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

Laws of Motion

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

Chapter Two:  True Lies

By syntax6

Back at Scully's apartment, they took a crash 
course in the Ryerson scandal using newspapers that 
had piled up in her recycling bin during her stint 
in the hospital.  Mulder divided the stack between 
them on the coffee table, with their takeout pizza 
ensconced in the middle, while Scully fetched a 
pair of sodas from her refrigerator.

A quick check of the expiration date said they were 
still drinkable.  Scully paused only a moment to 
consider that she could have expired before her 
food had.

"Ginger ale?" Mulder asked as she handed him a can.

For weeks it had been all her stomach could handle.  
Ginger ale and weak tea.  "Take it or leave it," 
she told him as she plopped on the couch.

Mulder took it.  He sat at one end of her sofa with 
a sagging slice of pizza in his hand and a by-gone 
front page from "The Washington Post" spread across 
his legs.  From her side, Scully could still read 
the headline on the yellowed page: CONGRESSIONAL 
AIDE SLAIN.

"Rachel Campenella, 27, was found fatally stabbed 
in her apartment yesterday morning," Mulder read 
aloud.   "Campella's mother, Joy Campella, 54, 
discovered her daughter's body when she arrived to 
take her to church."

"How awful," Scully said, shuddering as she 
imagined the scene.  She pulled the thin blanket on 
her lap closer around her.  This was one of her few 
lingering concessions to illness; she still grew 
cold easily.  

"Campenella has been employed for the past year as 
an aide in Senator Christopher Ryerson's office.  
The office has released a brief statement from 
Ryerson saying, 'I was horrified to get this 
devastating news.  Rachel was an intelligent, 
vivacious woman with tremendous ambition and 
unending compassion.  She was a true luminary, and 
the world is a darker place without her. My deepest 
sympathies and prayers go out to her family at 
time."

"Touching," Scully said flatly as she picked up a 
later edition.  This one was headlined: RYERSON 
DENIES AFFAIR.  "It says here he was overhead 
arguing with her the Friday before her murder."

"Does it say about what?"

Scully squinted.  "No.  But wait a second here, 
Mulder. By my count we have two women stabbed to 
death inside an apartment building the space of two 
months.  Coincidence?"

"Could be.  Stabbing is such a personal crime, 
especially the way these women died.  Whoever 
killed them just kept coming at them with a knife.  
You would think that if the Melinda and Rachel's 
killer were the same man, he'd be easy to find.  
Someone who knew Melinda and Rachel and hated them 
both."

"That would rule Ethan out."

"Nothing here about the murder weapon," Mulder said 
as he reached for another paper.  "Maybe that came 
later."  He scanned another article and shook his 
head.  "No knife found at the scene and no missing 
knives from her kitchen.  Killer must have come 
prepared and taken the knife with him when he 
left."

"So whoever it was came to the apartment with 
murder in mind.  Melinda was theoretically murdered 
with a weapon of convenience -- Ethan's kitchen 
knife."

"No sign of forced entry."  Mulder continued 
reading.  He shook his head and tossed the paper 
back on the table.  "These two murders are as 
different as they are alike.  No way to tell right 
now if they're connected."

Scully leaned back and rubbed her eyes with one 
hand.  "All I know is that Ethan could not have 
done this.  He wouldn't even let me kill a spider 
if it got into the house."

Mulder smiled at her.  "You make a habit of spider 
killing, Scully?  Got your picture up in spider 
post offices around the country?"

"They should know better than to invade my 
bathtub."

When she did not say anything further, Mulder 
reached over and tapped her knee.  "It'll be okay, 
Scully.  They have a strong case against Ethan, but 
it's not without holes.  A good attorney will have 
him out in no time."

"He didn't even call an attorney.  Can you believe 
that?  He called me instead."

"I believe it. I always call you first whenever I'm 
in the slammer."  Mulder tried again for humor, and 
this time Scully smiled.

"That's different," she replied, nudging his leg 
with her toes.  "You're usually calling from some 
underground government facility that requires 
breaching national security to spring you."

"Hey, I've been a good boy lately!" Mulder 
protested with a grin.

Scully sobered and met his eyes.  "Yes," she agreed 
softly.  "You certainly have."

The moment held until Mulder looked away, seemingly 
embarrassed.  He started gathering up the remnants 
of their dinner.  "I should get going so you can 
rest," he said.

