DISCLAIMER:  For the most part, the characters included
within this work of fiction belong to Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network.  I mean no
infringement.

Warning:  Adult language and situations, warranting a PG-13
rating. 

This is a Pre-quel to 12 Degrees of Separation and takes
place within the same universe.


12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#5:  "Reunion"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com



Dana Scully walked slowly up the footpath to Caroline
Mulder's Greenwich bungalow, wary of what she would find
when she knocked on the door.  While Mulder picked up his
mother and headed back for Greenwich, she'd stayed behind in
New Haven for a couple of hours to give her statement about
her abduction to the police and to have her car examined by
the evidence technicians on the off chance that her
abductors had left prints or fibers.  But it had been clean,
of course, and she'd left New Haven about an hour ago after
stopping to say goodbye to Lorna and Benton.

When she had called Mulder halfway through the drive to
Greenwich, he'd been tense and brief, promising he'd catch
her up on everything as soon as she got there.  She didn't
know if he'd have good news or bad news, but she'd find
out soon.

She knocked on the door.

Mulder answered.  He smiled slightly, reaching out to draw
her inside, his hand on her shoulder.  "How'd things go?"

"The car was clean, as we expected."

He nodded.

"Where's your mom?"

"She's in her bedroom.  She had some phone calls to make."
Mulder led her into the living room, his hand warm against
the small of her back.  "This isn't going to be easy for
her--Mom would prefer to forget the past thirty years ever
happened."

Understandable, Scully thought.  "Did you ask her about the
man Sarah had lunch with?  The man who was at your father's
funeral?"

He nodded and gestured toward a pair of camelback armchairs
in front of a cold hearth.  He glanced at the fireplace, a
little frown on his face.  "I guess I should start a fire--"

"I'll do it," she offered, knowing how fire still had the
power to make him cringe, even after he'd managed to conquer
the paralyzing effects of his phobia all those years ago
during the Cecil L'Ively case.  She pulled a long match from
the small brass cannister by the hearth, struck the flint
and touched the small flame to the gas log.  When the fire
was well lit, she stepped back, turning to meet Mulder's
grateful smile.

"Thanks."

"Anytime."  She sat in the chair next to his, holding her
cold hands out toward the flame.  "So tell me what your mom
said."

"Mostly she doesn't remember.  I know she was kept out of
the loop for most of it, and what she DID know about, I
think she's deliberately put out of her head because it's
too painful to think about."

Scully looked down at her hands, thinking about her own
cowardice when it came to remembering.  "Did she know who
you were talking about when you mentioned the British man?"

He nodded.  "She says she knew him as Carter Christopher,
though she's pretty sure that's not his real name."

Carter Christopher, she thought, letting the name roll
silently over her tongue.  It sounded like a master
manipulator, one who took great joy in messing with people's
minds.  Very fitting.

"Does she know how we can find him?"

"Those are the phone calls she's making."  He lay his cheek
against the back of the chair, his eyes meeting hers. 
"Maybe we'll have a lead by lunch time."

She nodded, looking away after a long moment.  Things
between her and Mulder were still a little tense, but she
could feel the small rift already beginning to heal.  After
that short but horrible period they'd been through a couple
of years ago when they were practically at each other's
throats, they'd learned to keep personal tensions strictly
separate from work.  And they'd worked equally hard on
resolving their personal tensions, learning lessons about
trust and forgiveness and commitment that had brought them
to the brink of something far more powerful than partnership
or friendship.

She wanted to believe they could handle more.  She wanted to
believe they could have EVERYTHING--passion and love and
companionship as well as respect and admiration.  But it
would take so much work, so much dedication--and was there
room for that in either of their lives?

Not right now.  Not with all that was going on.  Resolutely,
she looked away and stared into the dancing blue flame of
the fire.

They sat in silence for a long time, comfortable with the
quiet, comfortable, even, with the knowledge that unspoken
feelings lay between them.  It had been that way from the
beginning, after all.  So many things unsaid, things that
couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't be spoken--and yet they knew
that what they shared was special and unique and worth
fighting for.  Scully closed her eyes, a faint smile on her
lips, thinking about the long ago and far away time when
their partnership had been new.  So many possibilities--who
was this mysterious, mercurial Fox Mulder her superiors had
sent her to rein in?  Would he be resentful, suspicious,
hard to deal with?

Yes, yes, and oh my, yes.

And it had been exciting.  Challenging.  Energizing.
She had never felt more alive in her life than she had in
those early days with Mulder, testing the bounds of their
partnership, learning his ways and his thoughts and his
habits and actions.  She had revealed her own personality
with a sort of coy reticence, as if she understood even then
that once she committed herself to Fox Mulder and his quest,
there would be no turning back.

And, as relationships do, it had soon changed--darkened,
deepened, taking on a texture of trust that hadn't been
present at the beginning.  But with the trust had come the
realization that trust was fragile--easily shattered and
difficult to rebuild.

Mulder didn't trust easily, to say the least.  And these
days, neither did she.

The soft sound of slow, halting footsteps approaching the
living room roused her from her drowsy contemplations.   She
stirred, turning to watch Caroline Mulder enter the room. 
She was elegantly dressed, Scully noted, in a black silk
pantsuit that complemented her immaculately styled silver
hair.  Her left hand curled around the intricately carved
knob of a walking cane fashioned of teakwood.  She smiled at
her son before turning her hazel gaze to meet Scully's. 
"Dana, it's so lovely to see you again."

Scully rose and crossed to her, holding out her hand.  "How
are you, Mrs. Mulder?  You look wonderful."

Caroline smiled gently, though her eyes remained a bit wary.
"I've done very well.  I've been remiss, however--I should
have thanked you long ago for your kindness during my
illness and recovery.  Fox has told me what a comfort you
were to him.  And I knew you were there, too.  I felt your
concern as well."

Scully gently squeezed her hand, then let it go.  "I was
glad to be able to do whatever I could to help."

Caroline gently steered Scully back toward the chair she had
just vacated.  She smiled at her son, who had stood at her
entrance.  "I suppose you may both be interested in what
I've found out."  She sat on the sofa next to Mulder's
chair.  

Scully turned her own chair to face Mrs. Mulder.  "I hope
you'll be able to help me find my friend."

"I hope so, too.  I believe I have located the man you're
looking for."

Scully felt a surge of excitement; force of habit made her
turn to look at her partner.  His hazel eyes met hers,
glittering with anticipation.  When Scully dragged her gaze
back to Mrs. Mulder, she found her partner's mother smiling
slightly, observing their unspoken interchange.  

"I'm sure Fox told you that I knew him by the name Carter
Christopher.  I don't believe that is his real name,
however.  And the only address I ever had for him is now a
parking lot in Manhattan."

"You said you've located him?" Mulder asked.

Caroline nodded.  "At least, I know where you can find him
tonight.  He's going to be at a party celebrating the 
engagement of his godson, Paul Leone.  I have it on good
authority that several of the men who spent time at our home
all those years ago will be there as well."

Mulder's eyes widened slightly.  "How did you find this
out?"

"I've  kept some contacts from the past, Fox."  Her
expression darkened slightly, furrows creasing her forehead.
"Very few--but good ones.  People who have stayed in the
loop."

"Where is the party?" Scully asked.

"In New York City, at the Waldorf-Astoria.  Tonight at eight
o'clock.  It's formal, as these things generally are, but I
have procured invitations for you both."

"How'd you manage that?" Mulder asked, admiration apparent
in his expression.  Scully hid a smile, glad that for once
his own family was coming through for him.  His mother's
willingness to help would go a long way toward healing some
very old wounds, she knew.

"Like I said, I've kept some contacts.  But we don't have
much time."

"No, we don't," Scully agreed.  "For one thing, I have
nothing to wear."

Mulder chuckled.  "Women!"

She shot him a little glare.  "I'll need to find a formal
wear shop somewhere and hope I can find something
affordable."

