~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Laws of Motion

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter One: Dead Woman Walking

By syntax6

Mulder trailed into Scully's apartment carrying her small 
overnight bag; one did not need many toiletries and 
personal items when one went into the hospital to die.  But 
Scully and her things had received a last-minute pardon, 
and instead of six feet under, she stood six feet in front 
of him, marveling at her furniture.

He hovered near the door as she stroked her blue and white 
striped couch, picked up a half-finished novel and held it 
against her chest.  Mulder felt like an intruder.  "Maybe I 
should just get going," he said.  "You probably want to 
unpack."

The words sounded ridiculous even as he uttered them.  How 
long could it take to put away a toothbrush, a few pairs of 
underwear and her glasses?  He set the light suitcase on 
the floor.

Scully turned, still clutching her book, and smiled at him.  
He wasn't sure what to make of this new smiling woman she 
had become in the last week.  He was glad she was happy, 
but when she trained that smile at his direction, it made 
him nervous.  There was still so much he had not told her.

"No, stay," she said, her smile melting into a yawn.  
"After all, I promised I'd make you lunch."

Mulder, having sucked down a pair of donuts before picking 
her up at the hospital, was not especially hungry, but 
Scully was already on her way to the kitchen.  He crossed 
to the bookshelf and lifted the glass casing on her 
anniversary clock.  It had wound down sometime in the 
recent past, at five-oh-five, but whether that was morning 
or evening or ten days ago, Mulder could not figure.  The 
best he could do was to set it moving again.

In the kitchen, he heard Scully opening and closing cabinet 
doors.  He was admiring his handiwork with the clock, the 
rotating parts beginning their smooth dance once more, when 
Scully emerged from the kitchen looking chagrined.  "I 
don't seem to have any food," she admitted.

Mulder exhaled with palpable relief.  "So then I'll go pick 
up some groceries and you can rest," he said, already 
moving for the door. 

"Mulder, wait.  You don't have to get me groceries, not 
after everything else..."

"You should be in bed, Scully, not the frozen food aisle."

He hunched his shoulders, unable to turn and look at her.  
Scully, he wanted to say, wake up here.  I danced with the 
devil and you have a microchip in your neck.  When it 
happens, payback will be a bitch for this one.

"Mulder, look at me."

Mulder made himself face her.  Her eyes still held that 
grateful, liquid look he knew he didn't quite deserve.  Her 
face was pale, her collarbone visible above the neck of her 
thin sweater.  He thought about how this could have easily 
been the day of her funeral instead of her homecoming and 
suddenly his eyes were liquid too.

"I'm well.  You need to start getting used to the idea, 
okay?  I realize our collective bad luck might make one a 
little gun shy, but the tests don't lie.  No tumor and no 
trace of cancer.  I've got my life back and I certainly 
plan on living it."

"That's great, Scully, really."

She folded her arms.  "Spare me the bubbly enthusiasm."

God, he did not have the emotional stamina for this 
conversation right now.  Not now.  Maybe never.  "It's just 
so soon," he said.

"How long before we can be sure then?  Two weeks?  A month?  
A year?"

This was so Scully.  Drag a flukeworm in front of her and 
she would deny its existence even as it bit her on the ass.  
Put a chip in her neck and she was already sure of its 
rules: everything is fine now!  Mulder couldn't blame her 
for not wanting to look much deeper at this particular bit 
of evidence, but he was afraid that in this case, the gift 
horse might be Trojan.  He didn't believe the Smoking Man 
had healed Scully out of the goodness of his gray, shrunken 
heart.

"No one wants to believe it more than me," he told Scully 
softly.

Her posture softened and she shook her head.  "It's been a 
long week for both of us."

"So let me go to the store.  Really, it's no big deal.  You 
shouldn't spend your first day of freedom standing in line 
at the checkout anyway."

Scully relented, so he escaped into the hall where he could 
breathe again, practically bouncing down the stairs and out 
of her apartment building.  Fall had come to D.C., setting 
fiery colors to the trees and turning the sky an almost 
painful blue.  Leaves curled into tiny abstract sculptures 
before floating to the ground.  Mother Nature was beautiful 
in her slow death.

