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

LAWS OF MOTION

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

Chapter Eight: XXX

Mulder sat in his apartment with only the yellow light of 
the floor lamp for company.  For dinner, he had consumed 
two beers.  He had been staring at the blank TV screen for 
at least an hour but had not bothered to turn it on.  
Instead, he took a quarter on a rolling tour of his leg, 
down the thigh, around the kneecap and back 

"Heads I do it," he said to the empty room.  "Tails I 
don't."

He flipped the coin high in the air, caught it, closed his 
eyes, and turned it over on his leg.  He peeked with one 
eye at the result: tails.

"Two out of three," he said, and flipped it again.  The 
next time it came down heads.  Mulder flipped the coin a 
third time and the result was the same: heads.

He blinked and fingered the ridged edge of the quarter.

"Best three out of five," he said. 

The problem was, like the coin, Scully only had two sides: 
meet her for one night of sex or...

He caught the coin in midair and froze.  Or what?  She 
hadn't actually specified.  Mulder wondered what she would 
say if he asked her to clarify his options; he suspected he 
might not like the answer.  Besides, just how would he 
phrase that question -- hey, Scully, what's the runner-up 
prize after a night of "no strings" sex?

Mulder grabbed a pillow from the end of his couch and 
muffled a scream of frustration.  The irony was, if she 
could have remembered how awkward their last one-nighter 
had been, he was pretty sure she wouldn't be pushing for an 
encore.

His phone rang, jolting his face from the pillow, but he 
made no move to answer.  What if it were Scully demanding 
an answer?  He chewed his lip as the phone continued its 
shrill wake-up call.  

At the last second, Mulder lunged for the receiver.  He 
didn't want her to have to leave some sort of awkward sex 
message on his machine.  "Hello," he said, cringing and 
trying to sound casual all at once.

The momentary silence on the other end increased his dread, 
but when the person spoke, the voice did not belong to 
Scully.  "Mulder," said a man he did not recognize.  "I'm a 
fan of your work."

Mulder sat up, instantly alert for trouble.  The last time 
he had gotten one of these calls, Scully had ended up in 
the emergency room.  "My own personal fan club, huh?" he 
said, getting up to go record the call.

"I heard you speak in Boston," the man said.  "I think we 
might have a lot to talk about."

"Oh, yeah?  Cause I don't know about you, but I think the 
Red Sox are in trouble this year."

"You're awfully flip for a government man."

"This is my customary courtesy for anonymous phone calls.  
Give me a name and maybe you'll get a new attitude."

"The name is Spartan."

"Okay, Mr. Spartan," Mulder said as he peeked out the 
window to see if anyone was watching the building.  "What 
did you want to talk to me about?"

"You had some interesting things to say about the 
government, about the men in charge who are destroying this 
country.  There are some of us in a position to stop them."

Spartan, Mulder thought, flipping through his mental files 
as he tried to place the name.

"Stop them how?"

"I can't say any more on the phone," replied the man.  "You 
want more, you're going to have to meet me."

Mulder looked at his watch.  "A blind date, eh?  Where and 
when?"

"Tomorrow seven PM.  The Dirty Dozen theater on South 
Street.  Buy a ticket for the seven o'clock show and sit 
near the emergency exit."

Mulder had about fifty flip answers for that one, but he 
kept his mouth shut this time.  "How will I know you?"

"I'll find you," said the man, and hung up the phone.   

Mulder rested the receiver against his stomach and tried to 
think.  Spartan, the man had said.  Someone who could stop 
the government.

"Holy shit," Mulder blurted as he hit on the answer: the 
New Spartans.  A small but growing army of sophisticated 
underground terrorists.  And now they apparently had his 
home phone number.   "Shit," he said again, and ran a hand 
through his hair. 

Whatever invitation the Spartans had for him, he was 
reasonably sure he did not want to RSVP.  Last year their 
name had come up in conjunction with a raid on a biotech 
company outside of Madison, Wisconsin.  Two murders and a 
quarter ton of explosive chemicals later, the Spartans 
disappeared again and had not come up for air since.

Mulder's phone rang in his hand and he punched the "talk" 
button.  "Yeah, Mulder," he said, still distracted.

"Hello to you too," Scully replied, sounding annoyed.

"Scully!  Hey.  I, uh, I was going to call you."

"I've saved you the trouble."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"So what were you going to say," Scully asked, "when you 
called me?"