"You don't have to leave."  Scully trailed him to 
the kitchen, where he was putting the plates in the 
sink.  

He rolled up the ends of his shirt as the water 
ran, and Scully found herself staring at the 
springy hair on his forearms.

"Ten hours ago you were in the hospital," Mulder 
told her, as if she weren't incredibly aware of 
this fact.  He squeezed her nearly empty bottle of 
dishwashing soap too hard and tiny bubbles floated 
into the air between them.

Scully watched his hands slide back and forth over 
the soapy plates.  "I can do that," she said 
without much enthusiasm.  It was more fun to watch 
him.

"I've no doubt.  But you're too late.  It's already 
done."  He rinsed a plate and held it up for 
inspection.

"My hero."

Mulder wiped his hands on his ass and started 
heading for the door, grabbing his jacket from the 
back of her chair on his way past.  "I'll give you 
a call tomorrow."

"Mulder, wait," she said and he turned, leather 
jacket halfway on and looked at her expectantly.  
She leaned against the doorjamb like a shy prom 
date.  "I just wanted to say thank you.  You know, 
for picking me up at the hospital today, and 
for...well, for everything."

He bent down towards her, so close she could smell 
his skin and his jacket and the ginger ale on his 
breath.  She closed her eyes.

"Anytime, Scully," she felt him whisper, and then 
he was gone.

Scully blinked and touched her flushed cheek.  It 
was the first time in over a week he had not kissed 
her goodbye.

~*~*~*~*~

For many moons, Mulder had existed happily by 
himself in the basement of the Hoover building.  He 
welcomed the thick concrete floor that blanketed 
him from the footsteps above.  A corner penthouse 
office might signal success to most, but Mulder was 
content with his cinderblock cellar and his walls 
of file cabinets.  

No one bothered him here.  No fellow fibbies 
dropped in every few minutes to ask him his opinion 
about their cases, as used to be the everyday 
occurrence in both the VCU and BSU. No one 
whispered behind his back at the coffee machine.  
No one stole his pens, used his stapler or peeked 
over his shoulder at his email.

He kept reminding himself how much he'd enjoyed 
that glorious silence as he sat in his Scully-less 
office for the third straight week.  Her table 
gathered dust in the corner; her plant had wilted.  

One journal lay overturned in half, open to an 
article on insect DNA.  Mulder knew this because 
he'd checked about a dozen times.  He had even 
finished reading the article for her, not that he'd 
really understood all of it.  But he had been 
prepared just in case she had asked from her 
hospital bed, "I wonder how that article turned 
out?"  Now it sat waiting for her to return and 
pick it up, as though she had never been away.

Mulder tried not to count the minutes.

It turned out to be fewer minutes that he had 
imagined, because just before lunchtime he heard 
the sound of familiar footsteps in the hall.  He 
looked up in time to catch Scully walking through 
the door.

"Morning," she said, paper coffee cup in her hand 
and briefcase at her side.

Mulder leaned way back in his chair and folded his 
arms across his chest.  "Agent Scully, you are 
supposed to be on medical leave until next week.  
I've seen the paperwork."

"That's why I'm here unofficially," she explained 
as she crossed to her desk.

Mulder eyed the tailored suit, the FBI ID clipped 
to her lapel and the SIG holstered near her hip.  
"Really?  That's a mighty official looking gun you 
have there."

"Mulder, you're still checking out my gun after all 
these years?  And here I thought the romance was 
dead."  She took out her laptop and set it up on 
the table.  He kept staring at her until she gave 
an exaggerated sigh and met his gaze.  "What would 
you have me do, Mulder?  Sit at home and watch 
Oprah all day?"

"It's a paid vacation, Scully.  Do you know how 
many people would kill for that?"

She gave him a look that suggested he might end up 
as the dead body if he pursued this particular line 
of questioning.  Mulder raised both palms. 

"I give up.  Work away."

"It's not work," she said.  "It's Ethan.  I wanted 
to do a little checking into Senator Ryerson.  And 
before you say anything, I know it's not my 
responsibility, but if someone is framing him..."

"Scully."

"...whoever it is went to an awful lot of trouble 
to set him up, and I don't trust that they've 
finished the job yet."

"Scully!"

She looked annoyed.  "What?"

