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

LAWS OF MOTION

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

by syntax6

Chapter Four: Only You


"You want to tell me what we're doing here, Scully?"  
Mulder leaned down, obscuring her from view.

Scully paused from picking the lock on Rachel Campenella's 
front door.  "Do you need me to draw you a diagram?" she 
whispered back.

"When you asked me to meet you here, I didn't realize 
breaking and entering was on the menu for the evening."

Scully paused again to roll her eyes at him.  "If it's not 
a government defense facility, where's the challenge, is 
that it?"

The lock gave way to her insistent needling, and Scully 
cracked open the door.  Cool air hit her in the face; there 
was no need for much heat in an empty apartment.  The place 
smelled of dust and disinfectant.  

Scully groped blindly along the wall for a light switch, 
but Mulder's hand covered hers and stopped her.  "You are 
such a rookie," he said, pulling out his pocket flashlight.  
"Turn the lights on and everyone knows we're here."

"Good point," Scully said as she dug around in her deep 
coat pocket for her light.

"So what are we looking for?" Mulder asked.  Their beams 
crossed on the wall of Rachel's living room.

"I don't really know.  But did you see the paper this 
morning?  Senator Ryerson is pushing for Ethan to be 
charged in Rachel Campenella's murder too."

Mulder snorted.  "I just bet he is."

"Did you notice at Ethan's place that the cops took all his 
knives?  Bet you five to one they tested them all, hoping 
to find Rachel's murder weapon."

"And apparently found nothing," Mulder said as he shone his 
light over Rachel's bookshelf.  "I've got law books over 
here, some Japanese history, and a bunch of paperback 
murder mysteries."  He turned to Scully.  "I bet she never 
figured she'd end up starring in one."

"I don't think anyone expects to end up murdered," Scully 
replied as she wandered down the hall to find Rachel's 
office.  There was a bookshelf there, too, this one 
decorated with knick-knacks and photos as well as books.  
Scully picked up a jade turtle for inspection.

"Anything?" Mulder asked from behind her.

"These all look like family members to me," Scully said, 
shining her light across the photos.  "Family and maybe 
some girlfriends."

"Well, if you're having an affair with a senator, you 
probably don't want to advertise it."  Mulder started 
rifling through Rachel's desk.  "Looks like mostly personal 
bills and letters here," he said.  He tried a file cabinet.  
"It's locked."

While Mulder hunted around for a key, Scully discovered an 
answering machine.  "The tape's still in it," she said.  
After a closer look, she managed to retrieve the last 
messages.

"Rach, it's Mom.  I'm waiting outside."

Mulder winced.  "Little did she know," he said.

Scully rewound some more.  "Rachel, it's Dan," the machine 
said.  "If you want to talk, give me a call, okay?  I'll be 
up late."

Scully arched an eyebrow at Mulder.  "Now who do you 
suppose Dan is?"

"This guy?" Mulder held up a loose photograph he had 
apparently picked up from the top of the filing cabinet.  

Scully trained her flashlight on it and squinted.  The 
picture showed Rachel and a preppy-looking young man about 
her age, with wire-rimmed glasses and short, dark hair.  
They had their arms around each other.

"Check the phone logs for that night and we can get his 
full name," Scully said.  "Any luck with the file cabinet?"

"No sign of a key.  You want to bring your lock-picking 
skills over this way?"

"Sure, now you're impressed."  Scully smiled as she slid 
between him and the cabinet.  He held the light for her as 
she worked.  When the drawer slid open, it revealed a bunch 
of empty folders.

"Looks like we're a little late to this party," Mulder 
observed.

"I wonder why they left the answering machine tape."

"No idea, but whoever Dan is, you can bet they've found him 
first."


~*~*~

Mulder and Scully lounged against Mulder's Taurus in the 
Saturday morning sunshine.  They wore street clothes and 
held paper cups of coffee as they awaited the appearance of 
Dan Cooperstein.

"Nice neighborhood," Mulder observed over the rim of his 
cup.

Scully took in the manicured bushes, the tree-lined street 
and the neat row of brick townhouses.  "Pricey 
neighborhood," she said.  "The must pay assistant college 
professors more than they used to."