Mulder cruised the supermarket aisles, his appetite 
returning as the sight of red apples, rotund pumpkins and 
pre-packaged barbeque chicken.  He picked up the essentials 
and then some -- did Scully need toilet paper?  He stood 
with a package in his hand for a good thirty seconds before 
tossing it in the cart.  Any other personal hygiene items, 
and Scully was on her own.

The apartment sat silent when he returned.  He set the bags 
in the kitchen and tiptoed down the hall to the bedroom, 
where he pushed open the door to take a peek.  Scully lay 
unmoving under the covers, blinds drawn against the sun.  
He couldn't see her face or hear her breathing.

Mulder hesitated a moment, lip caught between his teeth, 
but at last he withdrew and let her sleep.  Eventually he 
was just going to have to trust it:  Scully was alive.

He went back to the kitchen and began playing hide-and-seek 
in her cabinets.  Where did the peanut butter go?  The 
sugar?  He was debating the proper location for a loaf of 
bread when her phone rang.

Mulder lunged across to reach the phone against the wall 
before it could wake Scully.  "Hello," he said, a little 
breathless.

There was momentary silence on the other end.

"Hello?" Mulder tried again.

"I--I'm trying to reach Dana Scully," said a distressed man 
on the other end. "This used to be her number."  Mulder 
could not place the voice.

"It still is her number," Mulder replied, "but she's not 
available at the moment.  Can I take a message for her?"

"I need to talk to Dana.  Please, it's very important."

"I'm afraid that's just not possible right now."

"Is this Mulder?" blurted the voice.  "You're Mulder, 
aren't you."

"This is Mulder."  He was still trying to figure out where 
he knew the voice.  "Who is this?"

"It's Ethan.  Ethan Minette.  Remember?  I really need to 
speak to Dana right now.  Can you find her for me?"

"Mulder?" Scully appeared behind him, blinking sleepily.  
"Who's on the phone?"

He held the phone out to her, even as he knew he would 
regret it.  "It's Ethan."

The surprise on Scully's face told him she was as shocked 
to find her ex-fiance on the phone as he was.  She grabbed 
the receiver and walked with it into the kitchen.  "Ethan?"

Mulder stood nearby, eavesdropping openly.

"You what?" Scully said.  She grabbed a kitchen chair and 
sank into it.  "Wait, slow down.  When did this happen?"

Mulder took the kitchen chair opposite her so he could see 
her face.  She looked in shock.

"Yes, of course I can come," she was saying.  "Where are 
you?"  A pause.  "I know where that is.  Okay, I'm leaving 
now.  All right?  I'll be there as soon as I can, and in 
the meantime don't say a word to anyone.  Not anyone, you 
hear me?"

She clicked off the phone and sat with it in her lap for a 
moment.  "That was Ethan," she said.

"So I gathered."

"He's been arrested."  She raised her eyes to his.  "For 
murder."

"What?"

"I have to go down there and talk to him."  The chair 
scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed out of her 
seat.

Mulder followed her back down the hall.  "Scully, wait a 
minute.  You just got out of the hospital a few hours ago."  
He charged into the bedroom right behind her only to draw 
up short as she started taking off her sweater.  Mulder 
faced the wall but did not cease arguing.  "The doctor said 
you were supposed to be taking it easy."

"I'm sure Dr. Harris would understand this is an 
exception."

"What happened?"

"I don't have the details. They're holding him down at the 
sixteen-six."

Mulder heard her pants zip and turned around to find her 
suited up in work clothes.  She pulled her hair from under 
her collar and affixed a holster over one shoulder.  He 
couldn't look at her without seeing her sunken and withered 
in a hospital bed.  A stiff breeze could still knock her 
down.

"Who's the victim?" Mulder asked, and Scully froze.

"He didn't say," she replied, not looking at him.  "Look, I 
know it's not ideal, but he's asked for my help and I can't 
not go."

"Does he know you've been sick?"

