Detective by beduini

Posted November 28, 2000

Rating:  PG-13 for adult subject matter

Category:  Casefile, X-File, MSR

Spoilers:  General Spoilers for Season 7, up to but not including 
Requiem

Archive:  Please ask.

Disclaimer:  The X-Files and its characters are the property of 
Twentieth Century Fox.  The show "Detective" and the speaking roles 
except Mulder and Scully are mine.

Summary:  A murder investigation involving a reality television 
show.

Thanks at the end.

PROLOGUE

WENDY'S OLD FASHIONED HAMBURGERS
VAN NUYS, CALIFORNIA
9:09 p.m. EST

A shiny black Ford Explorer pulled into the parking lot of the 
Wendy's restaurant, stopping abruptly at an angle across two spaces 
in front of the tinted glass door.  The black and whites were 
already there - a pair of squad cars were parallel parked on the 
street in front of the restaurant.  Their red lights broadcast to 
the small crowd of onlookers gathered on the opposite side of the 
street that something was cooking besides hamburgers in the fast 
food restaurant.

A tall, lanky man dressed in black and wearing a black baseball cap 
hopped out of the driver's seat of the Explorer, looking around at 
the surrounding area.  He was joined at the front of the vehicle by 
a woman of small stature, her sex evident by her curved hips and 
high heels, also wearing undistinguishing black clothing and an 
identical black baseball cap.  They glanced at each other, then 
pushed their way through the glass door into the restaurant, the 
man's hand guiding the woman ahead of him by a casually placed palm 
at the small of her back.

The door closed and through the glass the woman could be seen 
holding up a small black wallet, showing the uniformed police 
officers that she was someone with a reason to be there.  The man 
followed suit, close behind her as she pushed through the people 
standing by the door, making her way behind the counter and into the 
kitchen of the restaurant. 

On the floor of the kitchen lay an Asian man in his mid-thirties.  
He was wearing the standard Wendy's uniform with a rectangular 
plastic nametag indicating he was the manager of the establishment.  
There was a small entry wound in the middle of his chest, his torso 
encircled by thick, dark red liquid.

"What have we got?" the woman asked with authority, looking from the 
man on the floor to the uniformed police officer standing just to 
the side of the sticky red puddle.

"Sun-Young Oh, aged thirty-four, restaurant manager, shot once 
through the chest at point-blank range," the officer replied.

The man who had accompanied the woman into the restaurant crouched 
down next to her, visually examining the body of Mr. Sun-Young Oh.  

"Any witnesses?" he asked without looking up.

"There was one other employee inside the restaurant at the time, and 
he was in the freezer.  Claims he didn't hear anything.  The only 
other employee on duty was picking up garbage outside in the drive-
through lane.  He ran inside when he heard the shot fired, and found 
Mr. Oh on the floor and the other employee in the freezer counting 
meat patties."

The man crouching near the body of Mr. Oh let out a startled yelp, 
hopping back away from the body.  Looking down, he shook his foot as 
a few drops of the thick red liquid splattered onto the tiled floor.

"I just got these shoes," the man said in irritation.  

Behind him, there was an audible gasp.

XxX 

Chalupas for ninety-nine cents for a limited time only.

Fox Mulder sat on his leather sofa, his eyes intent on the 
television screen in front of him as the crime scene cut abruptly to 
a commercial for Taco Bell.  His shoulders slumped and he let out a 
frustrated huff, his telephone ringing at that same instant.  

He picked up the cordless receiver laying on the coffee table in 
front of him and said, "Freezer boy."

"Drive through attendant," a feminine alto voice replied on the 
other end of the line.  "The employee in the freezer wouldn't have 
enough time to leave the freezer, go around the counter and shoot 
Mr. Oh point blank in the chest, then run back around the counter, 
through the kitchen and back into the freezer before the drive 
through attendant entered the restaurant."

"Why do you say Mr. Oh was shot from the other side of the counter?"

The alto voice carried a tone of smugness in the response.  "From 
the position of the body and the point of entry, of course.  I'm 
sure if you turned Mr. Oh over, the exit wound in back would quite 
graphically illustrate the angle from which the shot was fired."

Mulder's voice dropped, the tone growing deliberately suggestive.  
"You know, Scully...they're going to have to obtain an expert 
opinion."  She snorted on the other end of the line, and he grinned.  
"Is that in reference to the lovely Dr. Maria Jolie, played by 
Angelina Fabrocini, formerly known early in her career as B.J. 
Candy?"

"And you wonder why I *won't* watch television with you, Mulder." 

He was satisfied, having heard the slightly jealous lilt in her 
voice that he'd intended to coax out of her.  Leaning back into the 
sofa, he placed his bare feet up on the edge of the coffee table, 
his voice a warm, intimate rumble.  "Hey Scully, that was quite a 
makeup job they did on Sun-Young Oh, huh?  Better than the black eye 
they gave the bus driver during the last investigation."

"Mulder, it's a television show.  There's only so much they can do.  
If the investigating contestants saw half of what you and I have 
seen, the network would be fielding calls of outrage from every 
anti-violence watchdog society in every state in the United States 
as well as most of Canada."

"Negative publicity is still publicity, Scully."

"Only for so long, Mulder.  Once morbid curiosity is satisfied, it 
loses its appeal."

He was silent.  "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about more 
than just this television show?"

XxX

Inside the Wendy's restaurant, it was still a commercial break for 
"Detective," America's top-rated reality show.

The police officer stood on his mark as a woman patted away the 
shine on his face with a soft sponge.  The two contestants dressed 
in black investigating the crime were farther back in the kitchen, 
drinking bottled water and laughing with the two uniformed employee-
cum-actors near the deep fryers, all giddy with their fifteen 
minutes of fame.  A young pony-tailed woman with a black binder 
wearing a T-shirt imprinted with the words "Detective Crew" across 
the back expertly stepped over cables as she rushed toward a very 
thin, tall man with black framed glasses and a goatee standing by 
the drive through window.

"...find out what David wants us to do," he was saying angrily into 
a walkie talkie.  "Here, Donna," he called to the young woman with 
the binder, motioning her over to join him. 

Donna stopped beside Mr. Oh, crouched down and reached a hand out to 
place two fingers against his neck.  Then she stood stiffly and 
walked over to the man in glasses, her comments muffled.

"Wait for David, it's his call," was the reply, his tone sharp.

Her voice rose in volume.  "Curtis, if we don't report this 
immediately..."

"Shhh..." Curtis cut her off with an insistent hiss.

An expensively dressed, slightly smaller than average man with wavy 
dark hair and small, round wire-framed glasses took a deep breath 
and pushed his way through the glass door and into the restaurant.  
The others near the door stepped aside to let him in, but he didn't 
spare them a glance.  His face was slack and perspiration dotted his 
brow as he glanced over at Sun-Young Oh instead, then carefully 
stepped a wide berth around him to reach Curtis and Donna at the 
drive through window.

"Are you sure?" he asked Curtis in lieu of a greeting, nervously 
glancing down at Mr. Oh once more.  He pushed the wire-rimmed 
glasses farther up his substantial nose and his voice cracked, the 
pitch rising at the end of his question.

Curtis answered quietly, his tone nearly accusatory.  "Of course I 
am."

David looked back at Mr. Oh, his breathing becoming erratic.  
"Ohmygod, Ohmygod."  He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a 
deep breath.  "This situation wasn't covered in Harvard business 
school."

"Well, it wasn't covered in film school, either," Curtis snapped 
back.

"Okay," David said to calm himself, his words spoken slow and  
deliberate.  "Okay.  We have to tell Stephen."  He withdrew a small 
cellular phone from his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the 
small antennae.  Curtis turned away, folding his arms against his 
chest.

Donna stepped closer.  "David, we *have* to call 911!"

David turned his shoulder away from her, and when he found himself 
looking directly at Mr. Oh, he turned again, facing the back of the 
kitchen, where the contestants lounged against the equipment as they 
waited for their cue.  "It's David," he said nervously into the 
phone, pausing a moment.  "Uh...no that's just it, he's not acting.  
He's uh...he's really dead."