"There's a lovely boutique right here in Greenwich that has
reasonable prices--The Shop on Carraway," Caroline assured
her.  "And just down the block is a men's shop that rents
tuxedos as well."

Mulder grimaced.  "Damn."

"Men," Scully murmured, darting a glance at him.  He looked
back at her, amusement glinting in his eyes.  

"Fox, you and Dana go find something to wear tonight.  I'm
going to have lunch with my friend, get all the particulars
on the party and whatever you might need to know."  Caroline
looked at her son, a bemused expression on her face.  "I
would enjoy the cloak and dagger flavor of this adventure a
lot more if I didn't know how dangerous these men are.  You
two MUST promise me that you'll be very careful."

"We'll watch each other's backs, Mrs. Mulder.  We've gotten
very good at it," Scully assured her.

She nodded.  "I know.  I can't tell you what comfort I find
in knowing that you're watching out for my son, Dana."

Dana blinked back unexpected tears, touched by Mrs. Mulder's
words.  She looked down at her hands, hiding her emotional
reaction from both mother and son.

"I should be back here by two o'clock at the latest,"
Caroline continued, quickly filling the silence that had
fallen after her previous statement.  "I'll fill you in on
whatever I find out."  She stood, gesturing toward them. 
"We'd better hurry--not much time now."

Scully followed Mulder and his mother outside to their cars.
She handed her car keys to Mulder.  "You know Greenwich
better than I do."

The drive into town was pleasant--an upscale bedroom
community of New York City, Greenwich was old money and
elegant charm.  Carraway Street was just off the beaten
path, nestled in the heart of a slightly newer, slightly
less tony area of town.  Mulder parked the car on the street
in front of the dress shop.

"Tux shop is down at the end of the block, if memory serves
me."  He glanced at the window display of the dress shop,
his eyes widening slightly.

Scully followed his gaze. There were two mannequins in the
window, wearing two distinctly different sorts of gowns.  
One was a lovely cranberry velvet with a silver print 
brocade bodice and a gorgeous gold accent that draped over 
the shoulder, reminding Scully of something she'd seen in a
renaissance painting.  The other was a stunning navy 
strapless sheath that hugged the mannequin's svelte figure 
like a glove.  She was pretty sure she knew which dress had
caught Mulder's eye. 

"Do I get a vote?" he murmured.

"Go rent a tux, Mulder."  She gave him a little shove.

He grinned at her and gave a little wave as he turned and
walked away.

She entered the dress shop, heralded by a discreet tinkle of
a bell over the door.  Moments later, a woman emerged from
the back of the shop to greet her.  She exuded class, from
her oh-so-perfectly tinted and styled ash blond hair to her
immaculate, not too long, buffed-but-not-polished
fingernails.  Scully felt acutely aware of her own less than
stylish appearance--how long since my last haircut? she
wondered as the woman approached.  But she stuck her chin
out, reminding herself that after six years of dealing with
serial killers, mutants and government conspirators,
managing one upper crust shop matron should be a breeze.

"May I help you?"

Scully nodded.  "I'm a friend of Caroline Mulder.  She
highly recommended this shop to me.  I have a formal affair
to attend in the city and need a dress."

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder unlocked Scully's car and carefully hung his
newly-rented tuxedo on one of the garment hooks over the
back windows.  He turned and looked through the shop
windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his partner, maybe
modeling her new gown--

The door of the shop opened and Scully emerged, gold plastic
garment bag in hand.  Her auburn eyebrows rose quizzically
as he took a startled step back.  "Never seen the inside of
a dress shop before, Mulder?"

He pasted on a nonchalant grin, wishing he could see through
the opaque garment bag to see what kind of dress she'd
chosen.  "Millions of times," he assured her.  He unlocked
the door for her, then circled the car to the driver's side
as she stashed her dress safely in the back seat.  As he was
opening his own door, he glanced up at the shop window and
noticed that the dress that had caught his eye was now
conspicuously absent from the display. His grin broadened.  

Could be quite an interesting night.


*  *  *  *  *


Caroline Mulder looked up at her son, a little thrill of
pride rippling through her as she realized what a fine,
handsome man he'd turned out to be, in spite of everything
he'd been through.  He looked down his nose at her, smiling
a bit as she deftly tied his bowtie.  "I can do this myself,
Mom."

She looked up at him with mock sternness.  "Stand still,
Fox, and quit complaining."

"I want to check and see if Scully's ready."

She arched her eyebrows.  "If she needs your help dressing,
Fox, I'm sure she'll ask."

He chuckled.  "I got her something, Mom.  I'm just not sure
I should give it to her."

Caroline patted down his tie, straightening it.  "Why not?"

"I don't know if it's appropriate."

"I thought you weren't worried about what was appropriate
anymore."

He crossed to the dresser and picked up a hairbrush,
absently smoothing the hair at his temples, even though his
hair was unusually neat already.  "Timing is everything."

"And you think the timing is bad now?"

"Horrible, actually."

"There's no such thing as the perfect time, Fox."

"But there is such thing as the WRONG time, and this is it."

"Are you sure you're not just avoiding the issue?"

He turned and met her questioning gaze, a hint of impatience
in his expression.  She could almost read his mind, and what
she read there hurt.  

Who was she to talk about avoidance?

She looked away, crossing to the tall oak wardrobe in the
corner of her bedroom.  "I told Dana she could borrow my
satin evening cloak to cover her dress.  It's going to be a
cold night."  She stole a glance at him.  "Have you seen her
dress?"

"Only on a mannequin."

"I'm sure it looks much lovelier on her."

"No doubt."  He looked up at her, a smile curving his lips. 
"Want to see what I bought for her?  I had some time to kill
after I rented the tux so I went to the antique store next
door--thought I might find some old baseball cards for a
steal--but as soon as I saw this, I grabbed it.  I could see
it on her--"  He crossed to the bed and picked up the tan
windbreaker he'd been wearing on the quick trip into
Greenwich.  He pulled a small sack from the pocket and
upended it into his hand. Caroline stepped closer, looking
at what he held in his outstretched palm.  

It was an old fashioned gold hair comb, delicate and lovely,
studded with smooth, carbuncle-style garnets.  "It's
exquisite."

"Is it too much?"  He looked wary.

"I think she'll love it."

"So I should give it to her?"

"Yes, you should."

He frowned slightly.  "What if she refuses it?"

Caroline considered the question, realizing that it was more
than just an idle query.  Dana Scully might well refuse her
son's gift.  She might not share his desire for a deeper
relationship, or even if she shared his feelings, she might
not be willing to take the risk of acting on them.

But loving another person was always a risk.  In her own
case, it had led to personal tragedies that would color the
rest of her life.  But somehow, through it all, she had
begun to hope that her son might one day find the happiness
that she had been denied.  

Maybe it had started with meeting Dana Scully at the Garden
of Reflection the day Bill had been buried.  Something about
the young woman had struck her, heartened her.  Maybe it was
the certainty with which Dana had told her that Fox was
going to return to them.  Maybe it was the gentle, abiding
love for her son that had shone in the woman's eyes.

"Do you trust Dana with your life, Fox?"

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

"Then why not trust her with your heart?"

She felt a sliver of pain at the sight of his indecision. 
She could almost hear the battle taking place between his
head and his heart, and she recognized that her own failures
had left her son with scars as well.

She reached out and took his hand, closing his fingers over
the comb.  "Give it to her.  Give her a chance to prove
herself worthy of your trust."

He looked down at the gold trinket clutched in his hand,
then nodded slowly.  He lifted his other hand to stroke her
cheek, his gaze gentle and so full of love that tears filled
Caroline's eyes.  He lowered his hand and walked to the
bedroom door.  She blinked away her tears, watching him
pause in the open doorway as if to gird himself for battle. 
Then he walked out of the room, headed down the hall toward
the spare bedroom where Dana Scully was dressing.