Scully shrugged into her coat. "No.  We haven't... I 
haven't spoken to him in a long time."

Resigned, Mulder fished his keys out of his pocket.  "I'll 
drive," he said.

~*~*~

Detective Franklin, a tall black man in a smart suit and 
polished shoes, chewed a toothpick out of the corner of his 
mouth and apprised them with a skeptical gaze.  "This isn't 
FBI territory," he said.  "Just a plain and simple 
homicide."

"Ethan Minette asked to see me," Scully said.

"Yes, that's the part that has me puzzled, see.  Most 
people ask for a lawyer."

"He doesn't have a lawyer?" asked Scully, appalled.

"One phone call and you're it.  You can understand my 
confusion on the matter."

"I'm as in the dark as you are," Scully replied.  "Can I 
see him now?"

"Sure.  Tell him a confession would make this whole thing a 
whole less painful on the both of us, could you?"

Mulder and Scully both started to follow him to the back, 
but he stopped Mulder with a hand on his chest.  "He called 
her, not you."

"We're partners," Mulder explained.

"Well, then you can be the partner that waits in the lobby 
by the Coke machine."

"I'll be okay, Mulder, thanks."

Franklin led her to the back and down a corridor to an 
interrogation room that was guarded by a uniformed officer.  
Scully's heart picked up speed as she thought of what she 
might find on the other side.  The last true conversation 
she'd had with Ethan, she'd been returning his engagement 
ring.

"Remember what I said about the confession," Franklin said 
as he opened the door.

"I'll take it under advisement."

She entered white brick room and found Ethan looking sweaty 
and pale at the table.  In her mind, he had always been the 
same as the last time she'd seen him -- boyish and 
guileless with hurt in his eyes as she struggled to tell 
him she did not love him anymore. This Ethan was older, 
still handsome but with less hair and a thicker middle.

"Dana," he said, getting up.  "Thanks for coming."

Scully was staring at his white T-shirt, which was dotted 
with dried bloodstains.  He looked down at himself and back 
at her.  "It's not what it looks like."

"That's good, because it looks really bad, Ethan."  She 
took a seat.  "What happened?"

"Some reunion, huh?  I'm sorry to drag you into all this, 
but I didn't know who else to call."  His lower lip 
trembled and he swallowed hard.  "Melinda's dead."

"Melinda your camera woman?" asked Scully, and he nodded.  
"Oh, Ethan."

"I was woken up this morning by cops banging on my door.  
Apparently someone called a tip in saying there was a 
disturbance in my apartment.  I didn't even notice the 
blood at first.  I just went to the door, and there she 
was, lying face down on my living room floor.  I didn't 
kill her, Dana.  I swear I didn't."

"Was she in the apartment when you went to sleep?" Scully 
asked carefully.

"I don't know," he answered, a shadow creeping over his 
features as he ducked his head.  "I was pretty drunk last 
night.  Melinda took me home.  I remember hitting my bed, 
but I don't remember her leaving.  Someone stabbed her, D.  
Maybe she was in the next room dying while I was passed 
out.  Maybe she yelled for help and I didn't even hear."

"Why were you drinking?" In the years she had known him, 
Ethan had never been drunk enough to black out. Once he 
drank too much champagne at a New Year's party and told a 
few raunchy jokes in mixed company.  That was it.  He 
wasn't a big drinker, period.  Two beers and he was usually 
done.  

Scully examined his red-rimmed eyes, greasy hair, and 
shaking hands as she tried to find the man she'd loved.  
Ethan took a shuddering breath.

"Melinda was leaving and we had a get-together at the pub 
for her.  A party."

"Leaving?"

"She took a job in Seattle.  She wanted out."  Despite his 
obvious fear and fatigue, the words still held the bitter 
edge of anger.

"Out from camerawork or out from you?" Scully asked.

"Both.  Neither."  He ran a hand through his hair and 
rocked back in his chair.  "It was the Ryerson story, 
mainly.  She'd had enough."

"Ryerson," Scully repeated, trying to place the name.  
"Congressman Ryerson?  The one with the dead wife?"