"Maybe I should take it up on the side," Mulder said.  
"Make some extra dough."

"I don't think they offer courses in man-eating flukeworms 
or astral projection."

"No, but they should."  Mulder took a gulp of coffee and 
nodded at the man jogging towards them.  "This look like 
our boy to you?"

Scully consulted the driver's license photo they had 
printed out of Dan Cooperstein.  "Yeah, that's him."

"Mr. Cooperstein?" Mulder called as the man started up the 
front steps of his townhouse.

Cooperstein turned and jogged back down.  "Who wants to 
know?"

Mulder held up his badge.  "I'm Agent Mulder, this is Agent 
Scully.  We'd like to ask you a couple of questions if you 
don't mind."

"About Rachel, right?"  He sighed.  "Sure, come on in."

Mulder and Scully took seats in his neat but Spartan living 
room.  Scully sat on the low sofa while Mulder perched on 
the end of a modern metal and leather chair.  Cooperstein 
reappeared with a towel around his shoulders and a bottle 
of water in his hands.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told the cops.  That SOB 
Ryerson killed her.  Maybe you can do something about it, 
because it's damn clear no one else can."

"What makes you so sure it's Ryerson?" Mulder asked.

"Rachel wanted out.  I don't think Ryerson took it too 
well."

"Out of their affair?" asked Scully.

"There never was any affair," Dan said.  "Ryerson wanted 
it, but Rachel kept putting him off.  That's part of why 
she was leaving."

"She was leaving the office?"

"Yeah, that's what she said.  She couldn't put up with his 
crap anymore.  I think he must have flipped when she told 
him, and that's when he killed her.  I don't imagine 'no' 
is a word he's used to hearing."

"What was your relationship with Rachel?" Mulder asked.

Dan toyed with the bottle top to his water.  "We'd been 
going out about six months," he said.  "Nothing too 
serious.  We were both so busy.  But I cared about her."

"How do you explain the people who saw Rachel and Ryerson 
at a hotel together?" Mulder wanted to know.

"Rachel told me about that.  He used to rent out a suite 
sometimes and work there.  Said it was for peace and 
privacy.  But I kept telling her it was an excuse to get 
her alone near a bedroom."

"When is the last time you spoke to Rachel?" Scully asked.

"The night before she died.  She said she'd had enough.  
She was going to tell him she was leaving.  I offered to 
come over, but she said no."  He shook his head.  "I 
shouldn't have listened to her.  I knew she was worried 
about him.  I never should have let her talk to him alone."

"Rachel was afraid of Ryerson?" Scully asked, surprised.  
Everything she had heard painted Rachel Campenella as a 
confident and capable woman who liked her boss and was able 
to handle herself in any situation.

"I don't know about afraid.  Worried.  She didn't think he 
would take their conversation well."  He hesitated.  "I 
told the detectives, so you may as well know too.  I think 
Ryerson may have hit her once before."

"When?" Mulder asked.

"About two months before she died.  We were having dinner 
and she showed up with a bruise on her left cheekbone."  He 
touched the spot on his own face.  "I asked her what 
happened, and she seemed really nervous.  She told me she 
had been hanging a picture at her apartment and the hammer 
slipped.  But I was at her apartment that weekend, and 
there was no new picture."

"You say you told all this to the police?"

"Fat lot of good it did, too." He looked from Mulder to 
Scully.  "Get this asshole, will you?  Rachel deserved so 
much better.  He gets away with this, and who knows what he 
might do next."

Later, as they left Cooperstein's home, Scully stopped on 
the front stoop and blew out a long breath.  "Now that's a 
new side of the story," she said.  "Her co-workers thought 
Rachel and Ryerson were having an affair.  Her family 
thought they were having an affair.  This guy says it was 
all in Rachel's head."

Mulder put on his sunglasses.  "Maybe that's what she 
wanted him to think."

~*~*~*~*~

Her first winter in the basement with Mulder, Scully had 
found it somewhat depressing.  Darkness fell early, 
entombing them in concrete, with their only company 
Mulder's various oddities peering out from their jars on 
the shelf.  Creature comforts indeed.