ACT I

THE STUDIO LOT
SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES
3:30 p.m. PST
 
Jeffrey Schwartz sat behind his seventeenth century carved wood 
desk, his hands steepled in front of his thick lips as he listened 
to the director and the first A.D. from his number one rated show 
recount their versions of the events surrounding the death of Xiou 
Lee, a.k.a. Sun-Young Oh.  Mr. Lee was not an American citizen, or 
even Korean-American as he had indicated on his resume, but a 
citizen of the People's Republic of China, wanted by the authorities 
in his own country as a political refugee.  This simple fact 
warranted the presence of the federal authorities, in the 
personification of a pair of agents from the FBI  Also in attendance 
were the show's creator, the producer, and two of the attorneys from 
the corporate side of the network.

The agents were Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.  Their names were 
familiar to him somehow, and he jotted them down on the blotter in 
front of him to remind him to ask his secretary about it after 
they'd gone.  

Mulder and Scully, he thought, assessing them with a critical eye as 
he ran a hand over his salt and pepper beard.  Not a bad looking 
pair in their crisp, dark blue suits.  Not star material, perhaps - 
his facial features were a bit unconventional and had an unfortunate 
droning monotone for a voice.  A nice body, though...wears clothes 
well.  A nice, tight ass.  She was classically pretty, great eyes, 
but rather small for her face.  She had curves - definitely not the 
waif-ish type, and he'd yet to see her smile.  A sexy voice, though.  
Combine the two of them, and they'd make one decent television 
personality.

Jeffrey got a sense of unity about them as they stood in the back of 
the office, and he wondered if they were sleeping together.  Perhaps 
it was the business suits that made them stand out from the rest of 
the crowd.  He decided that star material or not, they were both 
pretty damn attractive.  He wondered if they'd be interested in a 
three-way as he mentally undressed them, only half listening to the 
conversation in the room.  That's what the lawyers were there for.

Curtis Burns, the show's director, was on the leather sofa next to 
Jeffrey's desk, recounting his version of the events from the night 
before.  "It's not my fault," he said defensively to no one in 
particular.  "I'm just the director.  I have to make sure everything 
runs smoothly.  Do you have any idea how difficult it is trying to 
do that on live television?"

"The cameras continue filming while the commercials air, is that 
correct, Mr. Burns?"  Mulder asked him, taking a step closer, but 
not so far as to lose his partner from his field of vision.

Curtis let out a small huff and replied as if talking to a small 
child or someone with limited mental capacity.  "The cameras are 
usually on.  Even though the show is live, we have to edit in other 
footage to be able to drive the action forward in the one hour slot 
we're allotted every evening.  That breaks down into forty-two 
minutes of screen time.  Not much to work with, let me tell you."

"We have a rough script," Donna, the first assistant director, added 
diplomatically, obviously accustomed to soothing Jeffrey's ruffled 
feathers.  "It's not complete chaos, except for the contestants, 
everyone knows the series of events that will take place.  Only the 
contestants are in the dark so that they can try to solve the crime 
and win the million dollars.  Still, we offer them the opportunity 
to buy a clue when they get stuck in the investigation."

Mulder had glanced over at Scully, their eyes meeting in agreement.  
"I'd like to view the footage from last night, specifically, the 
parts that didn't air on national television."

Jeffrey's lewd daydream was interrupted with Mulder's comment and he 
looked at the executive producer and series creator, Stephen Taylor, 
who then looked over at David Weiner, the producer.

"We anticipated that request.  The dailies are already loaded into 
the machine," David said, his voice thin and high despite his 
attempt to control it.

Jeffrey picked up a remote control off of his desktop and pointed it 
at the wall opposite his desk.  The wall parted, as the lights 
automatically dimmed, revealing a nearly floor to ceiling sized 
screen.  The room was filled with blips in surround sound and images 
of the contestants appeared on the screen.

Although there were seats available, Mulder and Scully chose to 
remain standing side by side in the back of the office.  Mulder shot 
her a quick grin as the wall parted, which she responded to with a 
quirk of her eyebrow.  Their position didn't affect their ability to 
see the action on the screen - any place in the office offered a 
good view, the screen was so large and the definition so crisp.

It was essentially the same show they'd watched on their respective 
television sets the night before, plus the added footage shot before 
and after the commercial breaks.  The extra footage was filled 
mostly with technical jargon regarding lighting and camera angles, 
and some brief direction given to the actors and contestants.  The 
camera also caught snippets of Curtis and Donna discussing the 
script, their conversation mostly unintelligible in the midst of the 
activity around them.  A few minutes after David appeared in the 
restaurant the cast and crew were told to go out into the parking 
lot for filming, and the camera was shut off.

The next shot was of the contestants interviewing the two restaurant 
employees outside, and measuring the walking distance from the drive 
through lane to the door of the restaurant.  After a brief huddle, 
the contestant/detectives decided to invite the drive through 
attendant down to the police station for further questioning.  The 
rest was miscellaneous footage of the interrogation at the police 
station mixed with 'expert medical advice' delivered by Dr. Maria 
Jolie. 

When the dailies ended, the lights gradually grew brighter.  All 
eyes turned toward the two federal agents in the back of the room.

"I'd like a copy of that tape to take with me, if it's not too much 
trouble," Mulder said with a combination of affability and 
authority.

Stephen smiled thinly and said, "of course," and Jeffrey buzzed his 
secretary on the intercom.

Mulder couldn't help but stare at the woman as she crossed the room 
to stand directly in front of Jeffrey's desk.  Her clothes were form 
fitting, and the skirt was very, very short, exposing a long expanse 
of creamy thighs and calves that seemed to go on for miles.  And 
high heels -- at least as high as that one pair that Scully wore once 
in a while when they weren't going out into the field.

He looked down at his cuticles, certain that another ten seconds of 
staring at the woman's legs would draw Scully's attention, if he 
wasn't busted already.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" the secretary asked pleasantly, 
and Mulder noted out of his peripheral vision that the only person 
in the room *not* staring at her was himself.  Even Scully had her 
head tilted to the side, her eyes wide with fascination.

"Karen, I need you to dub a tape for Mr. Mulder ASAP," Jeffrey said 
casually.

"Sure thing," she said warmly, crossing the room and popping the 
tape out of the player before leaving the room without another word.

"Done.  Is there anything more we can do for you today, Agents?" 
Jeffrey asked turning his direct attention toward Mulder and Scully, 
leaning back in his huge leather chair.

"For now, just the tape," Scully replied.  "You'll be available for 
further questions, should any arise?"

"Of course, of course," Jeffrey said agreeably as he stood, and the 
others nodded their assent, taking his cue to stand as well.  "Karen 
will be back in a few minutes with your copy.  In the meantime, if 
there are no more questions, we've all got to get back to work or 
there won't be any show tonight."

Mulder nodded his assent and the others filed out of the office with 
cursory smiles as they passed the agents.  Jeffrey crossed the room 
to stand in front of them, not much taller than Scully when he came 
out from behind the huge desk.  "You're welcome to wait in here if 
you'd like.  Mi casa es su casa.  Please, make yourselves 
comfortable."

Something in Jeffrey Schwartz's piercing blue eyes made Scully most 
uncomfortable, and she offered him a polite smile.  "Thank you, but 
I'm sure you're a very busy man, Mr. Schwartz.  My partner and I 
will be just fine in your waiting area."

He shrugged with a soft smile, and watched closely as the agents 
walked out the door, Mulder touching his hand lightly against 
Scully's back as he allowed her to step in front of him.  

Jeffrey's eyes narrowed.  By his assessment, they were definitely 
doing it, and he was definitely aroused just thinking about the 
private side of the FBI  Probably some kink, too, with handcuffs and 
guns.  Maybe there was a television movie of the week in that idea.  
He cursed network television, knowing that he'd get to show some 
tits and ass if he were the president of a cable network.  Screw 
'The Sopranos' and all their goddamn Emmys, anyway.  In the 
meantime, he'd get Karen to come in and take care of him as soon as 
she returned with that tape.

XxX

With tape in hand, Mulder and Scully caught up with Donna just 
outside Jeffrey's bungalow as she was heading for her car.  With a 
shared glance, they agreed that a few more questions out of the 
presence of the rest of the boys might not be a bad idea.