She watched the empty doorway for another moment, then went
to her dresser and opened a square leather case.  Inside,
she found a few pieces of jewelry she had kept after the
divorce.  She'd sold or given away most of the things that
Bill had brought for her, unwilling to face those reminders
every time she opened a drawer.  But she'd kept a couple of
things, Kenwood family heirlooms her mother had given her
before her marriage.  One of these treasures was a necklace
and earring set--diamonds accented with garnets in a gold
setting.  The diamonds were tiny and delicate, the garnets
blood red and cabochon style rather than faceted.  Dana,
with her milky white skin and fiery hair, would look radiant
in these jewels.

And they'd be lovely with the antique hair comb her son had
bought for the woman who'd stolen his heart.

Take his gift, Dana, she willed silently.  Recognize that
he's giving you his heart and don't let him down.


*  *  *  *  *


Dana Scully's hair was not cooperating.  Aware of the
minutes ticking inexorably away, she'd dried it faster than
usual, not taking enough time to shape the sometimes flyaway
ends with her brush.  Now her hair was unruly, charged with
static electricity, and about to be the cause of a cursing
fit that would shock a sailor.

Of course, that would be the moment Fox Mulder chose to
knock on the bedroom door and ask to come in.  She growled
her assent, and he entered.

He stopped in the doorway and looked at her, an odd
expression on his face.  She looked down at herself, a
heated blush stealing over her as she realized how low the
scoop necked brocade bodice plunged.  Mulder was getting an
eyeful of flesh he probably hadn't seen since their first
case together, when she'd stripped to her underwear in his
hotel room to let him look at some bumps on her back.

Nervously, she walked back to the dresser and picked up the
hair brush she'd abandoned a few minutes ago.  "I can't get
my hair to behave," she murmured.

She heard the door close, then Mulder's voice, hoarse and
oddly unsteady.  "Funny you should mention that.  I think I
have something that might help."  

She turned around, surprised by his strange tone of voice. 
He was still staring at her, his eyes dark and almost wary.
"What?" she asked.

"Nothing, really--just a trinket I ran across.  Thought you
might like it."  He took a couple of steps toward her and
held out his hand.  Nestled in his palm was a delicate gold
hair comb, encrusted with small cabachon garnets and tiny
faux diamonds.  

It was unusual and breathtakingly lovely.  She looked up at
him, surprised.  "For me?"

He nodded, his expression taut, as if he expected her to
throw the gift back in his face.  
 
She took the comb from his hand, feeling its heft and
realizing that it wasn't goldplated as she'd originally
thought.  She couldn't imagine how much money this trinket
had cost him, and her first instinct was to insist that she
couldn't possibly accept it.

But when she met his gaze, preparing a gentle refusal, the
fear in his eyes stopped her before she could utter a word. 
He EXPECTED her rejection, she realized.  Was awaiting it
with almost fervent certainty.

When she spoke, her words were simple and sincere.  "Thank
you."

He almost wilted with relief for a moment but quickly caught
himself, pasting an expression of world-weary boredom on his
face to mask his pleasure.  She didn't know why he even
bothered to hide his feelings from her anymore--most of the
time, she could read him like a book.  "Lucky for you I
found it, huh?"  He waved his hand at her hair, a teasing
light in his eyes.

She sighed and turned back to the dresser mirror, not very
hopeful that even this lovely comb could salvage her hair. 
But when she coiled her hair in a French twist at the back
of her head and anchored the roll with the comb, she
realized that her hair had gone from flyaway to elegant in a
matter of seconds.  

Mulder appeared in the mirror, standing right behind her. 
She met his dark gaze in the glass.  "The thing must be
magic," she murmured.  

He took a step closer, his gaze still locked with hers in
the mirror.  "You never wear your hair up."

She swallowed with difficulty as he lifted his hand to her
neck and coiled a loose tendril of hair around his finger.

"It's not usually practical."

"You wore it up for your pals in the VCS.  Playing cool,
professional Agent Scully."  He leaned a little closer, his
breath warm against her ear.  "Tom Colton looked SO
surprised when you turned down his offer to break you out of
your basement prison.  To this day, I still wonder why you
didn't take him up on it when you had a chance."

Her pulse hammered in her ears--whether more from fear or
from arousal, she couldn't say.  She knew every argument
against letting her feelings distract her from her work. 
She and Mulder needed to be clear-headed, focused when they
bearded Carter Christopher and his associates in their den. 
But right now, with his fingers lightly brushing her flesh,
his eyes devouring her--

A knock on the door startled her, breaking through the fiery
haze of longing that had enveloped her.  She drew away from
Mulder and crossed to the door, her hand trembling slightly
on the door knob.

Caroline Mulder greeted her with a smile.  "You look lovely,
Dana.  What an unusual gown."

Scully looked down at the cranberry velvet dress, trying to
see it from the other woman's perspective.  Did she think
the neckline plunged too low?  Were the velvet sleeves too
long for her arms; was the skirt too full?  She realized
with surprise that she didn't want to appear gauche or dowdy
in front of Mulder's mother.  She wanted the woman to like
her, to admire her, even though she herself still had many
reservations about Caroline Mulder had let her son down over
the years.

Scully lifted her hand to her bare throat.  "It didn't look
quite this decollete on the mannequin," she said wryly.

"I'm certain it didn't look nearly as beautiful on the
mannequin, either."  Caroline touched Scully's elbow,
guiding her into the room.  "But it needs something."  She
held out her hand, unconsciously mimicking her son's earlier
palm-up offering.  

Scully stared at the exquisite earring and pendant set Mrs.
Mulder held out to her.  Small clusters of diamonds were
offset by cabochon garnets in the fine gold settings.  "How
beautiful."

"I thought you might like to borrow them."

Scully met Caroline's gaze and saw, to her surprise, the
same fear of rejection she'd seen earlier in the wary gaze
of the son.  As before, she was powerless to refuse the
offer.  "Thank you."

Caroline smiled and placed one hand on Scully's shoulder,
turning her gently to face the bed, where Mulder slouched, 
propped up by his elbows, managing to look absolutely
gorgeous even with his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned and his tie
slightly askew.  He made a little face at her as his mother
fastened the necklace around her neck.  Overcome by an
uncharacteristically childish impulse, she stuck out her
tongue at him and was rewarded by his soft, surprised
laughter.

"There."  Caroline turned her back around to get a look at
the necklace.  "Perfect."  She caught Scully's hand and
place the small diamond and garnet studs in her palm.  "I'll
leave you two alone to plan your strategy for the evening." 
The almost happy expression on her face faded as she turned
her gaze to her son.  "Whatever you decide to do, please be
careful.  These people were dangerous enough decades ago.  I
imagine age has only honed their evil."

Scully looked over her shoulder at Mulder.  He was no longer
laughing, his eyes dark and serious as he met her gaze. 
After his mother had left the room, he pushed himself off
the bed and crossed to Scully.  "Are you sure this is how
you want to handle this?  We don't have any idea what we're
walking into."

She lifted her chin.  "Carter Christopher knows something
about what happened to Sarah Chandler.  And I suspect he
knows about what happened to me during the months I was
missing.  I'm certain he knows what secrets his consortium
considered so volatile that they found cold blooded murder
justifiable."  She met his eyes.  "And maybe, he knows what
happened to your sister."


*  *  *  *  *


Mulder parked the car at a public parking garage, and he and
Scully walked a block to the Waldorf-Astoria, their pace
quickened by the chilly February night.  He was scared,
excited, angry--all those wild emotions that gripped him
whenever he was close to uncovering another facet of the
truth.  He felt like he was going to fly apart.

Then he felt her fingers slip into his own.

He stopped mid-stride and looked down at her.