Nowadays she did not mind the way night settled outside and 
left them alone in their private world.  She had a hotplate 
for tea, the familiar clank of the heater, and the sound of 
Mulder's fingers trying to keep pace with his brain as he 
typed at the computer.  Her medical journals had their own 
shelf, and she had even grown to appreciate the creature 
collection now that she and they shared a history.  It was 
her flukeworm, too, dammit.

On this night, they had stayed longer than usual by tacit 
agreement, perhaps because this was the last time they 
would see each other for quite a while.  Scully was leaving 
for Christmas in San Diego in the morning.  The tiny potted 
fir tree on her table had reminded her all week of the 
coming trip.  This morning, Mulder had brought in a large 
glass ball decorated with snowflakes to add to the tree, so 
it now bent its head towards the window, as if yearning to 
join its larger brethren in the open air.

Scully smiled as she touched the ball.  She had not asked 
Mulder about his holiday plans, and he hadn't volunteered 
any when she had mentioned hers.  She hoped at the least he 
would not be alone.

As though he could read her thoughts, Mulder stretched like 
a large cat and swiveled his chair around to look at her.  
"It might be time to close up shop for the night, Scully.  
I understand Santa is fussy about showing up while people 
are awake."

"I was thinking the same thing," Scully replied as she 
tucked away her laptop.  She bit her lip, catching sight of 
Mulder's present nestled at the bottom of her briefcase.  
She had splurged this year on a special gift, one that had 
extra meaning for her, and she hoped, for him.  

But traditionally they exchanged small tokens, and she felt 
a bit chagrined about breaking the unspoken rules so 
assiduously.

When she sat up again, Mulder was smiling and waving a box 
at her.  "Looks like Santa snuck in a little early," he 
said.  "This one has your name on it."

Scully smiled too.  "What a coincidence.  I seem to have 
one here that has your name on it."  She handed him the 
much smaller box.

"You first," Mulder said, fidgeting.

Scully ripped off the red and gold striped paper and took 
the lid off the box.  Inside rested a selection of granola 
bars and the Gunmen's latest magazine.  

"For your trip," Mulder explained quickly.  "To keep busy 
on the plane."

Scully sat back and smiled up at him.  "Thank you, Mulder.  
That's very thoughtful."

He ducked his head, seemingly shy.  "I hope you haven't 
read it already."

Scully checked out the cover story. GENETICALLY ENGINEERED 
EGGPLANT: WHAT THE GOVERNMENT DOESN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW.

"I can honestly say I haven't."

Mulder sat on the corner of his desk and began ripping off 
the paper on his present.  Scully held her breath.  He 
stopped short at the jeweler's box, and she made herself 
not flinch.

He looked over at her with a question on his face, but she 
said nothing.  Mulder opened the box.

"Oh, wow," he said as he removed the silver watch inside.  
"Scully, this is, um, it's really nice."

"I know it's more than we usually do," she said in a rush.  
"I just saw it and I wanted you to have it."

"It's inscribed," Mulder said, as if she didn't know. He 
read aloud: "To the man always looking for lost time.  
Love, Scully."

He looked up, clearly at a loss for words.  Scully rose 
from her chair with her things and crossed to stand next to 
him.

"It's too much," he protested.

"It's not."

"But I got you magazines and granola."

Her heart lodged in her throat and she swallowed carefully 
before speaking.  "No," she said, taking his hand and 
looking directly into his eyes.  "This year, I wanted to 
get you what you've given me: the gift of time."

His fingers closed over hers and he gave her a warm 
squeeze.  "Merry Christmas, Scully," he murmured.

She stretched out and kissed his cheek.  "Merry Christmas, 
Mulder."

~*~*~

Christmas night, Mulder lay on his couch, half-watching 
Bill Murray as Mr. Scrooge, and half-wondering what on 
earth he could get Scully to make up for his lame Christmas 
gift.  