"Dead mistress."  He narrowed his eyes at her.  "It's been 
all over the air nonstop for the past two months, Dana.  
Where've you been?"

Scully thought of the long nights she had spent shivering 
under the sheets with the bathroom an agonizing journey 
away.  No TV, no radio.  The flickering light and noise had 
just increased her nausea.  With death came clarity, and 
Scully had no use for the politicians' petty indiscretions.  
The newspapers and the networks trailed after dirty bed 
sheets and spreadsheets while meanwhile women were abducted 
from their homes, had their bodies scraped inside out and 
then returned to serve a slow, painful death sentence in 
front of their helpless friends and family.

Scully squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden flush of 
anger.

"Dana?"

She opened them again.  "I've been away," she said.  "But 
I'm back now.  What about the Ryerson story?"

"He killed Rachel Campenella, the aide he'd been sleeping 
with.  Everyone knows it.  No one can prove it.  I can't 
believe you don't know the case.  God."  He stared at the 
wall over her head.  "I guess it's been my life for so long 
now I forget it's just news to everyone else."

A sharp knock on the door made Scully jump, and Detective 
Franklin came through the door with another man.  "Sergeant 
Millard here is going to need that shirt," Franklin said, 
pointing at Ethan's T-shirt.  "We got you another to wear 
for now."

Ethan looked pleadingly at Scully.  "Do I have to?  Don't 
they need a warrant?"

"I'm afraid you have to give them the shirt, Ethan."

"That's evidence you're wearing," Franklin told him.  "We 
can seize anything in plain sight, and it don't get much 
plainer than wearing a woman's blood all over your 
pajamas."

Franklin rolled the toothpick to the other side of his 
mouth as Ethan stripped his dirty shirt and put on the 
police-issued one.

"Did you tell her about the murder weapon?" Franklin asked.

Wearily, Ethan shook his head.  "Kitchen knife," he 
murmured to Scully.

"From *his* kitchen."  Franklin handed the bagged shirt to 
the Sergeant and said, "Your boy here better start talking 
if he expects any help from our end."

As they left, Ethan kicked his chair.  "I can't fucking 
believe this!  I would never hurt Melinda, ever!  Instead 
of searching for who really did this, they've got me locked 
in here like an animal.  You have to help me, Dana.  
Please.  You're good at this.  You always used to tell me 
about your solve rate and how you and Mulder find stuff 
that the cops missed.  Well, they're sure as hell missing 
something here, because I did not do this."

He was trembling by the end of his speech.  Scully 
deliberately made herself more calm, keeping her tone even 
and her words careful.  "You need a lawyer, Ethan.  They're 
going to have you arraigned."

"I know that.  I know.  But a lawyer won't find out who 
killed Melinda."

"Who do you think killed her?"

He blinked.  "I--I keep thinking, and my mind just hits the 
wall.  I mean, to do this to her, someone must have hated 
her, right?  You don't...you don't just stab someone like 
that.  That's some serious rage.  No one hated Melinda.  
You knew her.  Everyone liked her."

Scully smiled sadly.  "Yes, everyone liked her."

"So you'll help me?  You'll help me find out who did this 
to her?"  He grabbed her hands and held tight.

"Ethan, I want to help you, but I have no authorization in 
this case."

"That never seemed to stop you guys before."  He gave her a 
crooked attempt at a smile.

Scully extricated herself from his grasp.  "I'll see what I 
can do."

"Thank you.  Thank you so much."

"I can't promise anything."

"I realize that.  Just that you're willing to try means 
everything to me."  He sniffed hard and put his hands on 
his hips.  "So, how you been otherwise?  Good?"

Scully patted his arm.  "Good," she replied, and he nodded.  
"I'll go to the morgue and see what I can find out there, 
okay?  I think I know the ME pretty well.  You hang in 
there."  She ducked to try to meet his downcast gaze.  "And 
get a lawyer."

"I will.  Thanks again, Dana.  It's, um, really good to see 
you."

Scully wished she could say the same.