"Um, I was going to make sure you hadn't changed your mind.  
You know, about what we talked about earlier on the 
basketball court."  He winced, fearing the answer.

"I recall the conversation.  No, I haven't changed my 
mind."

"Oh."  He took a deep breath.  "So then I was wondering 
about details.  If I said yes--"

"Are you saying yes?"

"I said, "if.'  If I said yes, how do you see this 
working?"

Another long pause.  "I have an 8th grade biology text I 
could lend you."

Live by the cheap shot, die by the cheap shot, Mulder 
thought as he repressed a sigh.  "No, I mean, your place, 
my place... did you want to fly down to Puerto Rico and 
relive the whole thing?"

"That would be stupid."

"Yes," Mulder agreed baldly, hoping she was coming to her 
senses.  "Yes, it would."

"I think maybe a hotel," Scully said.  "Your place or my 
place might be too personal."

"Scully, we're talking about sex here.  Personal is already 
part of the equation."
"You're the one who asked the question."

Mulder rubbed his eyes with one hand and sank down into the 
sofa.  "Okay then, a hotel.  When did you want to do this?"

For the first time, trepidation crept into Scully's voice.  
"You're saying you'll do it?"

Really, he was buying time more than anything.  Time for 
her to reconsider.  Time for him to think up a good answer.  
"Name the hotel and I'll be there."

He could actually hear her swallow.  "I...I don't know.  
I'll book one and let you know."

"Okay, good.  Time?"  As if they were just discussing their 
next flight out of National. 

"Tomorrow?" she ventured.  "E-eight o'clock?"

Oh, no, Mulder thought, head in his hands.  Spartans at 
seven and sex with Scully at eight.  His social calendar 
was suddenly a little messy.   

"Um, could we make it earlier?  Say three?"

"Mulder, that's the afternoon!"

"So?"

"It's Easter.  I--I have church."

"You have church until three in the afternoon?"

"No, but I need time."

Mulder was tempted to ask what she needed time for, but 
decided it was better not to go there.  "I, uh, I can't 
make it at eight," he said.

"Why?"  Scully sounded suspicious.

"I just can't.  Unmovable commitment."  He imagined Scully 
sitting there wondering what on earth he would not cancel 
for sex.  He could hardly believe it himself.  But part of 
him wasn't sure that the Spartans wouldn't come looking for 
him if he failed to show; he didn't figure Scully would 
appreciate an audience.

Scully sighed.  "You know, Mulder, if your heart's not in 
this..."

"I wasn't under the impression it was my heart you were 
after," he said, more sharply than he'd intended.

"Fine," she said stiffly.  "Forget the whole thing."

"Scully..."  Mulder got up and began pacing his living room.  
"I'll meet you.  I just can't do tomorrow night."

"Tell me when then," she answered.

Mulder hesitated.  "Monday?  Tuesday?"

"After work?"  She sounded scandalized again.

"After work would probably be preferable to during, don't 
you think?"  He smiled for the first time.

"I--I think we should wait for a weekend," she said.  "Just 
in case."

In case of what? he wondered.  "It's your party."

"Next weekend then," she said.  "Unless you have other 
unmovable commitments."

"All clear.  I'm penciling you into my day calendar as we 
speak."

She let out a long breath.  "Okay, then.  Next Saturday 
would be okay."  She hesitated.  "Thanks, Mulder, for doing 
this."

She sounded approachable for the first time in days, and 
his own guard began to slip.  "Scully, can't we talk about 
it some more?  I really think--"

"No," she said swiftly.  "I don't have any memories to talk 
about.  What could I say?"

"This plan won't change that," he reminded her.

"Maybe it will.  Maybe I'd remember."

Oh, Scully, he thought.  If you're putting all your eggs in 
that basket...

"I'll talk to you later," she said before he could answer 
her.  "And I'll let you know where for Saturday."

She hung up, and Mulder replaced the receiver in its cradle 
with a heavy sigh.  Two phone calls and two X-rated dates, 
he thought.  Zippity-fucking-doo-dah.

~*~*~*~*~

Scully put on a sunny dress and went to Easter mass, but 
she had a hard time paying attention.  Considering the 
circumstances, she hoped God would forgive her scattered 
thoughts.  

She sat on the crowded pew with ordinary families who would 
be returning to ordinary lives.  Children squirmed in tiny 
suits and frilly dresses.  Grandmothers wore tilted hats 
and white gloves.  Everyone looked forward to the Easter 
feast to follow.