Scully looked up at him, her eyes dark and fathomless in the
light from the street lamps.  He felt the tension roiling
through her body as well but knew she wouldn't give into it.
She was the archor of this partnership--it was her job to
keep him from careening off into heedless danger, and she
was damned good at it..

He studied her, let the sweet, familiar sight of her calm
him, give him strength and peace.  She looked lovely, her
hair pulled back from her face, accenting her Roman goddess
features and gentle blue eyes.  His mother's satin cloak
covered her from neck to toe, but he'd seen her before, in
the bedroom, her body lovingly sheathed in rich cranberry
velvet, the milky white flesh of her throat bared to him,
tempting him to taste the sweetness.  

The neckline of the dress plunged dangerously near the
shadowy cleft between her small, round breasts, giving him a
glimpse of secret, forbidden territory.  A call to
adventure.  A quest of a different kind.

Resisting her beauty had never been easy.  But time should
have tempered the effect on him, familiarity taking the edge
from his natural attraction to her charms.  Friendship
should have conquered desire, for indeed, she was his friend
in every sense that word conveyed--confidante, sounding
board, companion, voice of reason.  But with Scully,
friendship merely deepened desire, gave it a richer color. 
Distilled his need to a purity he'd never experienced. 
Looking down into her uplifted face, he felt as if his
entire being was on fire.

But then something happened.  Something so ephemeral that he
couldn't put a name to it.  He could only acknowledge the
result, the sudden sense of peace that washed over him as
she met his intensity with a steady calm.  He relaxed
beneath her touch, his explosive energy ebbing until he felt
more in control. He tightened his fingers around hers for a
second in silent gratitude, then loosened his grip, giving
her permission to let go. 

But she didn't release his hand.

For a  moment,  tension returned, hot and electric, and he
felt another slight tightening of his groin.  But then that,
too, ebbed away as he recognized the need to put the task at
hand foremost in their minds.  It was what Scully expected--
what she wanted.  And he couldn't deny her anything she
wanted.

Hands still clasped, they entered the hotel.

The Waldorf was as imposing on the inside as on the outside.
Gray marble, gold fixtures, huge flower arrangements, muted
lighting, marble floors with red carpeting.  The enormous
lobby and the corridors leading in and out housed a variety
of exclusive shops, drawing crowds of shoppers to the hotel.
Mulder and Scully ignored the flow of tourists and headed
straight for the elevator that would take them up to the
Rockefeller Ballroom.

A large, muscular man in an immaculately cut tuxedo stood at
the door to the ballroom, clipboard in hand.  "You are?"

"Scott and Tina Chappelear," Mulder replied, giving the man
the names his mother had used to procure invitations to the
party for them.

The man glanced up and down the list, a frown on his face. 
Mulder's stomach tightened, wondering if his mother's
contact had been less than trustworthy.

But a moment later, the man's expression relaxed and he
moved aside from the doorway, letting them enter.

Scully released a small, pent up breath as they entered the
crowded ballroom.  She looked around the room from her
somewhat limited vantage point, and Mulder realized that her
two-inch black pumps didn't give her nearly enough height to
scan the crowd.  He looked around in her stead, more than
willing to be her point man.

He caught sight of a familiar face. "There's Christopher,"
he murmured.

She followed his gaze, her eyebrows twitching slightly as
she caught sight of the thin, silver-haired man in the
corner near the bar.  He wore his tuxedo with the casual air
of one used to such trappings; his aquiline features were
unexpectedly animated as he talked to a tall woman standing
by his side.  Scully looked up at Mulder.  "What now?"

He shook his head slightly.  "I don't want to try to talk to
him in the middle of this crowd."

Scully looked back at Christopher, a little frown creasing
her forehead.  As they watched, another man approached
Christopher and his companion, and Mulder heard the air
whoosh from Scully's lungs.

He tightened his hand over hers, his nerves jangling with a
rush of adrenaline.  "What?"

"The man with Christopher--"  

He looked at the large, dark-haired man who leaned in close
to Christopher, murmuring something in his ear.  His face
was round, jowly and dark, his eyes like twin chips of
obsidian.  

"He's the one who showed me the train car like the one where
I was--"

His stomach tightened, twisted, and rage shot through him. 
He tugged her hand gently, making her look at him. "He's one
of them?"

She nodded.

Mulder's nostrils flared for a second, as if he'd smelled
something foul.  Which maybe he had.  "This place is
probably crawling with the bastards.  And even though we
don't know who they are, I'll bet they know who we are."

She nodded again.

"Then we can't really afford to waste time.  Maybe we should
just try the straightforward approach."

"No," she disagreed.  "I think YOU should talk to
Christopher.  I want to talk to his associate."

"No."

She withdrew her hand from his grip, lifting her chin as she
met his worried gaze.  "Yes.  I need to talk to him again. 
He knows more than he ever told me, and I let him get away 
without answering any of my questions."

"I don't like the idea of our getting separated."

"A crowd like this is the height of safety with these
people, Mulder.  These guys do their dirty deeds in the
shadows, not in in the middle of crowds.  They won't risk
hurting either of us in the middle of all this chaos."  She
put her hand on his arm, squeezing gently to as if to
reassure him.  "I'll be fine.  You go talk to Christopher--
find out why he met with Sarah."

Reluctantly, Mulder nodded, realizing that she was right. 
They had to separate for the moment.  But he didn't move for
a long moment, watching her pick her way through the crowd.

*  *  *  *  *

Scully tracked the dark-haired man, who had left
Christopher's side and begun to traverse the room, talking
with people as he went.  She slipped through the crowd,
grimacing with frustration as she had to circle small clumps
of party-goers engaged in small talk.  

She was almost there when someone called her name.  "Dana
Scully?"

She froze, her heart thudding wildly in her breast.

A dark-haired man about her age emerged from one of the
anonymous clumps of conversationalists.  He was a couple of
inches shorter than Mulder, with a stocky build and a round,
boyish face.  His hazel-brown eyes crinkled at the corners
as he smiled broadly.  "It IS you, isn't it?"

He did look familiar, she realized, although she couldn't
place him. 

"We had some physics courses together at Maryland,
remember?"  He cocked his head, looking her over with
harmless admiration.  "God, you look wonderful!  You look
like you just stepped out of college yesterday, not twelve
years ago."

Her memory finally clicked into place.  Her eyes widened.
"Finn?" 

He grinned broadly.  "Bet you never thought you'd see old
Finn all decked out in a monkey suit."

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"It's my party, hon.  Which begs the question, what are YOU
doing here?"

Her heart rate, which had eased back to normal at
recognizing her old college buddy, suddenly sped up again. 
Oh, my God, she realized, Finn's last name WAS Leone.  "I
was in town and was in the mood to crash a posh New York
soiree?" she ventured, hoping her old friend was in the mood
to let things slide.

But his eyebrows rose slightly.  "Saint Dana, crashing a
party?"

"Twelve years can change a girl, Finn."  She darted a glance
around the room, trying to relocate her prey.  She found him
near the band stand, talking to a slight, balding man.  On
impulse, Scully touched Paul's arm.  "Finn, who's that man
in the corner?  The dark-haired man with the heavy-set
build?"

Paul glanced over his shoulder.  "Oh--you mean Dad?"

Scully's heart skipped a beat.

*  *  *  *  *


Mulder made it to within ten feet of Christopher before the
man turned his head and caught sight of him.  Christopher's
eyes widened--surprise or fear? Mulder wondered.

He hoped it was fear.

He hoped to God the bastard was squirming.

"Mr. Mulder, what a surprise to see YOU here.  I don't
recall seeing your name on the guest list."

Mulder pasted a smile on his taut face.  "You didn't."

"And yet here you are."

Mulder's smile stretched his tense facial muscles.  "Nice
little soiree you've got going here.  But a little hint--the
cheese doodles are a tad stale."