Jewelry, maybe?  She wore an occasional pin, he thought, 
though he could not recall any specifically, and this made 
him question whether he was hallucinating the whole thing.  
Rings of any sort were just out.  Too much symbolism and 
latent meaning there.  Perhaps earrings?  He could just 
hear his conversation with the jeweler now:  "I'm looking 
for something that says, I think you're the coolest chick 
who's ever busted me out of the DOD."

Mulder threw an arm over his eyes in despair. He was 
doomed.  Not that he would really trust himself to pick out 
jewelry in the first place.  Good stuff and bad stuff 
looked pretty much the same to him.  He was like a raccoon 
when it came to jewelry: oooh, shiny!

He was still agonizing when his phone rang.  Mulder looked 
at the clock in mild surprise at who might be calling so 
late.  He had already spoken to his mother that morning, 
and he had eaten dinner at noontime with the Gunmen.

"Hello," he said.

"Mulder, it's me."

"Scully!"  He settled back onto the couch with a big smile 
on his face.  "Merry Christmas.  Although, I don't know how 
it can be Christmas out there where it's sunny and seventy 
degrees.  Does Santa wear sunglasses and Bermuda shorts on 
his California run?"

"Merry Christmas to you too," she said, but her voice 
sounded odd.

"What's up?" he asked her.  "Family driving you mad 
already?"

"No, that's not it."  He could hear her take a deep breath.  
"Do you have a minute?  I need to talk to you."

"Of course."  Mulder sat up and put his feet on the floor.  
His pulse spiked and he felt his face flush, and he wasn't 
even sure why.  "What is it, Scully?"

"I got involved in an unusual case here, Mulder.  I won't 
even bother you with how right now, but I've been working 
with the San Diego police on the murder of a young mother.  
It looked like maybe her husband did it, but now the case 
is more complicated.  He has been murdered too."

"Okay," Mulder said slowly.  "Do you have any suspects?"

"Not really, but that's not why I'm calling."  She paused, 
and Mulder felt the tension pulling him apart like taffy.  
"They had a daughter, a three year old girl named Emily, 
whom they adopted.  I thought for a time she might be my 
sister's baby."

"Melissa had a baby?"

"Apparently not."  Scully stopped again.  "Mulder, I ran 
the tests.  The results say I am Emily's mother."

The floor seemed to fall out from under him.  He wasn't 
sure he had heard her correctly over the buzzing in his 
ears.  "I'm sorry, what?  Did you say you are Emily's 
mother?"

"The DNA doesn't lie."

"I don't know what to say," Mulder admitted.  He had his 
head in his hands, the phone caught between his chin and 
his shoulder.  

"I know it's a shock," Scully replied, her voice thick.  
"It was to me too.  But you'll like her, Mulder.  She's 
sweet and smart and so serious it about breaks your heart.  
No one should have to go through what this poor girl has 
gone through in the past two days.  She's lost both parents 
inside of forty-eight hours.  If you think I'm reeling, you 
should see Emily."

He imagined a tiny child with red hair and blue marble 
eyes.  "What's... what's going to happen to her?" he asked, 
fearing he already knew the answer.

"I've filed for adoption," Scully answered softly.

Mulder held back a curse.  He got up and started pacing the 
length of his living room.  No way Scully could raise a 
preschooler and work on the X-Files at the same time.  It 
was just not possible.

"Mulder?" she said, sounding a little desperate.  "Are you 
still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here.  I'm just trying to take this all in."

"You and me both."

"Scully, have you thought about where this child came from 
at all?"  He knew very well she had never given birth.  He 
had her medical records filed away along with the rest of 
the X-files.

"It's all I've thought about.  I understand the 
implications here."  She sounded teary and exhausted, and 
he felt like a heel for asking.  "I think it's pretty clear 
that she must be the result of the same experiments that 
were conducted on me four and a half years ago.  I know 
that.  But she's my child, Mulder.  I can't ignore that."

"I just think maybe you need all the facts before you make 
a decision here."

"I have the facts.  Emily's parents are both dead.  She's 
sick and alone, and right now, I'm all that little girl 
has.  I can't turn my back on that.  Could you?"