These people had not been shot at, kidnapped, or medically 
raped.  They had not had their siblings abducted or their 
sisters killed or their father's brains splattered all over 
the living room floor.  These cherub-cheeked children had 
chocolate bunnies at home and dogs in the backyard and 
parents who tucked them in safe at night.  They watched 
cartoons sprawled on the living room floor, not from inside 
an ICU isolation ward.

Scully blinked back tears at these families and tried not 
to be so angry.  

"God gave his only child for you," said Father McCue to the 
congregation.  "And today we celebrate his everlasting 
gift."

Scully knew she should be grateful.  For the first time, 
she could appreciate what an enormous sacrifice God and 
Mary had made, yielding their only child and watching him 
die a slow, torturous death.  But on this day, her anger 
simmered and all she could think was what had been taken 
from her. 

Jesus had died and she got eternal life.

Emily had died and so far, all she had received in return 
was unending pain.

The service ended but Scully did not stick around to mingle 
with the other parishioners.  She kept her head down and 
hurried for the door before anyone could stop her and ask 
how she was doing.  God forbid she actually told them the 
truth.

She had cleared the heavy church doors before a voice 
called her back. "Dana," said Father McCue, leaning out to 
get her attention over the heads of the others.  "Do you 
have a moment?  I'd like to speak to you in private."

~*~*~

Ominous gray clouds rolled in during the afternoon, and as 
Mulder left his apartment, thunder cracked the sky open and 
unleashed sheets of rain.  He yanked the collar of his 
leather jacket up over his head and raced for the car.  The 
engine turned over with a rheumatoid cough, as if 
protesting the ugly working conditions.

Mulder snapped on the headlights and headed for the sex 
theater.  He figured the Spartans would expect him to be 
armed, so he saw no point in hiding his weapon.  Briefly, 
he wondered if they might creep up behind him while he was 
watching a three-way and put a hole in his head.  But they 
seemed to want to be friends, for some unknown reason, and 
a singular murder was hardly their style in any case.

Mulder arrived at six-thirty, a half hour early, and slid 
some crumpled bills across the booth to the bald, 
disinterested fat man on the other side.  He pocketed the 
stub and followed the worn red carpet to the main theater.  

Cheesy muzak played through the poor-quality speakers while 
still advertisements for local porn shops broadcast in 
slide-show form on the blank screen.  Mulder lingered near 
the back as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting.  He 
spotted a few male heads among the seats, but no one was 
there with a buddy.  The room smelled like forced-air 
heating and stale cigarettes. 

Mulder noted the glowing exit sign on the far wall and 
dutifully took the seat nearest it.  The spring inside the 
fake leather cushion nearly goosed him in the ass; Mulder 
suppressed a curse and moved over one chair.

He bounced his leg up and down and tried not to look around 
too much.  You didn't want to get caught checking out the 
clientele in a place like this.  The screen flashed an ad 
for quality, life-like dildos, and Mulder blanched 
momentarily: what if the meeting place was some sort of 
sign about what the Spartan guy wanted him for?

Hey, Mulder, you wanna come back to my place and see my 
stolen DOD files?  Blow me or I'll blow you away?

At quarter to seven, his cell-phone vibrated in his pocket.  
Mulder withdrew it and saw Scully's number glowing on the 
screen.  He debated for a moment just ignoring her, but 
decided there might be hell to pay.  And perhaps the news 
was good; she might have changed her mind.

Mulder ducked out the way he came in, through the front 
door, but discovered he couldn't get a strong enough signal 
to call her back.  Thunder rocked the theater, reminding 
him of the inclement weather.  He peered outside and saw a 
phone booth visible through the pouring rain.  Once again, 
he trotted between the drops.

"Hey, Scully," he said when she picked up. "I'm returning 
your call."  He checked his watch.  Ten minutes now until 
his blind date showed up. 

"Hi... uh, something's come up. I was, uh, hoping that you 
could do me a favor."

He thought she sounded strange, but it was hard to hear her 
over the beating rain.  "Why? What's going on?"

"This isn't official FBI business so I was hoping that we 
could keep it outside of work." 

A car pulled up in the driveway behind him.  "Hey, look," 
he said, "I'm, uh ... I'm kind of tailing a possible suspect 
right now, so I'm kind of rushed, so, uh... "

"I need some birth and adoptive records on a Dara Kernof."

"Who?"

"Dara Kernof. I can't tell you much more than that, Mulder. 
I'm sorry." 