The woman next to Christopher made a soft, chuckling sound. 
Mulder looked at her for the first time, a quick appraisal,
taking in the honey-brown hair worn in a straight, chin-
length bob, the clear slate-blue eyes, the full pink lips
and straight, pert nose.  She was tall, voluptuous--wide
hips and full breasts, a walking wet dream.  Yet there was
something about her that just screamed, "Look but don't
touch."

He jerked his attention back to Carter Christopher.  "I'd
like a word with you--alone."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mulder, but I have obligations here."

Mulder closed the space between them, grabbing the older
man's elbow in a crushing grip.  "I think you have previous
obligations, Mr. Christopher."

Christopher's eyes widened a bit at the use of his name,
Mulder noted with satisfaction.  He pushed the man
backwards, propelling him toward the wall.  But before he'd
gotten more than a couple of steps, a hand closed over his
arm, the grip like steel, causing intense pain.

He looked up in surprise and met the cold gaze of
Christopher's female companion.


*   *   *   *   *


"Your father?"  Scully hoped her voice didn't betray the ice
forming in her veins.

Paul nodded.  "Ray Leone.  Why do you ask?"

"I thought he looked familiar," Scully lied, suddenly
wanting to be as far away from Paul Leone as possible.  The
walls of the room felt as if they were crumbling around her,
pinning her under heavy debris. 

How long had her life brushed up against these men who had
taken her?  At least twelve years, she now knew.  But had
they been around earlier?  Parents of her childhood friends? 
The reclusive neighbor who'd lived down the street?  How
many shadow people were there?  How insidious was their
influence in the lives of the innocent?

Whom could she trust now?

No one.

No one but her mother.

And Mulder. 

Always Mulder.

"Come meet him--you'll love him."

Scully felt the urge to turn and run.  But from somewhere
deep inside, she tapped into a core of steel and lifted her
chin.  Maybe it was the knowledge that in this situation,
SHE had the advantage of surprise.  And knowledge.

Somehow, she got the feeling that Ray Leone--if that was
really his name--hadn't enlightened his son about his more
questionable activities.   And that gave her the upper hand.

That knowledge surged through her like raw, sheer power. 
She nodded.  "I'd love to meet him."

*  *  *  *  *

The woman released Mulder's arm only after he let go of
Christopher.  "Thank you," she said, the first words she'd
spoken.  Her voice was high and clear, like silver tapping
crystal.

"Who the hell are you?" he grunted, well aware that despite
her angelic voice and goddess-like appearance, this woman
was deadly.

She smiled, baring small, perfect teeth.  "Deborah Bennett. 
And you?"

"Fox Mulder," Christopher supplied for him.  "And Mr. Mulder
was just leaving."

"Not until you answer a question for me, Mr. Christopher." 
Mulder stood his ground, despite his growing suspicion that
the woman hovering close by wouldn't let a little thing like
a crowd of people stop her from ripping his testicles right
out from between his legs.  

"Carter has made it clear that he doesn't want to continue
this conversation," Deborah said, her voice light and
delicate, her smile belying the lethal intensity of her
gaze.

"Who are you, his bodyguard?"

Her smile widened.

My God, he realized, that was exactly what she was.  He
managed not to drop his jaw, gathering up another gutful of
courage and turning back to glare at Carter Christopher. 
"Where is Sarah Chandler?"

"I know of no one by that name."

"Liar.  I have witnesses who will testify that they saw you
in New Haven, Connecticut, with Sarah Chandler the day she
disappeared."

"Your witnesses are either sadly mistaken--or they are
lying.  I have been nowhere near New Haven for several years
now."

Mulder ignored his denials.  "Why was she taken,
Christopher?  What does she know?"

"He can't help you."  Deborah Bennett's voice rang in his
ear, her breath whispering over his skin in a wretched
parody of seduction.  "But I can kill you.  Quietly, so no
one even notices.  And then I can kill your pretty partner
as well.  And no one will ever know what happened to you."

His blood froze.

"No one is looking for Sarah Chandler but you and your
partner.  No one else cares.  So go home, Agent Mulder. 
Take your partner with you." Her crystal pure voice
softened, hummed.  "Get married.  Have babies.  Live a 
normal life.  And never look back."

He turned his head to meet her gaze.  What he saw there
shocked him.

Compassion.  Sadness.  Just for a second, before it
disappeared behind a sheet of icy disdain.

"I can't," he rasped.

Her voice lowered to a whisper.  "Then you'll both end up
dead."


*  *  *  *  *


Dana Scully watched, her heart in her throat, as Ray Leone
turned his head and met her gaze.  A little thrill of power
shot through her as she saw his eyes widen just a bit, his
full lips parting to emit a small hiss of shock.  His dark
gaze flitted from her face to the open, smiling face of his
son.  With great effort, he hid his surprise, greeting his
son's smile with one of his own.  

"Dad, I want you to meet an old school friend--Dana Scully.
Dana, this is my father, Ray Leone."

She held out her hand, smiling a cool, knowing smile.  His
carefully schooled expression couldn't fully mask the
apprehension she saw trembling in the depths of his eyes. 
"Nice to meet you, sir."

"Miss Scully."  He released her hand, his gaze never
wavering from hers.  

He looks like a bird watching a snake, waiting for it to
strike, she thought, a ripple of satisfaction dancing
through her stomach.  Good.  "Please, call me Dana."  You
called me Dana before, you son of a bitch.  When YOU were in
control.

"I haven't seen Dana in years," Paul commented, oblivious to
the tension between Scully and his father.  He looked down
at her.  "So, you must be a big time surgeon now."

She shook her head.  "No, I opted for Forensic Medicine. 
I'm a special agent with the FBI now."  She looked pointedly
at Ray Leone, wanting him to squirm.

A little muscle in his jaw twitched frantically, but that
was the only outward sign of distress.  "How interesting
that must be for you."

She bit back a howl of bitter laughter.  You bet your ASS
it's interesting, you manipulative bastard.  How thrilling
to have my sister die in my stead.  How utterly marvelous to
watch my partner's heart ripped out every single day as he
sacrifices his entire life to right the wrongs you and your
sanctimonious, power-grasping cohorts commit as blithely as
breathing.

Her anger was not lost on Leone.  His eyes darted around the
room as if looking for an avenue of escape.  A swift shimmer
of relief suddenly washed over his face.  "Ah, Leigh!"  He
lifted his hand, gave a little wave.  

Scully turned her head to watch the approach of a slim, red-
haired woman coming their way, a smile on her face. 
Something about her reminded Scully of her sister Melissa--
maybe the soft hazel eyes or the wide, open smile as she
approached.  Pain like a razor ripped through Scully's
heart, and it was all she could do not to turn away.

"Sweetheart, come meet an old friend of mine!"  Paul held
out his hand to the woman, his face a study in adoration. 
"This is Dana Scully, who saw me through more than one
physics class at Maryland.  Dana, my fiancee, Leigh
MacGraw."

Scully shook hands with the taller woman, steeling herself
against the impact of Leigh's friendly smile.  "Nice to meet
you."

"If you'll excuse me--"  Ray Leone began to sidle away, as
if he'd seen someone across the room. 

Damn it, Scully thought, her eyes following him.  He was
headed toward the corner, where Mulder had gone in search of
a confrontation with Carter Christopher.  She bit back a
little grumble of frustration, wishing she could see over
the heads of the people milling about her.  Her view of the
corner was obscured.

"So, what are you doing in New York City, Dana?  You never
did say."  Paul's voice drew her attention away from his
father's departing form. 

She smiled.  "Just here with a friend, seeing the sights."

"And crashing parties?"

Her smile widened, though her heart wasn't in it.  "It was a
dare.  I'm trying to be more adventurous in my old age."  To
say the least.

"Well, I'm glad you crashed this one."  Paul squeezed her
arm gently.  "What a nice surprise."

"Where's your friend?" Leigh asked. Her voice was even a
bit like Melissa's, Scully realized.  Warm, a little
husky, with a musical lilt.