He turned his computer monitor around so she could 
see what he had been working on: a background check 
on Senator Ryerson.  Scully gave him a slow smile 
and came around to check out the results.

"Anything good?"

"Nothing that screams 'I murdered my mistress' if 
that's what you mean.  He's the son of an Illinois 
supreme court judge and the grandson of the late 
Senator Augustine Ryerson, also from Illinois.  He 
went to Harvard law *and* business school, where he 
met his wife Julianne.  They've been married 
thirty-two years and have two grown children.  No 
sign that he's ever been in trouble with the law."

"You know, I seem to recall something about his 
wife now that you mention her.  Wasn't she in 
treatment for drug abuse a few years ago?"

"Yeah, she did a stint in rehab in 1993.  Nothing 
since."

Scully's cell phone rang in her purse and she went 
to retrieve it.  "Hello?  Oh, hi, Dr. Kwan.  How 
are you?  Yes, of course I have a minute.  Now?  
Sure.  When did you want to meet?"

She clicked off a moment later with a puzzled look 
on her face.  "Henry Kwan wants to meet me on the 
Mall in twenty minutes."

"Did he say why?"

"No, but I assume it's about Melinda.  I don't have 
any other business with him."

Scully picked up her coat and headed for the door.  
Mulder grabbed his suit jacket and followed her.  
At the elevator, she gave him The Eyebrow.  "Don't 
you have official FBI business you need to attend 
to, Mulder?"

Mulder adjusted his necktie.  "It's officially my 
lunch hour.  Come on, Scully, I'll buy you and Kwan 
a hotdog."

Instead, Scully opted for a pretzel with mustard 
but Kwan accepted a hotdog with the works.  "Thank 
you for coming out to meet me here," he said.  
"After what happened, I wasn't so sure about 
speaking on the phone."

They all sat down on a bench.  "Is this about 
Melinda?" Scully asked.

Kwan nodded.  "I've never had anything like this 
happen before.  I told you how anxious the 
detective was for my notes.  Sometimes they get so 
anxious on high profile cases like this that they 
come stand over my shoulder while I do the work.  
But this time, it was the DA who came himself, and 
he brought two other men with him.  They were never 
introduced, but I saw they carried guns."

"They wanted your report?" Mulder asked.

"They wanted all of it.  My report, my notes.  The 
whole tamale.  They ask me, 'Is this all your 
copies?'"  He shrugged.  "So I made some.  The tape 
is gone, but the rest I have.  Just in case 
something should happen to the originals."

"What all did you find in the autopsy?" asked 
Scully.

"Much the same as we discussed yesterday.  The 
cause of death was massive internal bleeding caused 
by transsection of the abdominal aorta."  Kwan 
looked around over his shoulder and took another 
bite of hotdog.  "One thing I did find," he said.  
"The victim had sexual intercourse shortly before 
she died.  I collected semen samples for the lab."

"Rape?" Scully asked, and Kwan shook his head.

"No sign of vaginal bruising or tearing."

"I thought you said Melinda was at a going-away 
party most of the night," Mulder said to Scully.

"That's what Ethan told me."

"Maybe someone wanted one for the road," Mulder 
mused.

"Dr. Kwan, you didn't happen to do the autopsy on 
Rachel Campenella, did you?" Scully wanted to know.

The doctor shook his head.  "Not me.  I heard Roy 
Albridge got that case.  I wonder if the DA wanted 
his notes too."


~*~*~*~

Back at the office, Mulder continued his computer 
work while Scully stared at the wall.  "I suppose 
it's possible that they just wanted to make sure 
there was no leak of information in the case," she 
said after a while.

Mulder's chair creaked as he turned around to look 
at her.  "You don't honestly believe that."

"No.  I just can't think of a good reason the DA 
would come and demand all of Kwan's files."

"You said it yourself, Scully.  If it's a frame, 
someone's doing a bang-up job."

"I don't believe the DA's office would frame Ethan 
for murder.  What motive would they have?"

"You and I are certainly not the only ones to note 
similarities between Melinda's murder and what 
happened to Rachel Campenella.  I bet the DA put 
two and two together and got four the same as we 
did."

His desk phone rang and Mulder stretched to answer 
it.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's Skinner.  I'd like to come down and 
have a talk with you.  Is now a good time?"

"Yeah, now's fine."  He glanced over at Scully.  
"Actually, sir, make it five minutes.  I, uh, I've 
got to see a man about a horse."