She patted her cheeks with both hands as she walked back 
through the station to find Mulder.  As ordered, he was 
lounging around near the Coke machine with a soda in his 
hand and the remnants of a bag of Cheetos in his lap.  
"Hey," he said when he saw her.  "How did it go?"

"Not good," she replied.  "Let's get out of here, okay?"

He followed her in silence back to the car.  Once inside, 
she leaned her head back against the seat and closed her 
eyes.  Mulder put the keys in the ignition but did not 
start the engine.

"Are you all right?" 

"Yes. No."   She sighed and sat up.  "It's Ethan in there, 
you know?  I can't quite believe it yet.  I never imagined 
seeing him like this."

Mulder chewed his thumbnail for a moment.  "How did you 
imagine seeing him?"

"Hmm?  I didn't, not really.  It's just..."

"What?"

She shifted to look at him.  "You think that everything and 
everyone in your past stays right where you left them, like 
you could turn around and retrace your steps you'd find 
them just the same as when you left."

"I don't know if I'm following."

"The Ethan I knew never would have had a dead woman in his 
apartment," she said wistfully.  "I guess what I'm 
realizing is... that Ethan doesn't exist anymore."

"And you're wondering if maybe he ever did?"

Scully squared her shoulders and reached for her seatbelt.  
"We have to get to the morgue."

"Wait a second."  He touched her arm, stilling her.  "You 
think maybe Ethan did this?"

"No, I don't think he did this.  He says he would never 
hurt Melinda, and I believe him."

"Melinda?  His camerawoman?"  Mulder sat back in apparent 
surprise.  "I went out on a date with her."

"That's right, you did."  Scully looked him up and down.  
"I'd forgotten about that."

"It was a pretty good date as dates go."  He seemed 
suddenly shy and started brushing Cheetos crumbs from his 
shirt.  But Scully's curiosity was piqued.

"So then why just the one date?"

"Oh, I don't know.  It was a long time ago."

Yes, Scully recalled, back just before her abduction and 
her return -- time lost in more than one sense.  She and 
Mulder rarely talked about it, as if mentioning the ordeal 
could call up old ghosts like summoning the Devil with his 
name.

"She was nice," Mulder finished lamely.

"Yeah, nice."  Scully hadn't known the Melinda very well 
either -- just to say hello.  Mostly she had heard about 
her through Ethan's stories of Melinda's many dates.

Mulder and Scully had a moment of silence in the Taurus for 
the loss of a woman they both only sort of knew.

"How did she die?" Mulder asked at last.

"Stabbed, apparently, with one of Ethan's kitchen knives."

Mulder winced.  "Ouch."

"He says he must have slept through it."

Mulder's expression said how likely he found this 
proposition.  On the face of things, Scully had to agree.  
Melinda was a healthy, young adult woman.  Unless her 
attacker caught her while she was asleep or otherwise 
unconscious, she would have fought hard.  And according to 
Ethan, Melinda had been the sober one, just dropping him 
off at his apartment before returning to her own. 

"What the hell could have happened?" Mulder asked.

"That's what we have to go to the morgue to find out."

~*~*~

"Let me do the talking," Scully ordered as they crossed the 
parking lot in the bright afternoon sunshine.  Mulder 
watched her behind his shades and felt only a little bit 
guilty that he was following her into a morgue.  They were 
back in action, wrangling dead bodies that didn't really 
belong to them, and for a moment it almost felt like normal 
life again.

She wore the chunky heels, her stride quick and confident 
as ever, and he tried not to notice the way her pants hung 
low on her too-slender hips.  Just a brief visit with the 
M.E., Mulder reasoned, and he could have her tucked back in 
bed by sundown.  As it was, her mother was probably phoning 
Scully's apartment every ten minutes in a panic.

Mulder strolled down the long hall with his hands shoved 
deep in his pockets.  The morgue had never been his 
favorite place.  He wasn't squeamish, but lately he'd been 
having a hard time looking at bodies as objective pieces of 
evidence.  