"My friend?"

"You said you were here sightseeing with a friend."

"Oh--he's here somewhere."  Her reply gave her another
excuse to look around the room in hopes of catching sight of
her partner.  But a group of impossibly tall men stood
between her and the corner, and she could see nothing.  Her
stomach tightened with apprehension.  She didn't like
leaving Mulder to fend for himself.  She'd been his partner
too long to feel comfortable away from his side.  

Besides, he had the only gun.  Her Sig Sauer was too large
to fit in the small clutch purse she'd brought along.  

"What does he do for a living, Dana?" Paul asked.

"He's my partner."

"Dana's an FBI agent," Paul added for Leigh's benefit.

"Really?  Must be pretty exciting, huh?"  Leigh's face lit
up with interest.  "Say--I need to go to the ladies' room,
Dana--care to join me?"  She darted a teasing glance at her
fiance.  "You can tell me all of Paul's embarrassing college
moments in private, where you won't feel the need to censor
yourself."

The last thing Scully wanted to do was have a little chat
with Paul Leone's fiancee, but a trip to the restroom would
give her the chance to locate her partner on the way,
reassuring herself that he wasn't in any trouble. "Sure."

Leigh lifted her face to Paul for a swift kiss, smiling up
at him with a look of adoration that threatened to steal
Scully's breath.  How wonderful, she thought, not to have to
hide your feelings.  To be able to show the man you loved
just how much he meant to you.

Then Leigh hooked her arm through Scully's as if they were
old pals and led her through the maze of people milling
about the ballroom.  Scully lifted her chin and looked
across the room toward the corner, noting with a sense of
relief that Mulder was there, apparently in one piece,
engaged in an intense but not-too-threatening discussion
with Carter Christopher and his gorgeous female companion.

Better not be getting that woman's phone number, Mulder, she
thought, welcoming the wry humor that took the edge off her
tension.  By the time she and Leigh emerged into the empty
corridor outside the ballroom, Scully almost felt relaxed.

That feeling lasted only as long as it took to round the
corner.  Once out of sight of the giant guarding the
ballroom entrance, Leigh's gentle grip on Scully's arm
turned to steel, jerking Scully around to face her.  Scully
gasped.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing here?"

Scully blinked, stunned.  "Excuse me?"

"Raven told you to find you answers in your own damned head,
Agent Scully--not here in the middle of the viper's nest! 
We don't want you this close--you're putting our lives in
danger."

Scully's stomach turned a couple of somersaults before
sinking to her toes.  "You're one of them?"

"In a manner of speaking."  Leigh looked around carefully
before she continued speaking.  "Like Raven, I have my own
agenda."

"Is your name even Leigh MacGraw?"

Leigh merely arched her eyebrows.

"Of course not," Scully murmured, shaking her head in
bemusement.  "Paul's name probably isn't Leone, either, is
it?"

"As far as he knows, it is."

"And as far as he knows, you're madly in love with him.  But
nothing is ever as it seems with you people, is it?"

"I do love Paul, Dana.  That's why I'm doing this."

"Doing what?  Lying to him?  Manipulating him?"  Scully
shook her head, unspeakably angry.  "That's not love."

Leigh shook her head, her mouth tightening with impatience. 
"I don't have to justify myself to you, Agent Scully.  I
just have to get you and you partner out of here before you
get all of us killed."

"Is Raven here?"

Leigh didn't answer, but that was all the answer Scully
needed.  

"She's one of the Consortium, isn't she?"

"I'm not here to answer your questions."

"No, you people never DO answer questions, do you?"   Scully
shook her head, her voice dripping disdain.  "You just pose
them, torment us with the whats and whys and hows."

"You entered the game of your own free will."

"I was put here, and you know it.  They wanted me to be
their tool, to put an end to Mulder and his investigations. 
I didn't choose this game."

"You chose Mulder.  And isn't that the same thing?"

Scully was sick of the games and the lies, and she was sick
of having her life laid bare to the scrutiny of people who
didn't give a damn whether she lived or died--unless her
life or death could somehow benefit them and their nasty
little machinations.  

She turned away from Leigh, planning to go back into the
party and finish what she'd come here to do.  But she hadn't
gone more than three steps before Leigh's hand clutched her
arm, fingers digging into her flesh like steel prongs.  Pain
rocketed up her arm, and she gasped.

"I'm not finished yet," Leigh murmured into Scully's ear.


*  *  *  *  *


"You don't want your pretty partner to end up dead because
of you, do you, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder pinned Deborah with his coldest glare, the one he'd
learned from his father.  "I don't like threats, Ms.
Bennett." 

"It's not a threat, Agent Mulder.  It's a reality you and
your partner need to face.   You seem to believe that your
efforts can change events that have already been set into
motion, but they can't.  Some things are more important,
grander than your pedestrian fascination with the truth." 
Deborah shook her head, a mirthless smile curving her full,
red lips.  "Your business here is finished, Agent Mulder. 
Go home to mommy."

Mulder's heart skipped a beat.  She knew, he realized.  She
knew his mother's involvement.  Fear crawled up his spine
like icy fingers.

Deborah's smile tightened.  "Relax, Fox--she's safe.  For
now."

Bitch,  he thought, his hands curling into fists.   Deborah
Bennett and her employer held all the cards.  They always
had--maybe they always would.  He turned to face Carter
Christopher, his expression hard with contempt.  "Do you let
your bodyguard do your talking for you, Christopher?"

"She's quite eloquent, don't you agree, Mr. Mulder?" 
Christopher's eyes met Mulder's angry gaze.  "So rare in
hired help these days, such a facility with the language."

The gun strapped to Mulder's ankle felt remarkably heavy
then, as if it had come alive and was tugging at the small
holster, begging to be released.  He knew full well that
before he could manage to get to the gun, Deborah Bennett
would have snapped his neck in two.  But just considering
the thought of mowing down this smarmy, manipulative son of
a bitch gave Mulder a rush of sheer, dangerous pleasure. 

"Fetch your little partner and run along."  Deborah's
crystalline voice rang softly in his ear.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, Mulder
realized that leaving was the only option.   He and Scully
had accomplished nothing by coming here.  They never seemed
to accomplish anything where the Consortium was concerned.

Maybe Deborah Bennett was right.  Maybe he should walk away
and never look back.  Concentrate on Scully, on this thing
that lay between them, beckoning for a more thorough
examination, an acknowledgement.  Get married.  Have babies. 
Never look back--

A muffled shout rose above the hum of conversation and the
light, airy sounds of the string quartet playing Bach in the
corner.  Mulder's blood ran immediately cold.

Scully.

He pushed past Deborah Bennett and ran headlong into a
phalanx of large men gathering near the doorway.  One of the
bodyguards--what else could they be?--grabbed Mulder's arm 
as if to stop his rush toward the hallway, but Mulder thrust
him aside, fear giving him added strength.  Several of the
hired muscles trailed down the hall after him, guns drawn,
but Mulder didn't give them a second thought.  He darted
around a blind corner and skidded to a stop on the plush red
carpet, his heart flying into his throat.

Dana Scully knelt on the floor less than ten feet in front
of him, drenched with blood.  On the floor in front of her,
a woman's body sprawled, covered in the same rich crimson
that stained his partner.

"Scully?"  He choked out her name.  

She lifted her face and met his gaze, although he wasn't
sure she was really seeing him.  His heart thudded madly as
she lifted her hands as if displaying the blood that
sheathed her fingers like gloves.  He saw that blood
streaked her throat and chest, discolored the brocade
bodice, darkened the velvet skirt and sleeves.  

He took a faltering step forward, his hand outstretched.

"She's dead," Scully said, her voice faint and raspy.

Mulder crossed to her side, trying to avoid stepping into
the blood, although with so much blood, it was a futile
effort.  "What happened?"