"Donna?" Scully called to her as Mulder donned a pair of sunglasses 
in the bright California sun.  They had to stop short to avoid being 
run down by a speeding golf cart.

Donna turned and glanced over at them, playing with her car keys as 
she shifted from one foot to the other.  "Is there something else 
you need?  I'm already late to the set and Curtis left at the same 
time as me."

A pretty, no-frills type of girl, Donna seemed more interested in 
comfort and convenience than making a statement.  She wore her ash 
blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and jeans and black work 
boots instead of impractical heels and fashionably fitted pants.  

"This won't take long," Mulder replied, offering her a placating 
smile as he leaned against the car next to hers, facing her.  The 
fact that the car he was dusting with his ass was a BMW worth more 
than his annual salary didn't register with him. 

She looked at him, then relaxed slightly, leaning against the side 
of her own, smaller BMW.  "What is it?"

"Is Curtis usually angry with you for being late?" Scully asked with 
concern.  She looked down at the car Mulder was leaning against, and 
decided it was far too expensive to take the same liberty, so she 
stood near him, facing Donna.

"Not really, he's just..." Donna looked away, drawing a deep breath. 
"Curtis has always been a little...angry.  You'll probably find this 
out, anyway.  As an openly out of the closet homosexual, he's very 
protective of his lifestyle.  Some people might perceive that as 
bitchiness, but he's just been through a lot.  He's a great 
director."

Scully continued with her non-threatening approach.  "Has he seemed 
more angry than usual lately?"  

Donna looked hesitantly from Scully to Mulder.  "A little more than 
usual, maybe.  He's recently separated from his lover and he's going 
through a difficult time, so it's understandable that he brings some 
of those feelings to work with him."  She paused.  "Do you think 
Curtis had anything to do with this?  Because if you do, you're 
wrong."

"Nobody is accusing anybody, Donna," Mulder said with just the right 
amount of softness.  "We're just trying to get a feel for the 
atmosphere."  He glanced at Scully, then continued, "What about the 
general attitude on the set...you know, is it a friendly group?"

Donna shrugged.  "As friendly as they get, I guess.  I've been in 
much worse working situations."

Mulder nodded.  "All of the people involved in such a large 
production -- I imagine that must make for pretty close quarters at 
times, doesn't it?"

"The cast and crew spend a lot of hours together.  I don't think 
I've spent more than seven hours a night in my apartment since 
production started.  Since we film live, there isn't a lot of room 
for mistakes, so we have to be prepared for any possible situation."

"Even murder?" Scully asked, without accusation.
 
"Not a real one," Donna replied.  "Nobody was expecting that."

Scully moved a step closer.  "What about Curtis' lover...they just 
broke up, do you think he may have been involved in some way?" 

"Jack?" Donna's voice was laced with contempt.  "Why would Jack want 
to kill an unknown Chinese actor?  He is so lazy it would be too 
much effort to kill a fly, let alone a person, even if he thought it 
would get him an Academy Award."

Scully's voice took on the low, soothing tone that she always 
expertly produced when the situation required it.  "Donna, I know 
you already gave your statement to the police last night, but just 
for our own edification, would you mind telling us about the 
preparation that took place before filming yesterday?"

Donna looked at her hesitantly, then she pursed her lips together 
and nodded.  "Usually, we work with the amateurs first, you know, 
the real employees in the establishments where the contestants have 
to go during the investigation.  We make sure that they understand 
not to look at the camera and that they should try to act normally.  
Sometimes we even do a few test takes just to get them comfortable 
with the camera.  Then we make sure that all of the professional 
actors know their lines and are prepared for any potential questions 
the contestants may ask."

"Was last night unusual in any way?" Mulder asked, tucking the video 
tape under his arm, reaching into his trousers pocket and pulling 
out a small bag of sunflower seeds.  He shook a few into his hand 
and offered the bag to Donna, but she shook her head in polite 
refusal.  He picked a seed out of his palm with his thumb and 
forefinger and slid it in between his molars, then held his hand out 
to offer Scully a seed.  To his delight, she took one.

Donna continued.  "Last night was no different than any other.  Mr. 
Oh...I mean, Lee...was already in full makeup and waiting for his 
cue...I think I saw him smoking a cigarette outside.  Once the call 
comes through that the contestants are on their way, everyone takes 
their places.  I know Mr. Lee was a little nervous about his part 
and wanted a little more help getting into the character.  
Curtis..." she stopped, hesitating.

"What about Curtis, Donna?" Scully asked, discarding the shell from 
the seed she'd consumed.

"Curtis told him that all he had to do was lay there like a corpse.  
But Mr. Lee asked again for more atmosphere, so Curtis told the one 
employee to go out and pick up trash, and told the other one to go 
into the freezer and start counting meat patties, just like the 
script explained.  Then he told Mr. Lee to lay down on top of...um, 
the stage blood already applied to the floor of the restaurant, and 
we all cleared out so that he could get into his role."

"Did Curtis clear out as well?

Donna let out a breath and met Scully's gaze.  "Honestly, that I 
don't know.  A call came in regarding tonight's location and I had 
to get my binder out of my car, so I left just as the others started 
making their way out of the restaurant."

"What time was this?"

"Around six thirty, I think.  The contestants showed up not long 
after that, and the cameras were stopped by the time I returned."

"Hmmm."  Scully said, thoughtfully.  "How do *you* think Mr. Lee got 
shot?" she asked, casually rubbing her hands together to rid them of 
the residual sunflower seed salt.

Donna hesitated once more.  "There was a noise, like a shot fired.  
I didn't think much of it at the time...I thought it was a truck 
backfiring on the nearby freeway, or someone firing the blank gun 
from the prop truck..."

"To help Mr. Lee feel more in character?" Mulder prompted.

"Yeah, maybe.  It didn't seem that unusual to me at the time, so I 
didn't give it a whole lot of thought."

Mulder and Scully shared another brief glance.  "Donna," Scully 
started, then paused.  "Who has access to the props on the prop 
truck?"

"The propmaster and the set designer, for the most part."

"What about the director?"

Donna's face showed her discomfort, and she paused, then nodded, her 
response soft.  "Sure.  The director has access to everything."  She 
swallowed, looking down at her wristwatch.  "Listen, I really have 
to get going."

"Of course, sorry to keep you," Mulder replied with a conciliatory 
smile, leaning forward and holding his hand out to shake hers.  
"Thanks for taking time out to talk with us."

Donna shook his hand, and stiffly climbed into her car.  She started 
the engine and backed out of the parking space slowly, Mulder and 
Scully both offering her a polite wave goodbye as she turned the car 
and drove off.

Scully stepped around to face Mulder, and just as he leaned back 
against the BMW it suddenly chirped loudly.  He jumped slightly with 
surprise and turned, stepping away from the car and into the parking 
space Donna had just vacated.  A fashionably scruffy young man 
walked up wearing a look of irritation, which Mulder met with his 
own blank expression.  

The young man took off his expensive sunglasses, walked around the 
back of the car, and looked at the spot where Mulder had been 
leaning, evident on the car's slightly smog-dusted black finish.  
Shooting a pointed look, the man replaced his sunglasses and turned 
his back on the pair.  Then, pulling out his cellular phone, Mr. BMW 
dialed a number and climbed into the car, starting the engine and 
peeling out of the parking spot with the phone pressed up against 
his ear.

"You think he's calling security?" Mulder asked Scully, his face 
still blank.

"Let him try."  Scully watched the car speed away.  Then her eyes 
fell on the car that had been sitting on the other side of the black 
BMW.

A metallic orange Neon.  THEIR Neon, courtesy of Lariat Rental Cars.  
Due to Bureau-wide cutbacks, a new policy had been issued regarding 
rental cars, and they were forced into a lower-priced category of 
automobiles.

This particular automobile had seen better days.  The rental agency 
apologized, only having one car available in their price range and 
that car had been scheduled to go into the repair shop.  The rear 
fender was slightly askew, and it was missing a plastic hubcap on 
the rear passenger side wheel.  It was also in desperate need of a 
thorough cleaning, inside and out.

