
on Watts.  He's free and clear now."

"That's... that's really good news."  She gripped the 
receiver tighter.  He would get his job back, the files; he 
would be expecting her return.

"Yeah, it is.  Everything's falling into place now, Dana.  
You'll see."  She could hear him smile.  "I'll see you 
Friday, then.  Around two?"

"Two is fine."

She hung up and wandered back into the bright bathroom, where 
she stared at her disheveled appearance.  Her life was 
mending itself in her absence, she thought.  

Soon she would have to see if it still fit.

XxXxX

Mulder unlocked the door to the X-Files office, and it opened 
with an extended creak.  Stacks of files lay just where he 
had left them.  Scully's map was spread out on her table as 
though she would be returning at any moment.  Dust had piled 
up the way it always did in government buildings cooled by 
industrial fans.

He crossed the room and pulled Scully's plant down from the 
top of the file cabinet.  Limp, feathered branches hung over 
the sides, tinged brown at the ends.  Mulder bit his lip and 
held it out at arm's length for study.  "Sorry, buddy," he 
said at last, "everything dries out in the basement."  

He pitched it into the garbage for two points just as his 
phone rang.

"Mulder," he said, reclaiming his chair.

"Agent Mulder, this is Len Sturvis from the lab.  I have 
those results you asked about this morning."

Rentham's shirt.  Right.  Mulder sat up.  "Yeah?"

"Agent Mulder, I think you might want to come take a look for 
yourself.  I've never seen anything like this."

XxXxXxX

End chapter eleven.

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