Scully shook her head slightly.  "We were talking and
suddenly I head a soft popping sound.  Leigh fell against
me."  She looked down at the body in front of her.  Her
throat bobbed wildly, and Mulder followed her gaze.

The woman's throat was basically gone.  He winced at the
gory sight, realizing the bullet must have entered the back
of her neck and exited the front, blasting through the soft
tissue of her throat with devastating ease.  Hollow point,
he surmised, considering the damage.  He was surprised the
shot hadn't severed her head from her shoulders.

He opened his mouth to ask Scully another question when a
loud, horrible shout of anguish ripped the air.  He turned
his head toward the sound and saw a dark-haired man lurch
forward, his face a mask of horror.  Before Mulder could
make a move to stop him, the man had knelt in the pool of
blood by the body and gathered her into his arms, utterly
heedless of the blood that now stained his tuxedo and snowy
shirt as well.  

"Call the paramedics!" he screamed, rocking the woman to his
body.

"Paul--" Scully's voice was a low, heartsick moan.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay."  The man hugged the
lifeless body, crooning softly.  

Mulder felt a surge of nausea and lurched away, half-
dragging Scully with him.  She resisted for only a moment
before she let him pull her to her feet and stumbled with
him halfway down the hall. 

He stood between her and the sight of the sobbing man,
searching her for signs of injury.  He lifted his hand to
her face, brushing away a lock of hair that had tumbled from
its restraints.  "Are you okay, Scully?"

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his worried gaze.  The
blank expression in their blue depths chilled his blood. 
Slowly, she shook her head.  "No."

That one word scared Mulder more than anything in the world.


*  *  *  *  *


The hotel room seemed preternaturally quiet, Mulder thought
as he followed Scully inside and shut the door behind him. 
Maybe it was the contrast to the two hours of chaos he
and Scully had just endured.  After the shooting, all hell
had broken loose, and they had been right in the heart of
it.  

He lay the satin cape his mother had lent Scully on one of
the two beds.  Despite the fact that Scully was shivering
wildly, she'd refused the cape.  "I don't want to get blood
on it," she'd muttered through rattling teeth.  He'd put his
own thick wool overcoat around her shaking body instead. 

She stopped in the space between the two beds and turned to
look at him, her eyes wide and dark.  "I'm sorry."

He shook his head.  "No need."

Her teeth still chattered together softly.  "I don't know
why I'm reacting this way.  It's not like I haven't--"

He held up his hand, warding off the apology.  "I
know, Scully.  I don't want you to feel you have to
apologize to me for what you're feeling." 

She looked down at the floor, as if the gentle intensity of
his gaze was too much for her to cope with.  "I wasn't much
help to you."

"There wasn't much anyone could have done."  Mulder sighed,
running his fingers through his hair.  "Whoever killed Leigh
MacGraw was a professional.  He knew what he was doing.  He
knew how to get away without leaving any clues behind.  For
all we know, he was standing there in the crowd, laughing at
us."

"Nobody at that party was what he or she seemed." She shook
her head.  "It was a room full of shadows."

He had no answer to that.  She was right--he doubted there
had been many people at that party who were what they'd
seemed.  He thought of Deborah Bennett's taunt,  and his
blood ran cold.  "I managed to talk Mom into staying with a
neighbor," he told Scully, who had not been privy to his
phone call to his mother.

"You didn't frighten her, did you?"

"I tried not to.  But I couldn't let her stay at the house
alone."  He looked at Scully, standing there stiff and
shivering in her blood-drenched gown, and realized that the
first order of business was to get her out of that dress and
cleaned up.  What she needed was a hot shower and the nice,
warm terry-cloth robe the concierge had promised would be
waiting for her in the room--

A knock on the door stopped him in mid-stride.  Maybe that
was room service with the hot tea he had requested.  He
turned and went to the door.  But when he swung it open, he
found himself looking into the slate-blue eyes of Deborah
Bennett.

He blocked the doorway.  "Go the hell away."

"I didn't come here to talk to you," Deborah said, looking
past him to where Scully stood.

"It's you."  Behind him, Scully's voice was low and hoarse. 
He turned to look at her and saw that she was staring at
Deborah Bennett, her eyes narrowed.  "It's the woman I told
you about, Mulder.  Raven.  Aren't you?"

Mulder glared at Deborah Bennett, who nodded.  Anger bolted
through him, and he grabbed the woman's arm, drawing her
into the hotel room and pushing her against the wall. 
"You're Raven?"

She didn't even flinch.  "I don't want to have to hurt you,
Agent Mulder."

"I'm not afraid of you."  Forty-eight hours of fear,
frustration and rage made him reckless.

"Then you're a fool."  Deborah's reflexes were lightning
quick--he was on the floor with a four inch heel digging
into the middle of his spine before he could blink twice. 
"I can sever your spine in a second."  She applied pressure
to his vertebrae, sending a howl of pain coursing down his
back.  He sucked in a lungful of air.

"Stop it."  Scully's voice rang with authority, aided by the
quiet but deadly click of a gun cocking.  "Move away from
him now."

The pinpoint of pressure against his spine disappeared, and
he rolled well clear of Deborah Bennett.  He looked up to
see that Scully held his gun leveled at the tall brunette. 
She must have retrieved it from the inside pocket of his
coat, where he'd tucked it after a futile search for the
shooter earlier that evening.  

"You came here to say something to me?" Scully asked, her
voice strong for the first time in two hours.

"Put the gun down, Agent Scully.  It's not necessary." 

"I'll decide what's necessary."

Mulder stared at his partner, stunned by the change in her
demeanor.  She blazed with anger--he could almost see it
coming off her in little sparks.  She held his gun in her
bloodstained hands, her aim steady.  Her eyes were cold like
chips of blue ice as she faced down Deborah Bennett.

She was magnificent.

"Who killed Leigh MacGraw?" Scully asked.

Deborah shook her head slightly.  "I don't know."

"Why was she killed?"

Deborah's eyes narrowed.  "Because of you."

"Don't try that with me," Scully said, her voice thick with
contempt.  "My partner may feel like he has to take on the
burdens of the world, but I don't.  I don't owe a damned
thing to you people--all you've done is hand me a load of
lies and double-talk and misinformation.  YOU people killed
my sister.  YOU killed Agent Mulder's father.  You and your
pathetic crew of power-eaters have tried to kill us both--
more than once.  So don't expect me to shed tears for you
and your kind when you turn on each other like wild dogs."

"I told you to find the answers in your own mind, Agent
Scully.  In your own past."

"I don't care what you told me.  I don't dance to your
tune."

"Then you'll end up dead."

Scully laughed, a low terrible sound that sent chills
skittering down Mulder's spine.  "We all end up dead, Raven.
Sooner or later.  At least this way, I die knowing I wasn't
your spineless little puppet."

"This is a dangerous game to try to play alone, Agent
Scully."

Scully shook her head.  "I'm not alone."  She turned her
head and looked at Mulder, her gaze intense.

He returned the gaze, giving her his strength and support. 
Then, in silent concert, they both turned their eyes toward
Deborah Bennett.

She looked from one to the other, silent and wary.  For a
second, Mulder thought he saw something very much like envy
lurking behind her eyes.  Then she simply turned, opened the
door, and left the room.

Neither Mulder nor Scully moved for a long moment.  Then,
suddenly, Scully dropped the gun on one of the beds and
lurched toward the bathroom.  Seconds later, Mulder heard
retching sounds.

He grabbed a washcloth from the gold rack just outside the
bathroom door, drenched it with cold water, and knelt next
to her.  He held her hair back as she finished emptying her
stomach, then handed her the wet washcloth as she collapsed
back against the side of the tub, her eyes closed and her
throat bobbing as she swallowed convulsively to ward off dry
heaves.  He flushed the toilet and then sat cross-legged on
the bathroom floor in front of her, waiting for her to
recover. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured a few moments later.  