With a wistful sigh and a final glance at the retreating BMW 540i, 
Scully headed toward their car, standing at the passenger side door 
as Mulder crossed around back to the driver's door.  The color of 
the car clashed with the color of her hair, and Mulder gave her an 
apologetic smile, sliding into his seat and unlocking her door.

"I'll bet he pays a fortune in insurance," he commented as they 
belted themselves into the car.

"The way he drives, he'd better."  The slight curve at the corner of 
her mouth told him all he needed to know regarding her frame of 
mind.  "We should run the bullet that struck Mr. Lee through 
forensics to see if it's a match with the prop gun."

"They recovered the bullet at the crime scene, didn't they?"

Scully unbuckled her seatbelt, reached into the back seat and 
grabbed a file, flipping through it until she found a list of 
evidence.

"Yep.  Mr. Lee was shot in a supine position, and what was left of 
the bullet was recovered on the tile underneath him when they 
removed the body."

"So he was already in position when he was shot -- that should have 
raised a flag right there.  Is the prop gun on the evidence list?"

"Nope.  There's no gun of any kind on this list."

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, chewing on the inside 
of his cheek.  "The lab report on the caliber of the weapon won't be 
ready for a while.  How about I drop you off at the County Coroner 
so you can get up close and personal with Mr. Lee, while I try to 
get my hands on that prop gun?"

Scully closed the file and tossed it back onto the back seat, 
fastening her seatbelt once again.  "You're the driver."

XxX

LOS ANGELES COUNTY CORONER
4:50 p.m.

Mulder had followed a hand-printed sign, bright green cardboard with 
the words "Detective Crew" in black marker.  It was posted to the 
street light at the bottom of the freeway offramp, with an arrow 
indicating that the production was located the same direction he was 
heading.  After making his way past the parked trucks and trailers 
to the office of the coroner, he pulled into a vacant parking spot 
directly in front of the building.

"Think you can get your hands on a FedEx envelope in there?"  He 
turned the key in the ignition and picked up the video tape 
sitting on the dashboard.

Scully's expression remained serious, although there was a glint in 
her eye as she took the tape out of his hand.  "Danny or Frohike?"

Mulder laid his head back against the headrest and turned his face 
toward her, his eyes glowing warmly.  "Scully, you know that's not 
that kind of a tape.  Although...I'm sure the guys could break the 
audio down just as effectively as our own.  But Danny would never 
forgive us if we didn't let him see the outtakes from his favorite 
television show."

They both climbed out of the car, and Scully studied him over the 
orange roof, her arms crossed in front of her.  "So, am I to assume 
that Danny's also a fan of Dr. Maria Jolie, a.k.a. Angelina 
Fabrocini, formerly known as B.J. Candy?"

Mulder offered her a tight-lipped smile in lieu of a response, his 
eyes crinkling at the corners.  She turned, and as she made her way 
up the steps to the coroner's office with tape in hand, he crossed 
the parking lot toward the base camp set up for the production, 
whistling off-key.  It was juvenile, he knew, but he enjoyed teasing 
her, especially since she didn't bother to mask her jealousy like 
she used to.  

Not that she had ever been any good at it.

XxX

After she sent the video tape to Danny back in D.C., Scully changed 
into scrubs to perform a visual examination on the body of Mr. Lee.  
As a citizen of China, they had to wait for permission from Mr. 
Lee's family via the Chinese Consulate before they could perform a 
complete autopsy.  That could take months if the government chose to 
make an issue of it.

In this case, an autopsy wouldn't be necessary to determine cause of 
death - she could see that much with a glance.  There was a gunshot 
wound in the middle of his chest, most likely .357 caliber, which 
would have fully obliterated his heart and lungs in the process.  
She was sure there wouldn't be much of him left where the bullet 
exited the body.

She was attempting to turn the body over when the door to the 
autopsy bay opened, revealing an Amazon in a lab coat.  The leggy 
woman was easily over six feet tall, wearing a form-fitting black 
skirt and white lab coat that was too-tight across her ample chest.  
Her dark hair was piled up into an elegant French twist, adding more 
height to the illusion.

"I couldn't believe it when I'd heard that you were here," the woman 
stated dramatically, her dark, expressive eyes flashing.

Scully had been staring at her behind protective goggles, her eyes 
wide and her mouth open.  Dr. Maria Jolie, otherwise known as 
Angelina Fabrocini, formerly known as B.J. Candy.  In the flesh.  
She shook her head in disbelief to clear it.  "I'm sorry, can I help 
you with something?"

"You're the pathologist from the FBI -- Dr. Dana Scully?"

Scully straightened, suddenly uneasy, wondering where Mulder might 
be at that particular moment, what he'd been up to and if he was 
setting her up for some joke.  She took a deep breath, and replied 
shortly, "Yes."  

Maria/Angelina/B.J. glided across the room in what seemed like only 
two long strides, holding her hand out to Scully.  "I'm so glad to 
meet you!  When I heard that a female pathologist from the FBI was 
performing the autopsy on Mr. Lee, I had to come."  Scully found her 
latex encased hand engulfed between two large palms.  "I'm Angie 
Fabrocini, I play Dr. Maria Jolie on "Detective".  It's such a 
pleasure to meet you."

"Miss Fabrocini..."

"Please...call me Angie."

Scully responded with a tight-lipped smile, extracting her hand and 
placing it alongside the other one on the metal gurney.  She looked 
down at the body, took a fortifying breath, letting it out slowly 
and whispering, "Angie" to herself under her breath.  Then, looking 
up farther than she ever had to look to see Mulder's face, she said, 
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Angie, but I'm just performing a 
visual exam, not a full autopsy."

Angie smiled, revealing a line of straight, white teeth.  "May I 
watch?  I promise I won't get in the way.  Its just-" she hesitated, 
revealing the real person in the soulful dark eyes, behind the stage 
makeup and the tight clothing.  Angie was nervous.  "I really want 
to get a feel for how a real pathologist approaches an examination.  
I don't get much opportunity other than what I've seen on 
television.  You know, 'Quincy' and 'The Learning Channel'.  I've 
got a pretty strong stomach...I promise I won't faint."

Scully's feeling of unease lifted at Angie's admission.  The actress 
seemed genuine - after all, she was just trying to do her job to the 
best of her ability.  Scully let out a breath, and smiled.  
"Alright, help me turn him over.  He's a lot heavier than he looks."

XxX

The prop gun was still in the prop truck, and Mulder was able to 
slide it into an evidence bag without the propmaster touching it.  
Of course, he had no idea if the man had touched it at any point 
during the last couple of days, although the man claimed that the 
gun hadn't been used in over a week.  

He ran into Donna on his way down the metal stairs, and she didn't 
seem at all surprised to see him.  

"Agent Mulder, I was just on my way over to tell Angie her call time 
has changed."

"Angie?" he asked, the name not registering.

"Angelina Fabrocini - she plays Dr. Maria Jolie on the show.  She's 
over at the Coroner's office with your partner."

Mulder's mouth quirked up in a grin. "I'll walk over with you."  

As they walked, he noticed that Donna seemed a lot more at ease than 
she did at the studio just a few hours earlier.  "I hope you didn't 
get in too much hot water for being late this afternoon," he said 
conversationally.

"Curtis wasn't here.  He's taking care of some properties issues of 
his own at home."

"Property issues?"

"The break up.  You know, this is mine, that is yours..."

Mulder mouthed a silent, "ah," with a nod of his head.

They stopped for an approaching vehicle, which turned out to be 
David, leaving the set in a dark green Range Rover.  Donna raised 
her hand in a friendly gesture, but the gesture wasn't returned, and 
they continued on their way in silence.

As Mulder and Donna entered the autopsy bay, Angie and Scully were 
standing close together, Angie bending down to Scully's level as 
Scully pointed to something on the body of Mr. Lee, speaking in a 
low voice.  Angie responded, causing Scully to look up at her and 
smile, their eyes meeting and both women laughing softly.  Pausing 
at the door, Donna's face split into a sly grin as she crossed her 
arms in front of her.  

"Looks like I hit the nail on the head this time."

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, smiling at the sight of Scully 
enjoying herself.