"You want to give me a hint? Anything?"

"Not until you get me those records."

Mulder wondered if maybe he had other secret children.  Or 
if she did.  His stomach sank.  But it was clear Scully was 
not giving any more details at the moment, and Miss Manners 
always said it was rude to keep a terrorist waiting.  "All 
right," he said, "I'll talk to you later."

He dashed back into the theater and slumped in his chair.  
The film started playing, flickering images of large 
breasts and oily-looking men across the screen.  Mulder 
barely had time to catch his breath when the emergency door 
opened and a tall, dark figure slipped inside.  

The man took the seat behind Mulder and Mulder resisted the 
temptation to turn around for a better look.  He sat there, 
the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, and held his 
breath. 

As the first blonde, boobed woman lost her top, the man 
leaned forward and whispered in Mulder's ear.  "Agent 
Mulder, how would you like to help us change the world?"

~*~*~

At ten that night, Scully tried Mulder's cell phone and got 
his voice mail.  Next she tried him at home.  The phone 
rang unanswered.

Scully pushed the hang up button down with two fingers and 
hesitated, the receiver still cradled by her chin.  Off 
pursuing a suspect, he had said, but he had not mentioned 
who.  Scully suspected he was just avoiding her.

She did not call back and leave a message.

~*~

Across town, Skinner paced the length of his office while 
Mulder sprawled on the sofa with one arm covering his face.  
"And you have no idea what it is the New Spartans want from 
you?" Skinner asked for the tenth time, as if Mulder would 
suddenly recall a demand for illegal weapons, access to the 
FBI database, or an order for three dozen chocolate chip 
cookies.

"All he said was that my beliefs seemed in line with theirs 
and that he thought we could work toward a common goal."

"Which is?"

"Exposing the fraud in the government."

"Mulder, you are the government."

Mulder sat up with a sigh.  "Yeah, I think that's why they 
picked me.  I'm an easy way in, but into *what* 
specifically, I don't know yet.  They said they would be in 
touch."

Skinner stopped near one end of the couch, casting a long 
shadow over Mulder.  "We've been trying to nail these guys 
for years.  I can't believe they would risk coming up for 
air, risk this kind of exposure by contacting an FBI 
agent."

"They must think the risk is worth it."

Skinner started pacing again.  "These guys cover their 
tracks well, Mulder.  They'll get what they want from you 
and then they'll kill you."

"That's kind of the point of this little discussion," 
Mulder replied.  "If I'm going in, I'm going to need 
backup."

"I'll do what I can, but Mulder..."  Skinner frowned and 
seemed to be struggling for the right words.  "Discretion 
is your only hope here.  Right now they think you are 
sympathetic towards their mission, whatever that mission 
is. If they find out you're even thinking of double-
crossing them, they'll just kill you and disappear again, 
no questions asked."

"So we only tell people we can trust."

Skinner shook his head.  "We tell the US Attorney and no 
one else."

Mulder sat forward, suddenly paying close attention.  "I 
have to tell Scully."

"You tell her and it puts her life and yours in danger.  Do 
you really want to do that?"

Mulder considered the deadly purpose in the voice on the 
phone.  He felt the hot whisper on his neck from the 
theater and reached around to wipe it off.  "So what do you 
want me to say?  There's only so many times I can run to 
the john before she gets suspicious."

"Let me worry about Scully."

"Fine," Mulder said shortly.  "You lie to her."

"You will too, if you want to keep her alive."

"And if she finds out, it may be my funeral."


Long after Skinner went home, Mulder lingered in the 
basement like a dungeon prisoner.  He didn't turn on many 
lights, instead working by the eerie glow of his computer.  
He ate one of Scully's yogurts from the fridge and squinted 
at the tiny print on the monitor.  One way to keep Scully 
from asking him questions he didn't want to answer would be 
to give her answers she did want.  So this was how he came 
to be sifting through old adoption records for a girl named 
Dara Kernof.

She was dead.

Mulder sat back in his chair at this news, the spoon still 
stuck in his mouth.  Oh, Scully, he thought, what the hell 
are you doing?

He knew a thing or two about trying to find answers in dead 
little girls.  All you really got was the grim affirmation 
that, yes, they were dead.  Nothing brought them back.  
Nothing stopped the next girl from dying.

