Keywords: None.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Chapter Two

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

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 her 
hair back into a tight ponytail at the base of her neck.  
Turning, she 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 sneaking treats 
from 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 Jun'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."

"Four 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 to get 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 shifted 
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.  "Not trying *yet*.  And 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 
comes straight out of the pages of a Harper Lee novel.  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 it.  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."

XxXxXxX

End Chapter Two.

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