"I told Angie your partner was just her type.  I think that goes 
both ways."

Mulder's grin fell as he understood what Donna was implying.  It was 
evident that Scully felt completely relaxed with Miss B.J. Candy, 
and he realized what it must look like from Donna's point of view.  
Now that it had been mentioned, B.J. Candy certainly looked like she 
was interested in more than Scully's slicing and dicing.  He felt 
the familiar pang of jealousy that hit him in the middle of the 
chest every time someone showed more than a professional interest in 
his partner, and clenched his jaw with irritation.  The fact that 
Scully was heterosexual --- and he was pretty damn certain of that 
fact -- was forgotten and irrelevant.  

XxX

CURTIS BURNS RESIDENCE
5:25 p.m.

David was worried.  

First, the murder on the set, then the FBI shows up.  Then Donna 
tells him that the FBI were asking questions about Curtis.  And 
then, the propmaster tells him the FBI confiscated their prop gun as 
evidence.

Everything depended on the success of this show.  Everything.  
David's classmates from Harvard were running corporations now, 
multi-million dollar corporations with huge expense accounts and 
stock options.  While he couldn't complain about the money he was 
earning, he certainly wasn't operating at the same executive level 
as some of his classmates.  He should be president of the network by 
now.  At the very least, he should be an executive producer, like 
Stephen, calling all of the shots.  Like Stephen, he should have a 
development deal for three new series in the next two years.

Curtis chose a hell of a time to break up with his lover, he mused.  
Everyone knew the guy was a mooch, why did Curtis have to kick him 
out just as the show was going down the toilet?  

And now, the FBI  

Walking up the steps to Curtis' hillside Silverlake home, Stephen 
stopped at the top step, knocking on the door before turning to look 
out at the view.  It was beautiful.  The sun was reflecting gold off 
of the lake, and it was an amazingly clear day.  So clear that he 
could see all of the way to the Pacific Ocean.  The HOLLYWOOD sign 
was in plain sight on another hill, as were the small clusters of 
buildings that made up the Downtown and Mid-Wilshire districts, and 
the twin towers of Century City.
 
He should have a view like this, David though begrudgingly.  His own 
house in Malibu didn't even have a view of the ocean, but at least 
he'd bought in the right zip code.  Still, Curtis had a pretty sweet 
setup.  It wasn't fair how everyone was doing so well while he 
remained static.  Turning back toward the house, he stepped up to 
the front landing and rang the bell.

"David, has something happened?"  Curtis asked, opening the door 
with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"It's all going to hell," David replied, and Curtis stepped aside to 
allow him to enter.

Their shoulders brushed, and moments later David felt a strange 
sensation, like the tingling when his foot goes to sleep, or the 
muscle stimulating machine his personal trainer used after a tough 
workout.  The sensation began at the point where his shoulder had 
brushed against Curtis', and slowly began to extend further across 
his torso, down his arm and to his other arm, up his neck to his 
scalp and down to the soles of his feet.  His entire body grew warm, 
relaxed, and it reminded him of being high in college.  He'd inhaled 
then, and it felt pretty damn good.  

Only not as good as this.  

Every cell in his body was aware.   He noticed everything, including 
Curtis and his one-sided telephone conversation.  Curtis had his 
hand on his forehead, and he seemed to have become disoriented as he 
was talking.  He was discussing a deal of some sort.  A production 
deal.  No...

A development deal.  

David felt the envy swell within him.  Curtis was offered a 
development deal.  Probably by that bastard Jeffrey.  He probably 
let Jeffrey give it to him in the ass and in return Jeffrey made a 
development deal like he'd made with Stephen.

The awareness was like a fine laser point of light in his mind, 
while the envy continued to expand, pumping through his blood with 
every beat of his heart.  Without a doubt, David knew that he 
deserved what Curtis and Stephen had.

No matter what.

XxX

CARRIAGE INN
SHERMAN OAKS, CALIFORNIA
9:43 p.m.

"Detective" broadcast live on the East Coast, but the West Coast 
broadcast was tape delayed.  Scully found that fitting, somehow.  
She knew it was about prime time viewing hours and premium air 
advertising rates, but with everything that she'd seen of behind-
the-scenes Hollywood, the fact that the illusion didn't play in 
their own backyard further broadened the proscenium between the 
entertainment industry and the rest of the world.

It was late by her standards...after midnight Eastern Standard Time.  
The difference in time was always a little difficult the first night 
of a cross-country investigation, and she tried to stay up a few 
hours later than usual to help herself adjust.  Padding barefoot 
around her motel room with her toothbrush tucked in the side of her 
mouth, she had her television on, the sound low, watching with mild 
interest as the contestant detectives continued to investigate the 
trumped up murder of Mr. Oh.

Through the thin walls, she could hear Mulder's television in the 
next room.  Like her, he was awake, trying to adjust to the time 
difference.  He was the one who'd taught her that trick.

They had turned the prop gun in to the LAPD Scientific Investigative 
Division after they left the coroner's office, stopping long enough 
to review the evidence collected from the crime scene the night 
before.  Mulder was unusually quiet through the rest of the long, 
rush-hour drive to the motel.  Tired of the silence, she had made 
small talk and he'd responded, but when she tried to joke with him 
about meeting Angie in the flesh, the joke fell flat.  With Angie, 
she had expected him to behave much in the same way he had in the 
presence of Ms. Jade Blue Afterglow on one of their previous cases, 
but much to her surprise, he barely acknowledged the actress.  At 
the motel, he'd grabbed his bag out of the trunk of the car and 
retreated to his room with a carefully placed blank look on his face 
and a mumbled "goodnight."

Now, she could hear him channel surfing and pacing during the 
commercial breaks.  She considered calling him on the telephone to 
chat about the show as was their custom, but decided that what she 
really wanted was just to spend some down time with him in person.  
Not bothering to put on shoes, she tucked her toothbrush back into 
her cosmetics case, grabbed her room key and turned off the 
television.

He seemed a little surprised to see her at his door, but stepped 
aside to let her in without a word, grinning at the sight of her 
bare feet.  She noticed a couple of bottles of water and a bag of 
sunflower seeds on the nightstand, wondering if that was what he 
called dinner as she sat cross-legged on his bed, tucking her feet 
up underneath her.

Catching her interest in his stash, Mulder grabbed one of the 
bottles of Crystal Geyser off the nightstand and handed it to her.  
She accepted it with a grateful smile as he flopped down on his 
stomach next to her, his side pressing against her knee and his arms 
hugging a pillow at the foot of the bed.

It was a much more arid climate than Washington D.C., and Scully had 
been fighting both a dry throat and sinuses all day.  Screwing off 
the top of the bottle, she took a long drink, then handed it back to 
Mulder.  He drank half of the remaining water then screwed the cap 
back on and sat the bottle on the floor by the bed.  

They didn't speak for a while, both following the action on the 
small screen.  The contestants, Mr. and Mrs. Kinney, had made fair 
progress despite an uncanny ability to completely misunderstand each 
other.  The way they blundered through the investigation was 
entertaining in itself, and still they had yet to buy a clue to take 
them to the next level.  They were still in the running for the 
entire one million dollar prize.  

One of the primary suspects in the investigation was the drive 
through attendant who claimed to have been picking up trash during 
the shooting of Mr. Oh.  They had two strong suspects, the other 
being a patron of the restaurant who the employees had seen arguing 
with Mr. Oh earlier that evening.  They had brought the patron in 
for questioning, but which suspect was the guilty party was still 
unclear by the end of the interrogation.

Every so often Scully would shift her focus to the warmth of her 
knee pressing against Mulder's side, and she found it comforting 
just to be sitting there with him.  It was exactly what she'd 
wanted, and she wasn't certain, but it seemed that Mulder, too, 
pressed closer to her throughout the show, most noticeably during 
Angie's scenes in the Coroner's office.

"Still think it's the drive through attendant?" he asked at the 
start of the next commercial break, passing the bottle of water over 
his shoulder without turning to look at her.  He seemed to be much 
more upbeat than he had been during the drive to the motel.