"No," Mulder admitted, closing his eyes.

He heard Scully blowing her nose.  "I was hoping you could 
come out here," she said.

It was the closest she had ever come to admitting she 
needed him.  Mulder took his suitcase out of the closet.  
"I'm on my way," he said.

~*~*~

On the plane across the country, Mulder thought of a dozen 
reasons why he should not support Scully's petition for 
custody.  She did not know the full story behind her 
reproductive issues.  He knew this was partially his fault, 
given that he had failed to mention he had a vial of her 
ova cooling in the deep freeze.  But if they were truly 
making babies out of her eggs, there could be a hundred 
little Emilys out there somewhere.  Did Scully think she 
could adopt them all?

These were genetic experiments with possible alien DNA.  
Scully would deny this, of course, but he knew better.  
Emily could have serious health issues, possibly even 
lethal ones.  Scully could not send the little girl to 
preschool to have her demonstrate her shape-shifting 
ability, or worse, spray the room with some sort of alien 
toxin.

And, perhaps the most scary possibility of all, if Emily 
were part of the same ongoing experimental project he had 
witnessed before, then her keepers would be coming after 
her soon.  They would either destroy her to hide the 
evidence, destroy Scully and take the girl, or just kill 
them both and be done with it.

Mulder had all these arguments and more lined up as he 
entered the doors of the San Diego County Children's 
special needs ward.  Scully understood logic better than 
anyone.  She would see the truth in his words.

But then he found Scully on the floor of the children's 
room, coloring with a small blonde girl, and all logic went 
out the window.  Scully looked up and gave him a smile but 
did not say anything.

Mulder crouched down between them.  Emily had Scully's 
white-pink skin, her rosebud mouth, and her serious 
demeanor.

"Emily?" Scully said.  "I'd like you to meet a friend of 
mine.  His name is Mulder.  Remember, I told you about 
him?"

Mulder felt a rush of pleasure than he had merited a 
discussion.  He waved to Emily, but she kept coloring.

"She's a little shy," Scully explained.

"What are you coloring?" Mulder asked.

"A potato," Emily answered.

"Have you ever seen Mr.Potato head?  He looks like this."  
Mulder puffed out his cheeks and crossed his eyes, causing 
Emily to smile.

Mulder knew then for good that logic was a lost cause.

~*~*~

Back at Bill Scully's base housing that night, Scully's 
family gave them concerned looks but a wide berth.  Mulder 
took an uneasy seat on the sofa in front of the Christmas 
tree.  Scully took the other end.

"Thank you for testifying for me today," she said.  "I know 
you have reservations about this."

"I have reservations about the situation that led you this 
point," Mulder countered.  "Not about you, and not about 
Emily.  She's beautiful, Scully."

Scully gave a sad smile.  "Yeah, she is.  But she's got a 
very serious form of anemia, one that's incurable.  No 
matter what happens with my application, she's got a tough 
road ahead."  She turned and looked at him.  "Why didn't 
you tell me?"

Mulder thought about everything he *still* hadn't told her 
and his mouth went dry.  Little did Scully know that *you 
have no ova left* was just the tip of the iceberg.

"I never expected this.  I thought I was protecting you," 
he said at length.

Scully must have been too tired to fight because she seemed 
to accept this.  "Why would they do this to me?"

"I only know that genetic experiments were being done, that 
children were being created."

"Children being created for who?"

Mulder shrugged.  "For who?  For what?  I don't know."

The phone rang then, and Scully went to answer it.  The 
next thing Mulder knew they were rushing a very sick Emily 
to the emergency room.

~*~*~

Emily Sim lived just six days after that, though Scully 
lived a lifetime on the other side of glass, helpless as a 
virus devoured the daughter she barely knew.

Mulder confined himself to the background, helping in the 
only way he knew how: tracking leads about Emily's 
surrogate mother.  He found her in an old age home with a 
dozen other geriatric mothers.  This discovery he meant to 
tell Scully, but every time he saw her, she was standing 
sentry over her dying daughter.  So Mulder kept another 
secret.