Mulder hit a few more keys and punched up the birth 
records.  Apparently Dara had three identical sisters who 
had been cast upon the winds of fate as well.  Mulder 
printed off the search results to show Scully and leaned 
back to grab the papers from the printer.

With three other chances, maybe they could get there in 
time for once.

~*~*~

Three days and three dead sisters later, Mulder leaned 
against his car and watched Scully deal with the local PD.  
Behind her, the EMTs carried Dara's sister Roberta out of 
the church in a body bag.  Mulder could make out the rigid 
posture of the girl's outstretched hands as they poked at 
the bag's walls.

Mulder stretched an arm through his open window and 
withdrew a handful of sunflower seeds.  Scully started 
walking towards him, her dark coat a standout against the 
pale, bleak sky.  She joined him against the car, and he 
wordlessly extended his palm full of seeds to her.  She 
shook her head.

"You did your best," he told her, because this is what he 
always told himself when girls got carted away in the 
coroner's van.  He hoped she believed the words more than 
he did.

"I don't think it was up to me this time," she replied.  
"Those girls didn't need my protection."

Mulder crunched a seed.  "Because they had God's," he 
finished for her, in the most neutral tone he could manage.  
"You believe God called them home."

"I believe they are better off.  I believe they're at peace 
now."

"Like Emily?"

She gave a short nod, and he thought he saw her chin 
quiver.  She kept her eyes trained on the brown grass at 
their feet.  "I saw her again, in there.  She was asking me 
to let her go."

The force of her words took Mulder's breath away.  The 
seeds became tasteless in his mouth.  For a moment, he 
envied her this psychic connection.  Emily haunted him, but 
not in any metaphysical sense.  

Sometimes he would be stopped at a red light and it would 
hit him: he was a father.  Only not.  Or maybe yes.  Mulder 
was not sure how to define his absent family.  He was a 
brother with no siblings and a father with no children.

"And can you?" he asked Scully.  "Let go?"

Scully studied her fingers for a long moment before 
spreading them in a gesture of resignation.  He took this 
as a tentative yes.

"I was really angry," she said, still not looking at him.  
"I've been thinking how unfair life has been to me, and all 
that I've lost.  I think this case has been a good lesson 
in humility.  These girls suffered, all of them.  They had 
deformities and family problems and one was even homeless.  
I'd started looking at everyone else around me and 
imagining their perfect life.  But other people lose loved 
ones.  Other people get cancer.  I think maybe this was a 
sign to me to stop focusing on my troubles and imagining 
them to be greater than they are.  You know, Mulder, in the 
grand scheme of life, I'm really not so important."

He nudged her shoulder with his.  "You are to me."  Scully 
smiled in return but did not say anything.  "So that's it, 
then," he said, "God spoke to you and everything's okay."

She shook her head.  "God didn't say anything, Mulder.  You 
did."

"Me?"

"You were right all along.  Some miracles aren't meant to 
be."  She placed her hand on his arm for a minute and then 
gave him a little pat.  "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

And he watched her walk away, back into the pale blue sky.

~*~*~*~

The next afternoon he returned to the basement to find 
Scully peeling an orange over the trashcan.  "Long time, no 
see," she remarked mildly.

Mulder tugged on his necktie around his collar.  "Yeah, 
sorry about that.  Skinner wanted to talk to me."

"That's odd, because Skinner just called here looking for 
you about five minutes ago."

Mulder grimaced as her back was turned to him.  "Uh, yeah.  
He probably just wanted to add something.  I hit the john 
on my way back."  Mulder realized he was babbling but 
couldn't seem to stop.  "It was a three-article trip."  He 
picked up a magazine and waved it at her.

"Please spare me the details."  She returned to her table 
and placed the naked orange on a folded paper towel.  Then 
she picked up a slip of paper and walked it over to him.

"Passing notes in school?" he teased, but Scully did not 
smile.  Mulder looked down and read: The Milton Hotel, 8P 
Saturday.

"Assuming you're still amenable," Scully said.

"I, um, yeah."  Mulder looked at the words until they 
blurred before his eyes.  "I just..."

"What?" she asked him, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Do you want to meet there, or what?  Should we... I don't 
know.  Get dinner or something?"

Scully looked wary.  "I think meeting there is best."

"Okay then."

Her eyes narrowed.  "So you'll come?"

Mulder bit back a crass remark and tapped the edge of the 
paper against the desk.  "I'll be there."

"If you think you're calling my bluff, you're not."

"I don't think that."

"Because I'll be expecting you."