"Five minutes then," Skinner said in a tone of 
long-suffering.

"You better hit the road," Mulder told Scully as he 
hung up the phone.  "Skinner's on his way down 
here, and I don't think he's going to be on board 
with your extracurricular fun.  He's the one who 
went out of his way to get you the extra leave 
time."

Scully looked surprised.  "God, and after what I 
said to him.  Mulder..."

"We can chat about this later," Mulder said, moving 
her bodily from her seat and steering her towards 
the door.  "You have the time it takes me to visit 
the john to get out of here, or you're going to be 
meeting him in the elevator."

"What did he want?"  Scully was trying to turn 
around and ask questions even as he was showing her 
the exit.

"To run away with me to Fiji."

"Mulder--"

"Scully!"

Her mouth twitched as he hit the "up" button for 
her.  "You hate the beach," she said when the doors 
slid open.

"Go.  Bye.  I will call you later."  Mulder leaned 
against the wall in relief as Scully finally left.  
He had only a few seconds to rest because the 
elevator dinged again moments later, and the doors 
opened to reveal Skinner.

"Mulder?" he said, apparently surprised to find one 
of his agents lounging in the hall.

"Just on my way back from the restroom, sir."  
Mulder led his boss to the office, where Scully's 
laptop sat open and blazing with light on her desk.

Mulder winced inwardly and hoped like hell Skinner 
did not notice.  "What, ah, what can I do for you?" 
Mulder asked, waving his hand at the chair to 
indicate Skinner should have a seat.

Skinner ignored the silent invitation and instead 
wandered over to study Mulder's wall of arcane 
photos.  "I just wanted you to know that I've 
signed you and Scully up for the FBI's teamwork 
seminar in Florida next week."

"Sir, with all due respect, I really don't think 
Scully and I need a seminar on teamwork."

"I'm afraid it's not up for discussion."  Skinner 
turned and squinted at him.

"No really," Mulder said.  "Scully and me, we solve 
cases, we car pool -- we can even sing three part 
harmony with only two people, that's how great we 
are at the whole teamwork thing."

"I know exactly how the two of you are, and that's 
precisely why you're going to Florida.  For one 
week, at least, she won't be chasing you God-knows-
where and ending up back in the hospital again."

Mulder drummed a pencil against the edge of his 
desk.  He had no good reply for that one.  After 
all, he'd been the one insisting loudly and often 
that Scully take it easy and rest.

"How long is the seminar exactly?"

Skinner scowled.  "For pity's sake, Mulder.  It's 
four days.  Surely you can survive four days in a 
nice motel with your fellow agents."

"Maybe you could just send Scully."

"It's a *partnership* seminar."

Mulder tapped the side of his head.  "Anything she 
learns goes right in here, sir. I'm telling you, we 
could lead this seminar."

"Keep talking and perhaps that could be arranged."

"No," Mulder said swiftly.  "That's all right.  
I'll go."

Driving home that night in the endless line dance 
that was rush hour traffic, Mulder called Scully to 
give her the bad news.  "Skinner thinks we need 
partner lessons," he said when she answered.

"Excuse me?"

"He's signed us up for the annual team building 
seminar in Florida next week.  Isn't this hurricane 
season, Scully?"

"It might not be so bad," she answered. "I've 
always been sort of curious about what goes on at 
these things."

Mulder groaned.  "You've got to be kidding me.  How 
about we just sing Kum-By-Yah over the phone and go 
to Disney World instead?  We could get those mouse 
ear hats with our names on them and everything."

"Mulder."

"Come on, Scully.  You'd look so cute in the mouse 
ears.  And Goofy, he's got to be some sort of X-
File, right?  I mean, is he a dog, is he a cow, a 
donkey or what?"

"Mulder."  Her tone changed from weary to 
concerned.

"What is it?"

"I've got the news on.  Detective Franklin is doing 
a press conference on Melinda's murder."  

She turned up the volume and all of a sudden he 
could hear.  "...believe we have the right man in 
custody," Franklin was saying.  "Mr. Minette will 
be arraigned tomorrow on charges of first degree 
murder."

"You have evidence of premeditation?" hollered 
another voice, presumably a reporter.

"I can't comment on the details of the 
investigation at this time," Franklin replied.

