Keywords: None XxXxXxXxXxXxX Chapter Three XxXxXxXxXxXxX 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. XxXxXxX End chapter three. All feedback welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com