She unscrewed the cap and took another sip of water.  "Although most 
of the evidence is pointing toward him at the moment, I suspect he's 
the red herring in this case."

He turned on his side to face her, propping his head up on his hand. 
"Then who *is* the real killer, Agent Scully?"

"In the fictional investigation, or in ours?"

Reaching out, he touched the pad of his index finger to the inside 
of her wrist, smiling contentedly.  "Whatever, Scully.  Lay it on 
me."

She looked into his shining eyes, her cheeks coloring slightly.  If 
she'd been honest with herself earlier, she would have admitted that 
she wanted more than to just spend down time with him.  She wanted 
to reconnect with him on a more personal level, and it was becoming 
apparent that he wanted the same thing.  

She thought a moment, drawing in a long breath.  "Well, we don't 
have the forensics reports on the evidence collected, of course..."

"Of course," he replied, tracing small, tingling circles on her 
skin.  It was almost hypnotic, and her pulse and breathing 
accelerated in response.  She closed her eyes, reveling in the 
feelings he was arousing before continuing with her analysis of 
their case.
 
"And we've...um...yet to establish a motive..."

"Mmm-hmmm..." his voice was gravelly soft.  She shivered under his 
touch as he drew a line up the inside of her arm and back down 
again, over and over, causing her skin to raise into gooseflesh.
 
She drew in a deep breath, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink, giving 
away how distracted she'd become.  "But it appears that...that..."

He was still stroking the inside of her arm, but Mulder had turned 
onto his back, and was staring up at her with unmasked emotion, a 
combination of tenderness and affection, desire and need, burning 
emerald green around wide, dilated pupils.  

"What was I saying?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper as she 
stared back at him.

Neither moved, nor looked away for what seemed like an eternity.  
Then Mulder whispered, "C'mere," pulling gently on her wrist.  His 
other hand reached up behind her neck to draw her down to him, and 
she came willingly, her eyes closing heavily, feeling his warm 
breath against her lips as he raised his face toward hers, their 
mouths softly connecting.  Pliant and firm, she responded to his 
kiss, her breath catching as he captured her upper lip between his, 
tugging so gently, then releasing it and doing the same with her 
lower lip.  The pads of his fingers curled against the back of her 
scalp as she angled her head to the side just a little further and 
took his lower lip between hers, barely tasting salt and something 
sweeter.  He pulled back slightly, laying his head down on the bed 
and looking into her eyes with a beatific smile while he caressed 
her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Leaning forward, she followed him down, placing a supporting hand on 
the bed.  Her mouth was just about to claim his possessively when 
she heard a short promotion for the evening news declaring tragedy 
behind the scenes of the hit series, "Detective."

Scully lifted her head to stare at the television and drew another 
deep breath, her shoulders straightening as if taking on added 
weight as she exhaled.  She sat up, purposefully watching the 
screen, knowing if she looked back into Mulder's face that the 
blissful smile would be gone.  

"We managed to keep it out of the media for a whole twenty-four 
hours, at least."

"This investigation just got more complicated," Mulder replied, 
turning back over on his stomach to watch the television.  He laid 
his cheek against the pillow, and blinked a few times, his mind 
working on some aspect of the case.  Then he looked at her.  "You 
were going to say that you suspect it was Curtis who shot Mr. Lee, 
weren't you?"

She didn't respond.  She didn't have to, she knew he could see it in 
her face.

"What isn't clear is the motivation," he continued.  "Donna said 
Curtis was angry over his breakup...more angry than usual.  Maybe 
something Mr. Lee said pushed him over the edge, causing him to 
react to the extreme."

"With a gun loaded and ready to go?"

Mulder shrugged, turning his head toward the television when the 
news anchors appeared onscreen.

"Tragedy struck the number one rated show "Detective" today, as the 
show's director, Curtis Burns, was found dead outside his Silverlake 
home."

Mulder glanced at Scully, and she met his gaze with eyes open wide.

"You're right, Mulder," she said, "This investigation just got a lot 
more complicated."

ACT II

6 a.m.

Mulder came out of the Denny's carrying two paper cups of steaming 
coffee, crossing the parking lot to where Scully stood, freshly 
dressed in a skirt and jacket, far enough from the rental car that 
no one who might notice would associate her with the battered orange 
Neon.  Her cell phone was pressed to her ear as she listened to a 
detective involved in the investigation into Curtis' Burns death 
recount what had been discovered at the scene.  

She accepted the coffee with a grateful smile, and Mulder leaned 
against the back of the rental car, sipping his coffee and admiring 
her legs without being too obvious about it.  She wasn't saying much 
more than, "Mmm-hmmm," and "I see," and in accompaniment he could 
hear the traffic on the nearby freeway, already growing heavy as the 
morning commuters started another day.

With a polite "Thank you, Detective," Scully hit the end button on 
her phone, taking a sip of her coffee at the same time.  Her eyes 
closed briefly, then opened and looked up at Mulder, gleaming.

"Good?" he asked, smiling back at her.

"Always," she replied, taking another sip.  "So, it looks like 
Curtis Burns fell down his front steps and broke his neck."

"Ouch.  Was it an accident?"

"They're not sure at this point.  The detective I just spoke with 
said Curtis was talking with his agent on the telephone yesterday 
evening when he received a visitor.  Shortly thereafter, the agent 
said that Curtis began acting strangely."

"How so?"

She smiled smugly.  "I don't know, but guess who the visitor was?"

"Who?"

"David Weiner."

Mulder stood up straight and headed for the driver's side of the 
car.  "Let's give him a call and let him know we're his first 
appointment of the day." 

Scully didn't move, and he paused as he opened the car door, 
shooting her a questioning look. 

"Mulder, this isn't our investigation.  We're here to find out what 
happened to Mr. Lee."

"Maybe so, but we needed to have a more in-depth conversation with 
Mr. Weiner at some point, anyway.  You said yourself you suspect 
Curtis Burns was responsible for Mr. Lee's death.  Maybe we can kill 
two birds with one stone."

She gave him a nauseous look in response to his bad pun, and 
hesitantly stepped forward, opening the door gingerly and climbing 
into the car.

XxX

THE STUDIO LOT
7:04 a.m.

David Weiner agreed to meet them at his office on the studio lot at 
7:15 a.m.  The office was located in another bungalow shared with 
Stephen Taylor, not far from the one they'd been to the day before, 
where Jeffrey Schwartz's office was located.  Taylor and Weiner also 
shared an assistant, who had a desk in the small waiting area 
between the two offices.

David hadn't arrived by the time they entered the bungalow, a few 
minutes early.  His assistant was already at her desk - a pleasant 
young woman in her mid-twenties, conservatively dressed, if the 
standards set by Jeffrey's secretary applied.  She offered them 
bottled water, but they politely declined, sitting in a pair of hard 
red armchairs separated by a small end table covered in magazines 
like 'The Wall Street Journal', 'The Hollywood Reporter' and 'Daily 
Variety'.  A moment later, she disappeared into one of the offices.

Shortly thereafter, Stephen Taylor came out of his office, followed 
by his assistant.

"Agents Mulder and Scully," he greeted them amiably, offering his 
hand.  "I understand you're here to see David."

No older than forty, he had a slight build with thick, straight, 
unruly dark hair that despite all efforts to keep it slicked back, 
fell forward into his eyes in thin strands.  Stephen appeared to be 
a high-energy type of person, and even though it was early, his 
appearance suggested that he'd been working for hours.  Scully gave 
him a polite smile as Mulder responded with a smile and a nod, 
shaking Stephen's offered hand.

Stephen turned to his assistant.  "Make sure you've got plenty of 
strong coffee, Paula, David is gonna need it when he gets in."

"I've got the espresso machine ready," Paula said, then under her 
breath, "Somebody's already used up all of my regular breakfast 
blend this morning."

Stephen ignored her, turning back to the agents.  His expression was 
somber as he rocked back on his heels.  "Terrible tragedy, what 
happened to Curtis."

"Yes, it is," Scully replied.  

"Is that what brings you two out here so early this morning?"

"Actually," Mulder said, shifting uncomfortably in his hard chair, 
"we're not working on that case."