"Is it true that Ethan Minette knew Rachel 
Campenella?" asked another voice, and Mulder nearly 
hit the car in front of him.

"Yes, we have evidence the two knew each other, but 
that is all I'm prepared to say at this time.  We 
are pursuing a number of angles right now and any 
public comment could compromise the investigation."

"Is Minette a suspect in Rachel's murder?"

Franklin dodged the question again. Scully's 
breathing changed, and the sound of the press 
conference faded as she moved away from the TV.  
"Mulder, Ethan never said anything to me about 
knowing Rachel Campenella."

"I hope he took your advice about the lawyer," 
Mulder replied.  "Because he could be waking up to 
find himself with a second murder charge."

~*~*~*~

Three days passed before Scully was permitted to 
see Ethan again.  In the interim, he was arraigned 
on Melinda's murder and denied bail. Scully met him 
in a small, windowless room that smelled like mold 
and stale sweat.  The wooden table had notches 
banged into it from angry criminals and frustrated 
cops.

Scully took a seat in the cold metal chair and 
waited for the guard to bring Ethan in to see her.  
He smiled faintly at the sight of her, looking wan 
but more alert than the last time they had met.  
His shackled arms and legs prevented any close 
contact, but Scully wasn't in a hugging mood 
anyway.

"Dana, hi," he said softly.

"You lied to me."

He blinked rapidly, hanging back near the door.

"You never told me you knew Rachel Campenella."

"It was one date over a year ago," Ethan replied, 
sounding tired.  He shuffled over to take the seat 
across from her.  "Mutual friends set us up just 
after she moved to Washington.  We had drinks, 
dinner.  That was it.  I'd forgotten all about it 
until she turned up murdered this summer.  I barely 
knew the woman."

"She was stabbed, Ethan.  Just like Melinda."

"I know.  God, believe me I know.  I've had about 
sixty different cops point that fact out to me.  I 
don't know what to say."  When Scully didn't 
answer, he leaned closer to her over the table.  "I 
didn't kill Rachel."

"I didn't say you did."

"You have to believe me."  

"They have a lot of evidence against you."

"Well, then the evidence lies!  I didn't kill 
Melinda, and I sure as hell didn't kill Rachel 
Campenella." His head fell back, exposing a rash on 
his neck.  He stared at the ceiling and laughed 
bitterly.  "I can't believe any of this is 
happening."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."

"I'm telling you the truth.  It's the only truth I 
know.  I didn't kill anyone."

Scully eyed him as she would any other suspect.  He 
looked pale and panicked, stubble dotting his skin.  
She tried to remember what he'd looked like the day 
they'd met, when he had fallen into step with her 
as she was out jogging, but she couldn't call up 
the picture.

"Melinda had sex before she died," Scully said 
flatly.

Ethan's shoulders sagged.  "Yeah, I know."

"You know?  How do you know?"

"I was the guy," he said with a little shrug, 
unable to look directly at her, as if this 
confession were somehow terrible in light of the 
other charges against him.  

Scully felt her mouth hanging open and shut it 
again.  "You never mentioned that detail either.  
Jesus, Ethan.  You ask me for help and then you 
don't tell me anything."

"I forgot.  I'm sorry."  He clenched his fingers 
and looked at her pleadingly.  "I wasn't in very 
good shape the last time we talked.  I'm sorry.  
You're right, I should have mentioned that.  I 
honestly forgot about it at the time.  It's not 
every day I wake up and find a good friend murdered 
in my living room."

"So you had sex." 

"You make it sound so cold."

"I'm not making it sound anything, Ethan.  I just 
want the facts."

"Yeah, we had sex, um, at the party."

"At the bar?"

Ethan colored and he nodded dumbly.  "In the supply 
closet.  It, um, didn't go on very long."

"So you were sleeping together regularly?"

"No, I wouldn't say that."  He shifted in his seat 
and stretched out his hands to her again.  "Melinda 
and I would hook up sometimes off and on, just for 
fun.  Only when we weren't with other people."

"How often was this?"

"I don't know.  A dozen times, maybe a little more.  
We never did it when I was with you, Dana.  You 
have to believe me about that."

Scully rubbed the ache that was starting to form 
between her eyes.  "I don't care about that right 
now, Ethan."

"But I do.  I--I would never have cheated on you."