He stood next to her at Emily's casket with three white 
roses in his hand, one for each year the girl had lived.  
Scully had her usual stiff upper lip; she had not cried or 
grieved.  She did not let him touch her.

"Who are the men who would create a life whose only hope 
was to die?" she asked in a raw voice.

Mulder searched himself for an answer.  "I don't know.  But 
that fact that you found her, and had a chance to love 
her... then maybe she was meant for that too."

He wanted to hug her, but he didn't dare.  Scully was 
deathly quiet on the way home, pale and withdrawn.  She 
seemed eager to get away from her family and San Diego, so 
Mulder accompanied her on a plane back to D.C. that very 
night.

The sunset was beautiful above the clouds, the sky turning 
fiery orange before fading into baby pink as it drifted 
towards twilight.  Mulder had the window, and he watched 
the lights wink on in the cities far below.

Beside him, Scully shifted.  "What are you thinking about?" 
she asked, which struck him as a strange question given the 
events of the day.

"Nothing," he said.  "It's nice to be going home."

"Detective Kresge told me what you found at the old age 
home," she said, and Mulder felt his face go hot.

"I was going to tell you," he said.  "I swear."

She put her hand on his arm.  "It's okay."  Her head lolled 
back on the seat.  "Does it seem late to you?  I feel like 
it's the middle of the night."

"Yeah."  Mulder fell quiet again, looking at the 
constellations of cities on the earth below them.

"What?" Scully asked again.

He sighed.  "I wonder about the fathers.  Where are the 
fathers?"

"I've wondered too."  Scully sat up.  "It's possible they 
might not need them.  If they are really doing the kind of 
genetic experiments you say they are, perhaps Emily has two 
mothers."

"That's really possible?"

"In theory, yes."

"Huh."  Mulder leaned back and closed his eyes.  He thought 
of Emily's smile and felt the weight of her in his arms as 
he had carried her to the hospital.  He could still smell 
the salt of her skin.

Science could remove the father from biology, he thought, 
but never from the heart.

~*~*~

Their red eye dropped them off with red eyes just as dawn 
broke over Washington, D.C.. Mulder insisted on seeing 
Scully back to her apartment.  "I can make breakfast," she 
said through a large yawn.

"I'll take a rain check," he said.  "You need some rest."

"So do you," she protested, just as her phone rang.  
"Probably my mother making sure I got home okay."  Scully 
moved to answer the phone as Mulder hovered with his car 
keys by the door.

"Hello?  Ethan?  What's going on?"

Mulder froze in mid-exit.

"Ethan, now isn't the greatest time.  Oh."  Scully looked 
at her watch.  "Okay.  Okay, yes.  I'm on my way."

"What was that about?" Mulder asked as she hung up.

"Ethan remembered something important about the case he 
wants to tell me, and he doesn't think he should say it 
over the prison phone.  He's been trying me for days."

They both looked at the flashing red light on her machine.  
Scully put on the coat she had just taken off five minutes 
earlier.

"Scully, wait.  This is insane.  You haven't really slept 
in a week.  Ethan can hang on another twenty-four hours."

"I'll take a cab," she said as she yawned again.  "It'll be 
okay."

"No," Mulder said, surprising them both with his firmness.  
"You rest.  I will go see Ethan."

She blinked.  "You'll do that?"

"I'll go right now, okay?  I'll call you later and tell you 
what he said." He put his hands on her shoulders, which 
sagged under the gentle pressure.

"Thank you, Mulder."

He tried to pull her closer for a hug, but she twisted 
away.  "I'll call you," he said again.

Scully was already heading for the bedroom.

~*~

"Where's Dana?" Ethan asked as Mulder came through the 
meeting room door.

"Hello to you too."  Mulder pulled out the chair across 
from him, flipped it around, and sat down.

"I'm sorry.  It's just that Dana said on the phone she was 
coming."

"Yeah, you and me, we need to talk about that."

Ethan looked blank. 

Mulder continued: "Every other day, you call up and expect 
her to drop everything and run down here.  I get that 
you're in a nasty situation, but you can't keep running 
Scully ragged on your behalf.  She didn't do this to you, 
and it's not up to her to get you out.  She's not on your 
case.  She's not even in your life anymore.  So enough with 
the constant demands already."