"Ah, yes, you're here about the Chinese actor."  He looked at them a 
moment, noting Mulder's discomfort, then said, "How would you like 
to wait for David in my office?  I'm sure he's running late this 
morning, and I've got a pair of Italian leather chairs that are as 
soft as butter.  Much more comfortable than the ones you're sitting 
on."

Mulder glanced at his partner, and she understood his unspoken 
request.

"Mr. Taylor, we would like to take the opportunity to ask you a few 
questions about the night of Mr. Lee's murder, if you can spare the 
time," Scully said, offering Stephen a polite smile.

Stephen nodded, his hair falling into his eyes.  "Absolutely."  He 
pushed the hair out of his eyes.  "Come on in and get comfortable.  
Look around.  Mi casa es su casa.  Paula, did you offer Agents 
Mulder and Scully coffee?"

"I would have if there were any left," Paula retorted.

"We're fine," Mulder replied.  He stood, glad to be out of the 
uncomfortable chair.

Stephen's office was a little more than half the size of Jeffrey's 
office, but was furnished with luxury of a different style.  It was 
a modern office -- a man's office, mostly decorated in black, with 
fine leather and polished chrome.  A few personal items - photos of 
himself with various celebrities, political and sports figures -
joined numerous awards prominently displayed on the walls.

Stephen stopped in front of the most decorated wall, mock-
straightening a plaque that was clearly centered to begin with.  
Both Scully and Mulder paused, glancing briefly at some of the 
framed items.  

"Please, take your time," Stephen encouraged as he moved behind his 
desk.  Sitting in the large leather executive chair, he looked 
completely out of place in his casual jeans and T-shirt, the 
seemingly preferred attire of most of the creative executives.  
"These are just a few of the awards I've received...a sampling of 
some of the more prestigious honors.  I haven't had time to put the 
rest of them up yet.  There are just too many to keep track of."

Scully turned and faced him, noting that he appeared to be extremely 
satisfied with their attention to his wall of honors.  She noticed 
that on the wall next to his desk Stephen had hung a photo of 
himself wearing a tuxedo and holding an award -- an Emmy, she 
thought.  The photo was so large, it nearly covered the entire wall.  
What appeared to be the same award was housed in a glass case behind 
his desk, opposite another just like it, along with a few other odd 
shaped statues.

"I have two Emmys," Stephen said off of her look.  "My first Emmy 
was for the telefilm, 'Eye of the Locust'..." he paused, and Scully 
realized he was waiting for a response.  She nodded, pressing her 
lips into a near smile, although she'd never seen nor heard of the 
film.  Stephen continued, "The other was for the show 'Blinded by 
the Light'."

The way he spoke, it was clear that he anticipated another response, 
and Scully nodded once again, unable to remember anything about the 
show or its premise.  She'd never been big on viewing television.

"That was the one about the man who went through a near-death 
experience," Mulder said, coming valiantly to her rescue.

"Yes, that was my first series," Stephen said smugly, folding his 
hands together on the desk in front of him, then gesturing to the 
two chairs opposite his desk.  "Please, sit, sit.  Let's chat."

They complied, and Stephen continued.  "Yes, 'Blinded by the Light' 
was one of my finest bodies of work.  We won best series that year.  
I'm still receiving awards overseas -- they can't get enough of it in 
Belgium.  So far, it's been translated into fifteen languages."

Scully nodded again, and Mulder added, "Great song," one corner of 
his mouth turning up slightly when Scully raised her eyebrow at him.

There was a brief pause, and Scully took the opportunity to ask, 
"Mr. Taylor, you were not present at the scene the night that Mr. 
Lee was killed, is that correct?"

"No, I was in story meetings with the staff writers, choosing our 
Emmy submissions for this year's awards.  In fact, that's what I've 
been working on this morning."  He pointed to a large screen 
television in the corner of the room, the image on screen paused on 
the credit listing Stephen Taylor as Executive Producer.

"How did you learn of the incident?" Scully continued.

"David called from the set to tell me the news.  Shocking.  
Absolutely shocking."

"Were you acquainted with Mr. Lee?"

"Not at all.  I'm not involved in the casting."

Mulder jumped in.  "Mr. Taylor...is there anyone who might want to 
sabotage the show?"

"Sabotage?  You think that this is about sabotage?  I can tell you 
that plenty of people would like to see 'Detective' off the air.  
We're the number one show in America six out of seven nights a week.  
On a slow night our share is larger than 'Who Wants To Be A 
Millionaire' or 'Survivor'.  We're a phenomenon, a cultural icon." 

"Do *you* have any enemies, Mr. Taylor?"

"Everyone wants what I have, Mr. Mulder.  Even David, who is a 
friend of mine, would like to be in my shoes."

"Enough to kill for it?"

Stephen waved his hand in dismissal.  "David?  The show is too 
important to him.  He came by the house just last night, ranting 
about his bleak future.  What he lacks is creative vision."

"What about Curtis Burns?" Scully asked.

"Curtis was a terrific director and very dedicated to his craft."  
He looked up, noticing that Paula was standing in the doorway, 
trying to get his attention.  "What is it, Paula?" he snapped at 
her.

"David's here," Paula said, giving Stephen a puzzled look.  "He's 
having his espresso, whenever Agents Mulder and Scully are ready.  
And Jeffrey wants to see you."

XxX

David couldn't remember much about the night before.  Holding a 
small demitasse cup and saucer in his trembling hands, he was 
surrounded by mahogany office furniture, an upholstered sofa and 
chairs of rich greens and burgundy.  It was a stark contrast to 
Stephen, in the decor as well as in David's business attire and 
demeanor.  Instead of awards, his walls displayed elaborately framed 
diplomas from Harvard and Columbia.

"I think I've got the flu," he said with a slight whine, holding his 
hand against his forehead.  His skin appeared pale and sweaty.  "All 
I remember about last night is that I found myself at Stephen's 
house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.  I barely made it home.  
I've been in the bathroom most of the night."

"Do you remember paying a visit to Curtis Burns earlier yesterday 
evening?" Scully asked, crossing her legs.  The chairs in David's 
office weren't the same leather chairs as in Stephen's office, but 
they were still more comfortable than the chairs in the lobby.  

David sniffed.  "I remember going there to talk about the show."

"Was anyone with him when you arrived?"

He drew in a deep breath and responded slowly.  "All I remember is I 
bumped into Curtis, and I started feeling strange...like something 
was taking over my body."  He coughed.  "I hope it's not something 
virulent.  I've been throwing up all night, but I can't afford to 
take time away from the show at this point."

Scully glanced at Mulder, who was chewing on his lower lip, studying 
David.

"How was Curtis feeling when you left?"

"Fine.  I guess he was fine, I don't remember.  God, I'm sick, I'm 
losing time, or my memory, or both.  What if it's something lethal, 
like E coli or the Hanta virus?  I ate shellfish at Duke's 
yesterday."  Sniffing once more, he reached across his desk and 
pulled his Rolodex toward him, flipping through the cards.  "This is 
perfect, just perfect.  I wonder if my physician is free this 
morning.  You know it figures that this would happen to me.  I've 
worked my tail off on this show and it's all falling apart."  He 
pointed toward the diplomas on the wall.  "Undergrad in marketing 
from Columbia, then Harvard business school.  I've got credentials.  
Look at Stephen, the executive producer.  A goddamn Bachelor of Arts 
degree in photography from the Cal State system.  It's all been 
handed to him on a silver platter.  Contracts, salaries, 
awards...he's never had to work for any of it.  Curtis was the same 
way.  'They're the creative talent,' Jeffrey always says.  'You've 
got the business sense, David.'  But who is the responsibility going 
to fall on when the advertisers pull out?  Not the creative talent, 
oh no. The ratings go down and suddenly I'm the one fielding all the 
calls from the Ford Motor Co."

He stopped, letting out a short laugh and thumping his index finger 
on one of the cards in the Rolodex.  "See?  Look at that -- Michael 
Katz.  He cheated his way through market analysis, and now he's the 
C.E.O. of one of the largest tire manufacturers in the world."  He 
started flipping through the cards once again, sniffing and shaking 
his head.  "Bastard made a fortune when Firestone lost their 
credibility.  He's driving a Rolls and I'm driving a pickup truck."