He sat down and pulled his chair up to his desk.  "I said I 
would be there."

She eyed him a minute and then nodded, apparently 
satisfied.  "Saturday at eight," she said.  

As she walked away he started imagining her naked.  It was 
going to be a long two days.

~*~*~

Saturday afternoon faded with the setting sun but Scully's 
anxiety was on the rise.  She had bathed, shaved, and 
changed her clothes six times.  Eventually she settled on a 
skirt and blouse that she often wore to work, but she left 
the jacket off and put on silk underwear instead of the 
cotton she normally chose.

As she strapped the bra between her shoulder blades, she 
glanced in the mirror and realized Mulder would be seeing 
her like this.  She was wearing underwear for someone else 
for the first time in four years.

He'll be seeing more than the underwear, a voice in her 
head reminded her, and Scully's stomach twisted a little 
tighter.

She dried her hair and fussed over her makeup, feeling a 
bit foolish the whole time.  Mulder saw her nearly every 
damn day.  It's not as though she would be fooling him 
about the package he was getting.

She placed a condom in her small handbag, and then after a 
moment's hesitation, she added a second one in case the 
first one broke.  She considered further and added a third 
because a girl could not be too careful.  What if the first 
two got lost somehow, or they both broke?  

Scully added a fourth condom and snapped the purse shut. 
Then she wondered: what if Mulder saw all the condoms and 
thought she expected to do it four times?  Scully took two 
condoms back out.

Her phone rang, causing her to scatter condoms across her 
bedroom floor.  She answered with a pounding heart, 
convinced it was Mulder calling to cancel.  She wasn't sure 
whether she wanted it to be him or not.

"Hello?" she said, somewhat breathless.

"Dana?" 

"Oh, Ethan."  She tucked her hair behind one ear and sat on 
the bed.  "Hi."

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time.  This is the 
first opportunity I've had to use the phone."

"No, it's fine.  How are you?  I'm sorry I haven't been by 
to see you."

"My lawyer told me what happened, that they won't let you 
in.  If I didn't know before that someone was setting me 
up, this really seals it."

"I'm so sorry, Ethan."

"Hey, you tried."  He sounded miserable and defeated.  
"That's more than most people would do."

"We've hit a dead end.  We think Ryerson's wife might know 
more than she's telling, but we have no authority to 
question her and no leverage to press her with."

"So he fucking gets away with murder again.  God damn it."

"We need access to your notes and your tapes, everything 
you were working on before Melinda was killed.  The answer 
to her murder might be in there somewhere."

"I wish I could get them to you."

"Maybe you can," Scully mused, "in a way."

"Anything.  I'll do anything."

"You can write down everything you remember, every single 
detail.  Or talk into a tape recorder.  Recount absolutely 
everything you and Melinda did on the Ryerson case, 
especially in the last week before she was killed.  Have 
your attorney bring me the notes, and I'll see what I can 
do."

"I can do that.  I don't know how helpful it will be, but I 
can sure try.  It's not like I've got anything else to do 
in here."

"It can't hurt and it might help." Scully tried to sound 
encouraging.

"I'll get started tonight.  I hope it does work."  He 
paused, seeming like he might say more.

"What?" Scully asked him.

"I just thought of something.  If you're right, then 
there's something I know or I did -- something Melinda and 
I did -- that got her killed and me in here.  If I tell 
this to you, you could be next."

"Nothing is going to happen to me," Scully assured him.

"That's what I always thought about myself. And look where 
I ended up."

"How about a different scenario," Scully suggested.  "You 
tell me what you know, and I use it to go out and arrest 
the SOB.  He takes over your cell and you get on with your 
life.  How's that?"

"I like that option a whole lot better.  You're too good to 
me, Dana."  

Scully shifted the phone to her other ear.  This was the 
first time she had spoken to him since she'd learned of her 
indiscretion.  Shame flared up inside her, making her face 
hot.  

"I'm not so nice," she told him.

"You're an angel."

"Ethan... I--I wanted to say I'm sorry.  The way I broke 
things off with you..."

"Hey, I've heard worse.  At least you were honest."

Scully closed her eyes.  "Maybe not entirely."

"No, I think you were honest enough with me.  Just maybe 
not with yourself."

Her eyes fluttered open.  "What do you mean?"

"I told you Mulder was in love with you, but that's not 
really why I gave up.  I mean, so what if he loved you?  
Who could not love you?  I couldn't blame the guy, and I 
figured he could pine away all he wanted as long as he kept 
his hands to himself."