"Oh, so that's it.  You think this is about me trying to 
win her back?"  Ethan gave a humorless laugh.  "That's 
rich.  Let me tell you something, Agent Mulder -- I can 
promise you romance is about the last thing on my mind 
right now."

"No, apparently Dana is the last thing on your mind.  Did 
you know she was sick?"

Ethan looked shocked.  Mulder nodded.

"That's right, she had cancer and nearly died a few months 
ago.  Did you even ask her how she's been, or did you just 
start assigning her errands?"

"I asked," Ethan said.  "She didn't tell me."

"No, she wouldn't," Mulder agreed.  "So I am. You're not 
the only one with problems.  Yours is not the only pain in 
the universe, so I'd appreciate it if you could stop it 
with the prison summons."

Ethan swallowed.  "Is she going to be okay?"

For an instant, Mulder felt guilty for even letting the man 
stew.  "She's doing much better.  She's even in remission.  
But my point still stands."

"It's a good point," Ethan agreed.  "Tell her I'm sorry."

Mulder ran both hands through his hair.  God, it felt like 
he had been awake for years.  "All right, then.  Tell me 
what was so important."

"God, it will probably sound really stupid now.  I'm such a 
jerk."

"Ethan!"  Mulder waited until the other man looked him in 
the eyes.  "I got up yesterday morning in San Diego, okay?  
I am not looking to hang around here any longer than 
necessary."

"Sorry.  I just wanted to say I remembered something that 
might help with the case.  A few days before she left -- I 
mean, a few days before she was leaving, Melinda got a 
phone call from a cop she had dated.  The cop said he might 
have a lead on an angle for us on the Rachel Campenella 
murder.  Melinda called him back but didn't reach him.  
That was the last I heard."

"What was the cop's name?"

"George Fussy.  I remember laughing because it's not your 
usual tough-guy kind of name."

"Any idea where he works?"

"In the city.  I don't know what station.  It might be in 
Melinda's notes."

"The cops have them all.  Hers and yours."

Ethan sighed, and Mulder felt another twinge of pity.  
"Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

Mulder rapped the table and stood up.  "We'll check it out, 
okay?"

"Thanks.  I owe you guys big time.  And I promise to be 
less demanding."

Mulder looked around at the dreary concrete walls.  It 
smelled like mold and, in one corner, water dripped into a 
bucket.  "I think I'd go crazy in here too."

"Be sure to tell Dana I said sorry."

"I will."

"Will you?"

This got Mulder's attention.  Ethan was staring right at 
him.  "I said I would."

"You loved her.  I know you did.  But you never said 
anything."

Mulder dropped his gaze to the cement floor.  "It's more 
complicated than you know," he answered at last.

"Funny."  Ethan folded his arms across his chest.  "From 
where I'm sitting, it looks like the easiest thing in the 
world."

~*~

Mulder returned home and slept like the dead for many 
hours.  When he awoke again, it was dark and someone was 
banging on his door.  He stumbled through the apartment, 
turning on the entryway light at the last possible second.

"Yeah?" he said, pulling open the door and squinting into 
the hallway.

Scully stood hunched and small in his line of vision.  Her 
face held no color and she seemed to be struggling to 
speak.  He guided her inside.

"Scully, what's wrong?"

She stared up at him.   "Mulder, I was gone for months."

Oh, Scully, he thought.  I know.  Believe me, I know.  
"Yes," he agreed simply.

"I don't understand," she said.  "I don't understand why 
this happened to me."

"I wish I could tell you.  I wish that more than anything."

"I have no memories."

"I know."

She turned huge eyes to his.  "What was it like here?  What 
was it like while I was gone?"

Mulder hesitated for a minute and then grabbed his shoes.  
"I'll show you," he said.

They drove all the way to Skyland Mountain.  As the car 
began climbing the stead ascent, Scully sunk lower in her 
seat.  

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Have you ever been here before?"

"No," she answered, and he thought that was telling.  She 
had read the reports.  She knew the facts of what had 
happened during her abduction by Duane Barry.