For some reason, this made Scully's heart lurch to 
her throat.  She swallowed it back down and pressed 
on.  "Let's stick to the facts here, okay?  So you 
and Melinda had sex that night at the party.  What 
else?"

He hesitated, tracing the outline of someone's 
initials that had been carved into the table.

"Ethan?"

"I was kind of a dick to her after that.  I know I 
made some snide comments about her leaving."

"What kind of snide comments?"

Ethan flushed again, and he pushed his chair away 
from the table.  "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it really matters.  What did you say to her?"

"I don't remember all of it," he mumbled.  "But I 
know I said something like...'you have to move 
because you've fucked all the guys around here.'  I 
know.  It's horrible, right?  I didn't even mean 
it.  I was just mad that she was leaving me after 
all these years."

Scully felt sick, and not because of the ugly 
things Ethan had said.  She knew he had just handed 
the prosecution their motive.

Ethan reached across the table and grabbed her 
hands awkwardly.  His palms were sweaty; the hard 
metal of the cuffs scraped her skin.  Scully fought 
not to yank away as he tugged at her.

"You'll still help me, right?  Please say you'll 
help me."

Scully was lightheaded, dizzy.  "Ethan, I'm sorry.  
I have to go."

Only when she left, shaking and walking from the 
prison as quickly as she could, did she realize 
that she had never answered him.

~*~*~*~

Mulder in coach class became a paper crane, all 
folded into sharp angles as he fidgeted in the 
narrow seat.  Scully gave him a warning look as his 
elbow connected with her ribs for the second time.

"Sorry," he muttered.  He flailed again and nearly 
knocked her latte out of her hands.  

"Mulder, I realize you're chafing at the idea of 
this conference, but I would appreciate it if you 
could keep it to an inner struggle, at least for 
the next hour and a half."

"Sorry," he said again with more feeling as he 
slouched in his seat.  "I can't believe you're 
actually looking forward to this."

"That's an exaggeration.  I merely suggested we 
might learn something about each other on this 
trip."

Mulder's grumble implied he already knew everything 
he cared to learn about her.  "Hey, did you see the 
front page today?" he asked, sitting up again.  He 
dropped the "Washington Post" in her lap.

The headline read: POLICE SEEK POSSIBLE WITNESS IN 
CAMERAWOMAN'S DEATH

"They haven't been able to find out who called the 
cops that morning," Mulder told her.

Scully handed the paper back to him.  "I don't want 
to talk about it right now."

"Things didn't go so hot with Ethan, huh?"

She gave him the look again.

Mulder raised his hands.  "Got it.  Partnership.  
Communication.  You don't have to spell it out for 
me, Scully."

On the ground in Florida, they met up with two 
other agents who would be giving them a ride to the 
conference.  "I'm Stonecypher, and this is 
Kinsley," said the female of the two.  

Kinsley waggled a pair of foil packets at Scully.  
"I charmed the flight attendant out of some extra 
snack packs, so you two just holler if you get 
hungry, okay?"

Mulder was looking out the large windows with a 
forlorn expression on his face.  "Does it look like 
hurricane to you?" he asked hopefully.

Scully tugged his arm.  "Say goodnight, Gracie."

In the car, Stonecypher and Kinsley, apparent team-
building conference veterans, shared some old war 
stories.  

"Did you play that game where, um, you can't use 
any negative words?" Stonecypher asked Scully.

"I couldn't believe how hard it was not to use the 
word 'but,'" interjected Kinsley.

"I'm having that same problem right now," Mulder 
replied in mock amazement.

Scully smothered a smile.  Mulder could be an ass, 
but he was an amusing ass.

"Have you ever been to a team seminar, Agent 
Mulder?" Stonecypher inquired.

"No, you know unfortunately around this time of 
year I always develop a severe hemmorhoidal 
condition."

Thankfully, he did not get the opportunity to 
elaborate because moments later a state police 
officer stopped them at a roadblock.

Mulder got out to stretch his legs and the next 
thing Scully knew he was following the crime scene 
tape into the forest.
 
"Where's he going now?" Stonecypher asked.

By the time Scully caught up with him, he was 
kneeling with a female officer over some tracks in 
the woods. The woman was gesturing deeper into the 
forest and Mulder was asking questions.  From what 
Scully could overhear, at least two people were 
missing in a suspected animal attack.

The woman office walked away and Mulder approached 
Scully with one of his "I'm thinking up new ways to 
get into trouble" expressions.  "Mulder?" she said.  
"We've got this conference.  They're waiting."