"I don't understand."

"I gave up because you loved him back," Ethan said, 
sounding impatient, as if she were a slow child.  "I didn't 
want to fight a battle I'd clearly already lost.  I 
expected you to pick up the phone and call him the second I 
was out the door. I didn't count on the pair of you lying 
to yourselves about what was going on.  To me, sure.  But 
to yourself?"

"Maybe... maybe I really didn't know."

"Well, now you do.  The question is, what are you going to 
do about it?"

~*~

Scully slid the key card into the lock and opened the door 
as she heard the tumblers click free.  The room at the 
Milton smelled faintly of flower-scented carpet cleaner.  
She flicked the lights and walked further inside, where she 
was promptly confronted by a king-sized bed.

The curtains stood partially open, and Scully moved to 
close them in a business-like fashion.  She shut off the 
fan coming from the heating/cooling unit, and total silence 
descended upon the room.

Slowly, she walked to the bed and sat on one corner.  It 
had occurred to her on the drive over that perhaps Mulder 
had not mentioned having sex with her before because she'd 
been awful at it.  He'd alluded as much, talking about how 
awkward it was and how it wasn't a happy memory.  That, 
coupled with his reluctance to meet her, suggested she 
might in fact have been the worst lay of his life.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and went for a drink 
of water.  She did not want to think about the fact that 
Mulder was ten minutes late.

In the bathroom, she patted her flushed cheeks and gave 
herself a pep talk.  If it's awful, she said to herself, at 
least you'll know.  After tonight, at least you'll know 
*something*.

She would have something concrete to tack to the blank 
slate in her head.

Scully returned to the room and sat in the armchair instead 
of on the bed.  She was missing just a few short months 
from her life.  It didn't seem possible that such a small 
gap would matter so much.  Lord knew she could have excised 
longer gaps at other periods and not missing anything as 
important as sex with her partner.

Because it wasn't as though she didn't have memories.  On 
the contrary, she had a lifetime of vibrant, colorful
movies, a fact she had reminded herself of often whenever 
she started to dwell on the tiny chunk that was missing. 

She could still name all six hundred and two bones in the 
human body.  So what if she couldn't recall where she had 
been on October 3, 1995?  Most other people couldn't 
either.  

She remembered the salty smell of the docks in San Diego as 
she ran alongside her father's ship and feel the rough, 
thick ropes that curled like snakes on the pier.  She 
remembered the time Bill backed the car over their 
neighbor's mailbox, its little red flag waving in surrender 
from the ground as the rest of the family dissolved in 
laughter.  And she could still feel her mother's tears 
against her cheek the day they had cast Ahab out to sea 
forever.

Then there was Mulder.  She could recall perfectly the day 
they'd met, the way his lips had nearly smirked right off 
his face as she had advanced her scientific theories.  Part 
of her had wanted to connect her heel to the top of his 
foot, but she had left his office with a tingling feeling 
she'd not had since the day she'd decided to join the FBI. 
She could hardly wait to hear what he'd say next.

She remembered fighting her attraction that first year, the 
way her body rose like the tide whenever he'd stood over 
there.  Not your type, she'd told herself.  He's too 
unstable.  Too maddening.  Too driven.  Too pushy, obvious, 
condescending and, well, nuts.

But somewhere during that time, the motels with Mulder 
began to feel more like home that her own apartment, with 
her books, her furniture, and her fiancé in it.  She had 
never thought that Ethan suspected. She never thought she'd 
acted on it.

And yet, there it was, always just beyond her mental reach 
-- Mulder's mouth, his hands, the feel of his breath on her 
skin.  Sex with Mulder was a waking dream.

Scully checked her watch again.  Now he was half an hour 
late.  She bypassed the condoms in her purse and dug out 
her cell phone.  No messages.

She waited an hour before she called.  He did not answer at 
home or at the office.

She waited another hour before she could admit the painful 
truth: Mulder wasn't coming.

Scully wiped the tear threatening under her mascara with 
one finger.  Gathering what was left of her dignity, she 
turned out the light next to the bed, and walked quietly 
from the room.

~*~*~*~

End chapter eight.  Continued in chapter nine.

Big wet Mulder kisses to Amanda for beta and the chapter 
title.  Any remaining mistakes are mine alone.

I have hurted my neck.  Owie.  Email me with any sore neck 
remedies you've got: syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Thanks for reading!