He caught up with Scully at the M.E.'s office as she was 
greeting Henry Kwan with a warm handshake.  "Agent Scully, 
it's so good to see you," Kwan was saying as Mulder poked 
his head around the corner.  "Agent Mulder, welcome to you 
as well."

Mulder nodded and gave a vague wave.  He could appreciate 
Kwan's appreciation arcane biology.  Kwan had a collection 
of pickled oddities on his shelves that rivaled Mulder's 
own.  

"Last I heard you were in the hospital very ill," Kwan said 
to Scully as Mulder admired a seven-fingered hand.  "You 
must be doing better."

"Much better, thank you."

"Good, good.  I don't ever want to see you showing up here 
as a customer."

Mulder glanced over, askance, but Scully smiled.  "That 
makes two of us," she assured Kwan.

"So am I to presume this is not a social call?" the doctor 
asked as he adjusted his round-rimmed glasses.

"The McKenn case," Scully said.  "I assume you've got her 
here?"

"She is in there waiting under the lights for me right now.  
Detective Franklin call every five minutes, just like I 
don't have four other active cases today. But this is a 
plain homicide, yes?  What is the FBI's interest in this 
case?"

"Unofficial," said Scully pointedly.

Kwan's eyes crinkled in a smile.  "Ah, I see.  It is on the 
QT.  Under the hat.  Behind the bush."

"Something like that," Scully agreed.  "Do you think we 
could take a look at her?"

"Sure, let's all go in and have a look right now."

Mulder lagged behind the two pathologists as they entered 
the autopsy bay.  Scully and Kwan put on gloves and masks; 
Mulder didn't plan on getting that close.

He stopped about five feet from where Melinda lay, naked 
and washed clean.  He couldn't have recalled her face 
before this, but now that he saw her, he wondered how he 
had managed to forget.  Melinda was beautiful, with dark 
hair, full, broad lips and a lithe, toned body.  Charcoal 
lashes cast shadows on the pale skin under her eyes.

"Someone really wanted to hurt this girl," Kwan observed.

"I count seventeen wounds," Scully replied as she held up 
one arm for Mulder.  "See?" she called over to him.  "She 
did fight him."

"Rigor has been here and gone," Kwan said.  "She's been 
dead quite a while."  He ducked down.  "We've got lividity 
at her shoulders.  Probably down her back as well."

"Mulder," Scully said, looking up.  She motioned him over 
to the body.

"What do you have?"

"Look at this.  The blood settled at her back, meaning she 
was lying face up for some time after she died."

"So?"

"So Ethan said the cops found her dead face down in his 
living room.  At the very least, someone rolled her over."


~*~*~

They stayed long enough at the morgue that dusk had settled 
like a light blanket over the city when they emerged.  
Scully pulled her suit jacket tighter as they walked to the 
car.  Inside, her eyes were dark and unreadable.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"That someone's trying to frame Ethan for murder."

"You think that cop Franklin will listen?"

"Kwan will do his best to make him understand.  The 
evidence doesn't lie."  She leaned back against the seat 
and stared out the window at the night.

Mulder reached over and touched her knee.  "This isn't your 
fight, you know."

"He called me."

"And you helped him."

"Some help.  He's probably in lockup with the real rapists 
and murderers by now."  She sighed and covered her face 
with her hands.  "I have to do something.  I owe it to 
Ethan to do something more to help him."

"I don't understand.  What do you owe him?"  For some 
reason, his heart started beating faster, as if it were 
afraid of the answer.

"You know."  She looked over at him.  "You know better than 
anyone, Mulder, because you were there."

Mulder was mute.  Scully swallowed with effort.

"He--he waited for me all those months.  He was so happy I 
was back.  And then I..."  She couldn't even say the words.

Mulder could.  "You left him."

She nodded, a single heavy shake of the head.  "The most 
horrible part is, I've never been entirely sure why.  Maybe 
it doesn't matter anymore.  But maybe this is my chance to 
find out."

~*~*~*~*~

End chapter one.  Continued in chapter two.

Feedback makes me type faster. *g*  syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Thanks as ever to the fair and benevolent Amanda, who tries 
valiantly to keep me from my own mistakes.