"Yeah.  How do I say this without using any 
negative words."

"You want me to tell them that you're not going to 
make it to this year's teamwork seminar."

"Yeah, you see that? We don't need that conference.  
We have communication like that.  You know what I'm 
thinking!"

Scully wished he could tell what she was thinking 
as she watched him walk away.

~*~*~

Scully attended the welcome lecture and received an 
activities folder for both herself and her wayward 
partner.  She barely had time to leaf through it 
before the wine and cheese reception, which was 
being held in the motel's main conference room.

Not exactly a cheery setting, Scully observed as 
she slipped into the room.  The fake wood paneling 
was broken up by a single window on one side and a 
dry-erase board on the other.  A white, crepe paper 
tablecloth disguised a conference table at one end, 
where a man in a tux was overseeing the cubes of 
cheese and the miniature bottles of cheap wine.

Scully snaked her way across the room to the food.  
No one stopped to greet her, and she did not 
recognize anyone save Kinsley and Stonecypher.  
Years of basement dwelling with Mulder had cut her 
off from most of her fellow agents.  Thrown 
together with them now, she had not the faintest 
idea how to engage them in conversation.  Shoptalk 
was the norm, but Scully's latest case had been her 
own.  She was not about to discuss at a cocktail 
party a government conspiracy to give her cancer 
and the resultant chip in her neck.

Scully considered the wine selection with some 
interest.  A long last medication free, she could 
finally drink alcohol again.  It was a shame her 
first taste would come from wine with a screw-on 
top.

"To my health," she thought, unable to hold back a 
smile as she picked up a bottle of white wine.  She 
paused only when she realized there was no one 
present she wanted to toast with; the only someone 
who would really understand was back in his room 
hiding out.

Scully waited until the caterer was looking the 
other way and swiped a small tray of cheese to go 
with her wine.  Stupid conference aside, she and 
Mulder deserved a little celebration.  Maybe they 
could learn something new about each other after 
all.

"Who cut the cheese?" Mulder asked when she entered 
his room with the goodies.

"Since you won't be making it to the conference," 
Scully said, crossing to his bed.

"Par-tay!"

"You know, of course, that this goes against the 
Bureau's policy of male and female agents 
consorting in the same motel room while on 
assignment."

She managed to keep a straight face as she said it, 
despite the fact that she and Mulder had consorted 
plenty in the past.  They argued cases, ate take-
out food, played cards, and on rare occasion, even 
slept part of the night in the same bed together, 
due mainly to the fact that she tended to fall 
asleep in the middle of movies.  As far as 
infractions went, this particular one sat quite low 
down on their list of habitual missteps. 

"You try any of that Tailhook crap on me, Scully, 
and I'll kick your ass," Mulder joked as she opened 
the wine.

Scully only half-heard what he said after that 
because she was imagining what he would do if she 
really did smack him on the rear-end and make a 
suggestive remark.

Unfortunately, she never got to find out because 
the next thing she knew, Mulder was putting on his 
coat and heading out the door.

"You know, Mulder, sometimes I think a little work 
on your communication skills wouldn't be such a bad 
idea."

"I'll be back soon, and we can build a tower of 
furniture.  Okay?"

Scully sighed and took a long gulp of wine.  So 
much, she thought, for celebration.

~*~*~

Mulder was afraid to wonder if their little 
adventure into the forest could get any worse.  Two 
of the their search party were missing.  They had 
no food or water.  Temperatures in the wet night 
now hovered slightly above freezing.  Wasn't this 
supposed to be fucking Florida, he thought, the 
land of perpetual warmth and sunshine?

Oh, yeah, and something had tried to claw him to 
death, leaving a large gash in his left shoulder.  
That same something still lurked out in the 
darkness somewhere, plotting its next move.

Mulder huddled closer to the dank log on the forest 
floor and watched Scully try to start a fire.  The 
cold and wet and lack of food couldn't be good for 
her, either.  Considering this was his boondoggle, 
she was taking their rotten luck surprisingly well.

"You need to keep warm," she told him, sounding 
concerned when she couldn't get the fire going.  
"Your body's still in shock."

Mulder's teeth chattered.  "I was once told that 
the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl 
naked into a sleeping bag with someone else who is 
already naked."

"Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you'll get 
lucky."

Mulder nearly choked; in five years, this was as 
close to propositioning him as she had ever gotten.  
In fact, the time she jumped him in Arecibo, she 
hadn't given him any warning at all.  If she had, 
he might have run the other way.

The fire flashed and burned out just as quickly.  
Scully shrugged and rejoined him by the log.  
Gently, she put her arms around him and tried to 
pull him into her lap.  His muscles, sore and 
frozen, protested.

"I don't want to wrestle," he said.

"Get over here. I'm going to try to keep you warm."

At length, she managed to haul his upper body 
across her legs, and Mulder cuddled closer.  She 
was indeed warmer than he was.  He smiled to think 
it; for so many months her hands had been ice to 
the touch as the cancer slowly drained her 
lifeblood away.

"One of us has to stay awake," he reminded her.

"You sleep, Mulder."

"Wake me if you get tired."  He closed his eyes and 
heard the night sounds of the forest.  "Why don't 
you sing something," he prodded her.

"Mulder, no."

"If you sing something, I'll know you're awake."

"Mulder, you don't want me to sing.  I can't carry 
a tune."

"It doesn't matter.  Just sing anything."

Mulder waited, holding his breath and blinking in 
the darkness.  Silence stretched out so long he 
thought she had refused for good.  But at last, she 
began: "Jeremiah was a bullfrog...was a good friend 
of mine."

Oh, she's awful, Mulder thought with secret 
delight.

"Chorus," he prompted when she stopped.

"Joy to the world," Scully sang, and Mulder closed 
his eyes again.  She had been right: they were 
learning something new about each other on this 
trip.

Scully reached the end of the song, but Mulder was 
not asleep.  His shoulder ached.  His toes were 
frozen.  And lingering worry about the invisible 
killers in the bushes kept his adrenaline in a low 
state of terror.

He shifted and Scully rubbed his back.  "You're 
supposed to be sleeping."

"Can't."

"We're going to be fine, Mulder.  I did not beat 
cancer just to die hiking in the Florida swamps."

"Wetlands."

"Whatever."

Mulder hugged her knees.  "What you were saying 
before, about finding meaning in death... did you?"

"I don't know.  I'll say this: it gives you 
clarity.  You find out really fast what has true 
meaning in your life."  Maybe he imagined it, but 
it felt like she squeezed him.  "They say that the 
day you die, you have complete freedom of speech.  
You can say anything and everything you've ever 
wanted to, and it doesn't matter."

Mulder tried to turn to peer up at her, but 
couldn't quite make it.  "Did you?  Say everything, 
I mean."

Scully was quiet a minute.  "I guess not," she 
allowed.  "After all, I'm still here."

This time he squeezed her.  

"Actually, I find myself thinking more about it 
now," Scully continued.  "I came back to my 
apartment and there were all my things, and I 
thought, this is what I would have left behind.  
Everything I had done, it was all I would ever do.  
You can see your life from beginning to end and all 
the choices you made or maybe didn't make."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Take Ethan for example.  I could have married him, 
and then who knows what would have happened?"

"You think maybe you should have married him?"

"No," she said quickly.  "That's not it at all.  
I'm glad I didn't marry him.  I can look back on my 
life and be sure it's the one I chose.  No 
regrets."

"No regrets is good," Mulder agreed.

Scully tried to rub some more warmth into him.  
"Mulder," she said, sounding curious, "have you 
ever wanted to be married?"

Mulder froze.  The answer was of course yes.  And 
then about six months later he had wanted to be 
divorced.  "Sure," he said in what he hoped was a 
casual tone.  "Who hasn't?"

"Who was she?"

"Hmm? Oh, you know, I was speaking more generally 
about the idea of finding someone to spend your 
life with."

"Oh."

Mulder hesitated a minute and then tapped her 
kneecap.  "I'll tell you this, though: if the rest 
of my life is spent here on the forest floor, I'll 
have been pleased to spend it with you."

He could practically hear her roll her eyes.  "Go 
to sleep, Mulder," she said, but she was smiling.  
And so finally, he did.

~*~*~*~ 

End chapter two.  Continued in chapter three.

Mucho thanks to the Amazing Amandeeni for beta 
services rendered!

Head ow.  Eyes ow.  The week can only get better 
from here, right?  How you doin'?  Let me know at 
syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Cheers, syn