"You owe me, Scully," he said with a wry grin. 

A faint smile darted across her ashen face.  "I don't think
you can afford to keep score, Mulder."

He chuckled, heartened by her attempt at humor.  He stood
and reached down to catch her hands.  They felt cold and
stiff in his grasp--the blood on her hands had dried and
crusted, he realized, his own stomach rebelling for a
second.  He pulled her to her feet and gently turned her
around so that her back was to him.  The gold and silver
drape dipped almost to the small of her back, baring the
delicate ridges of her spine.  With a self-mocking half-
smile, he realized that under any other circumstances, all
that Scully-skin would be a wicked temptation.  But not
tonight.  Not when she was so vulnerable.  Not when what she
needed most was tenderness and comfort.

He reached below the drape and found the pull-tab of the
zipper.

"What are you doing?"  Scully murmured.

"Living a personal fantasy," he answered, his voice light
and teasing.  "Getting you out of your dress."

She turned her head, cutting her eyes at him.  He met her
quizzical gaze openly, reassuring her.  She dipped her head
forward, her eyes fluttering closed, and she relaxed, her
body almost swaying against his.

He finished unzipping the dress and gently helped her ease
the long, stiff sleeves off her arms.  The ruined dress
puddled to the floor, leaving Scully naked from the waist
up, and clad only in panties and sheer stockings from the
waist down.  Mulder stepped away, backing toward the
doorway.  "I'll be outside.  Take your time."  He scooped up
the blood-stained dress and took it out with him, closing
the door behind him.

He folded the dress and stashed it in a plastic garment bag
he found hanging in the closet.  He debated going back
downstairs and looking for one of the police detectives who
were no doubt still milling about the hotel.  The bloody
dress could constitute evidence, he supposed.  But he didn't
want to leave Scully alone.  Not when he'd once again come
so close to losing her.

So he stashed the bag in the bottom of the closet.  He could
give it to the NYPD in the morning--he and Scully were
supposed to go sign their statements before noon anyway.

As he was crossing back to the bed, someone knocked on the
door.  He tensed, grabbing his gun from where Scully had
dropped it, and crossed to the door.  He glanced through the
peephole, saw a bellman's uniform  and relaxed fractionally.
But he kept the gun in hand until the bellman entered, tray
of tea and shortbread cookies in hand.  He tipped the
bellman and set the tray on the table between the two beds,
then kicked off his shoes and socks and stretched out on the
bed, waiting for Scully to finish bathing.  

He listened to the soft hiss of the shower, thinking about
Scully standing under the spray, letting it wash away the
traces of Leigh MacGraw's blood.  Letting it cleanse her.
What she had been through tonight was horribly traumatic,
even for someone like Scully, who dealt with death on a
daily basis.  It wasn't possible for Scully, with her
doctor's dedication to preserving life, to watch someone's
life ripped away right in front of her without being
affected.  He knew she thought it was a sign of weakness,
how deeply the night's events had shaken her.  But he found
it her greatest strength--the fact that despite all the
horrors they had witnessed, she still had the capacity to
feel things so deeply, to be affected by tragedy.  It was a
testament to her character.

The sound of the shower ceased, and he turned his head
toward the bathroom door, awaiting her reemergence.  A few
seconds later, she walked out of the bathroom clad in an
oversized terry-cloth robe, her hair wet and tangled, her
skin bright pink from a vigorous scrubbing.  She avoided his
gaze and lay down on the other bed with her back to him,
curling into a tight ball.

"Room service delivered some tea," he murmured.  "Sure you
don't want some?"

"I'm okay."

He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed.  "I
know you are."

"Liar," she murmured.  "You think I'm a basket case."

He stood and crossed to her bed, lying down behind her.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What do you think?"  He gently ran his fingers through the
hair tangled against her cheek. 

"Mulder, I'm fine."

"Um hmm."  He continued the rhythmic caress.  

"I can handle it."

"Yes, you can."

"Mulder, stop it."

"Stop what?"

She caught his hand, trapping it against her cheek.  "Stop
that.  I don't want you to think you have to do this.  I'm
okay."  

"Scully, let me do this for you."  He scooted closer to her
until his body brushed up against her back.  "You've been a
rock for me more times than I can remember.  Don't shut me
out, please.  Let me do this."

Her hand trembled and fell away from his.  "I don't know why
I can't shake this."

"Maybe because you're human?"

She turned her head, looking at him over her shoulder.
"Mulder, are you coming on to me?"

He chuckled, resuming the gentle play of his fingers in her
hair.

She looked away again.  "Seriously, I've seen much worse
things, Mulder.  I didn't even know this woman.  Why am I
still shaking?"

"I think it's not just Leigh MacGraw's death.  I think it's
everything that's happened to us over the past three weeks. 
You told me yourself that it was unnerving to think about
how insidious the Consortium is in the lives of innocent
citizens.  That's the kind of thing that shakes your
foundation, makes you wonder if there's anyone in the world
that you can trust."

"Paul was going to marry Leigh, Mulder.  He loved her--she
said she loved him, too--but she was lying to him all along.
His father is lying to him.  Raven's job is to protect
Carter Christopher with her own life, yet she seems to have
no qualms about betraying him."  Scully rolled onto her
back, looking up at him, her eyes dark and wary.  "I used to
trust people, Mulder.  I took them at their word."  She
shook her head slightly.   "That seems so long ago.  Now I
know there's almost no one in the world we can trust."

He propped his head on his hand and looked down at her, his
heart clenching.  He had done that to her, he thought,
dragged her into his nightmare and ripped away her faith. 
So, perhaps, he alone had the power to give some of it back
to her now.  "I think there are probably millions of people
in the world we could trust, Scully."

She blinked, looking up at him in surprise.  

"There have to be good, honest, decent people in this world,
Scully.  Or else, what we're doing wouldn't have any
meaning.  There'd be no point in finding the truth if
there's no one out there who cares to hear it."  He brushed
aside a little strand of wet hair that clung to her lip. 
"The problem is, we don't have the luxury of the time it
would take to find out who we could trust and who we
couldn't.   So we have no choice but to watch our backs
every second."

She reached over and caught his hand, cradling it to her
stomach between her own hands.  "I guess I'm really pretty
lucky, Mulder.  I have my family.  And you."

He was acutely aware of the warmth of her body beneath the
terry-cloth robe, the sweet soap and water freshness of her
scent.  The soft hum of attraction that coursed through him
was more pleasant than frantic, and he let himself enjoy the
sensation of lying next to his favorite person in the world,
feeling her warmth against his body, hearing the tenderness
and affection in her voice.  He felt safe and blessed, a
rare feeling in his realm of experience. 

"I'm pretty lucky, too," he murmured, moving his hand
against her stomach in the most delicate of caresses.  "If
you weren't around, I'd have a four inch heel sticking out
of my spine right now."

She didn't smile as he'd hoped.  Instead, her expression
darkened.  "I hate people like her, pretending they're
trying to help us find the truth, while we take all the
risks and make all the enemies."

He nodded.  "And yet it's so hard to turn your back on the
information they offer, knowing it could be the key to
finding what you seek."

She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed as if in pain.  "I'm
so tired, Mulder."

"Then you should sleep."  He gently withdrew his hand from
her grip and started to retreat to his own bed.  But she
rolled onto her side to face him, her hand gripping his arm,
anchoring him.

Though her lips trembled, she uttered no sound.  But the
entreaty in her gaze was clear.  Stay with me, Mulder.  I
need you.

He opened his arms and she burrowed against him, her head
nestling in the curve of his throat, her arms circling his
waist and pulling him close.  He curved his body around
hers, enveloping her with his own warmth.  Within moments,
she was asleep, her body and mind exhausted from the
traumatic events of the evening. 

But he lay awake for a long time, keeping watch, listening
to her steady breathing, and thanking whatever God might be
listening that they'd both lived to see another day.



End of #5