"We can turn back if you want," Mulder offered.

Scully set her jaw.  "No," she said.  "I want to see."

They drove until they ran out of mountain, to the very top, 
where the trees thinned into rocky cliffs and grassy hills.  
Mulder parked the car and led her to the point of her 
disappearance.  

The night was still and clear, but cold.  Stars scattered 
the sky, and he watched as Scully searched it for some sort 
of meaning.

"I came here a lot," he told her.  "I used to sit here for 
hours and think."

"About what?"

"Where I had gone wrong.  What, if anything, I might have 
missed.  I think part of me kept hoping you would reappear 
here."

Scully reached out and patted his arm.  "It's so quiet," 
she said as she took a seat on the grass.

Mulder joined her.  "It always was, except for that night."

"I don't remember any of it."  She sat forward with her 
arms over her knees.  

"And I can't forget," Mulder replied quietly.  He picked at 
the grass near his hip.  "I was just a few minutes too 
late.  If I had just been a little faster..."

"Don't," she said.  "We can't play that game."

"I never even saw you," he whispered.  "Just Duane Barry 
and the lights."

Scully shook her head slowly.  "I feel so empty, sometimes, 
you know?  It's just a few months out of my life, just a 
small portion of my memory, but sometimes it feels like... 
like... well, this."  She indicated the giant cavern at the 
edge of the cliff.  "Insurmountable."

"Yeah."

"You can't imagine what it's like to have such a huge 
dramatic thing happen to you, and yet come out of the 
experience with only confusion and questions."

"Actually, I think I have some idea."

Scully turned and looked at him.  "Yes, I guess you would 
be the one person who would.  What a pair we make, huh?"

He tossed some grass at her, and she smiled.  He was glad 
to see some of her color returning.

"Do you ever have a dream that seems so real that you think 
it happened?" she asked.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I mean really real."

"Well, a few weeks ago, I dreamed you and I took a 
Frankenstein monster to a Cher concert."

Scully laughed.  "You did not."

"I did!  And I, uh, I asked you to dance."  He risked a 
sideways look to see how she was taking this news.  

She was smiling.  "Now we know it's a dream.  You don't 
dance, Mulder."

"How do you know?"

"Call it instinct."

"Well, it just so happens your instincts are wrong in this 
case," he informed her.  "I had a full year of dance 
lessons when I was young, and I'm proud to say everyone's 
toes survived intact."

Scully still looked skeptical.  

"Okay, then, I'll prove it."  He tugged her up from the 
ground.

"No, Mulder, that's really okay.  You don't have to prove 
anything.  I believe you."

"Nope, too late."  He half-dragged her back across the 
grass to the car, where he rolled down the window and 
turned on the radio.  He had three stations to choose from, 
so he stopped on a slowish song from the 1950s.  "May I?" 
he asked, extending his hand to Scully.

She gave him a dubious look, but put her cold hand in his.  
Mulder pulled her closer and easily found the beat.  They 
maneuvered around in gentle circles for a few minutes, and 
a smile spread over Scully's face.
"You're pretty good at this, Mulder."

"Told you."

She was quiet a moment.  "But Mulder, Cher?"

"It all made sense in the dream."

"If you say so."

And then, to his shock, she laid her head on his shoulder.  
Mulder folded her closer still and rested his cheek against 
the top of her head.  They continued dancing until the 
music ended.

Before he could say anything, Scully reached around and 
hugged him fiercely.  She seemed tense and desperate, not 
joyful.  Mulder patted her back awkwardly and murmured into 
her hair, "Scully, are you okay?"

"No," she said, her voice muffled against his thick wool 
coat.  "But I will be."

~*~*~*~*~*~

End chapter four.  Continued in chapter five.

Sadly for Amanda, Mulder still has all his clothes on.  
Fortunately for me, she is willing to read anyway! Thanks, 
Amanda!

It's like that scene from "Major League." For every piece 
of feedback, Mulder loses an article of clothing!  Okay, 
not really, but feedback is still great: syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Thanks for reading!