Mulder glanced over at Scully, who rolled her eyes.  Wetting his 
lips, he commented drolly, "I didn't realize that Range Rover was 
classified as a pickup truck."

Scully drew in a deep breath, her patience at an end.  Clasping the 
armrests on her chair as she sat up, she was ready to move the 
conversation forward.  "Mr. Weiner..." she began firmly, as Mulder 
stood, laying a hand on her shoulder and cutting her off before she 
could continue.

"Thank you, Mr. Weiner," Mulder said, "We appreciate you taking the 
time to speak with us."

With her mouth slightly open in surprised disbelief, Scully stared 
at her partner.  Mulder was already on his way to the door when she 
offered David a polite smile for his distracted nod, following 
Mulder out of the office.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully hissed with minor annoyance, 
her brow furrowed as she hurried to catch up with him in front of 
the bungalow.

He stopped near their car, reaching into his inside jacket pocket 
for his sunglasses.  "He isn't going to be of any help to us, 
Scully."

"How can you say that?  The man very well may be the last person to 
see Curtis Burns alive."

"That's not what we're investigating, remember?

She let out a huff of frustration at having her words thrown back in 
her face.  "Even so, Mulder, you wanted to talk with Mr. Weiner.  
Why end the interview before we could even ask him for details about 
the night Mr. Lee was murdered?"

"You saw him, Scully, he was completely preoccupied.  Even if he was 
with Curtis yesterday evening, I don't believe he remembers anything 
more than what he told us."  She couldn't see Mulder's eyes behind 
the sunglasses, but he chewed his lower lip as he'd done in David's 
office.  "You know, we've encountered three very distinct 
personality types here."

"What do you mean?"

"Curtis Burns was a very angry man.  Stephen Taylor is a classic 
example of "hubris," or pride, if you will.  Did you notice how he 
was preoccupied with his own accomplishments?  And David Weiner 
appears to be consumed with..."

"Hypochondria?" she broke in.

"...envy for what everyone else has," Mulder finished deliberately 
in response to her glib tone.

"Mulder, we all have those traits within us, and can act out 
according to the situation at any given time.  Sharing an office and 
an assistant with Stephen Taylor, a man who flaunts his every 
success, its no surprise that David Weiner might feel envious."

"True, one may feed off the other.  But regardless, I think that 
David Weiner is the kind of person who is always keeping score on 
what others have, just like I think that Stephen Taylor is the kind 
of person who flaunts his success every chance he gets.  What we 
have here, Scully, are three individuals, each possessing one 
unusually predominant characteristic."

She squinted at him in the bright sunlight, folding her arms across 
her chest.  "Mulder, if you had to choose one word to describe me, 
what would it be?"

He froze like a deer caught in headlights.  "Is this a trick 
question?"

She gave him the familiar look of reproach.  "My point is that we 
can all be reduced down to a one-word description by anyone who is 
even remotely acquainted with us...and not always with the most 
flattering results.  How is any of this relevant to the murder of 
Mr. Lee?"

Mulder bit his lip, thinking about the question.  He shook his head 
slightly.  "I don't know, but I think it is a big piece of the 
puzzle, Scully.  We figure this out, and we're that much closer to 
solving the case."

She stared at him a moment, face to face, neither changing their 
position.  Then she dropped her arms to her sides and strode past 
him over to their car, stopping in front of the passenger side door.  
She knew better than to completely discount his leaps of intuition 
without substantial evidence to the contrary.  He'd been right on 
with those leaps more times than she'd like to admit, but that 
didn't mean she wasn't irritated, anyway.

Mulder blew out a slow breath of air, following her to the car.  He 
knew that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, not because 
he had proof, but because she respected him and his ability.  It was 
the same as him willingly suspending his theories about the 
relativity of the pronounced personality traits if she'd gone the 
other way and pressed him for the proof.  He unlocked the driver's 
side door, climbed in, and reached over to unlock her door.  

She was already buckling herself in when she realized that he had 
made no move to start the car.  After a few moments, she glanced 
over at him.  He was chewing on his lip again.

"Integrity," he said, staring out the window.

She paused, trying to figure out what he was talking about but 
drawing a blank.  "What?"

"One word, right?  Integrity."

Her breath caught, and she was silent a moment, looking down at her 
lap as she tried to find order and contain her emotions.  Some of 
them leaked out in her voice, anyway.  "Mulder, I didn't..."

He turned toward her then, the emotional tension also radiating off 
of him, and she looked up into his face, unable to see his eyes.  
Reaching out, she eased his sunglasses off and he stared at her 
intently.

His eyes were open windows to his soul.  He didn't mask his 
emotions, or try to control them the way she did.  With Mulder, what 
you see is exactly what he's feeling.

Framing his face in her hands, she met his gaze openly.  But as her 
lips formed a response, her cell phone rang.  Her eyes closed, and 
she let out a huff as she dropped her hands, turning away from him 
to answer the call.

Mulder dropped his gaze with disappointment, turning his head to 
look out the side window while listening to her conversation.  When 
she punched the 'end' button on the phone he turned back to her, his 
eyes questioning.

"That was the detective I spoke with this morning.  He's got a 
friend in the firearms section of the Scientific Investigative 
Division - they performed the comparisons on the bullet that struck 
Mr. Lee and the prop gun we dropped off last night.  It wasn't a 
match."  

Mulder sighed, and Scully placed her hand on his forearm, 
continuing, "However, there was an unregistered gun collected from 
Curtis' Burns house last night.  And guess what?"

Mulder's mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes brightening with his 
comprehension of what she was saying.  "It's a match?"

Scully nodded slightly in confirmation.  "They've sent a squad car 
out to bring in Curtis's lover to find out if he had any knowledge 
of the gun."  She reached over, gently placing Mulder's sunglasses 
back on his face, and he grinned widely as he started the car.

"Let's go play detective, Scully."

XxX

BUNGALOW 7
8:20 a.m.

Jeffrey poured two fingers of Scotch into each glass, setting the 
decanter back down on the desktop.

"The show is stronger than ever."  He pushed one of the glasses 
across the desk toward Stephen Taylor, sitting opposite him.  "What 
did they ask you?"

"They asked if I knew the Chinese actor.  They wanted to know if 
anyone would want to sabotage the show," Stephen replied, reaching 
out and grasping the glass in his fist, looking at the amber liquid 
briefly before raising it to his lips and tossing it back.

Jeffrey held his gaze a moment before raising his glass, swallowing 
only half of the liquid.  "What else?"

Reaching for the decanter, Stephen poured himself another.  "They 
talked to David."

"He doesn't remember anything?"

"That's what he says.  He's probably embarrassed over his behavior 
last night.  He made some ludicrous demands, wanting an equal 
executive producer credit and a development deal like mine."

"What did you tell him?"

"What could I tell him?  He knows how it works.  We all have agents, 
we all make our own deals."

Jeffrey finished his glass, and Stephen pushed the decanter toward 
him.  Before he moved his hand away, Jeffrey wrapped his hand over 
Stephen's.

"And you still owe *me* for yours," Jeffrey said evenly, his blue 
eyes piercing as they held Stephen's gaze.

At the contact, a feeling of warmth flooded up Jeffrey's arm and 
into his torso, spreading to his extremities.  He felt his 
burgeoning arousal heighten and expand as he started into Stephen's 
eyes, the anticipation building.

Stephen's face grew slack, and his eyes lost focus, glazing over.  
He closed them a moment, then blinked them open, looking at Jeffrey 
in confusion.  "What the...?" His gaze fell on the bottle of Scotch, 
and he mumbled, "Jesus..." before slumping forward, the side of his 
face pressed against the top of Jeffrey's desk.

Jeffrey released his grip on Stephen's hand and stood, his breathing 
uneven as he stared down at the man on his desk, passed out after 
just one drink - what a lightweight pantywaist.  Still, a deal was 
made, and he intended on following through.  He stepped around the 
desk, hoisting Stephen's slack body farther up the surface, his eyes 
on the swell of his ass.  He really wanted Stephen coherent for 
this, that was the whole point, but his need was too great, and a 
deal is a deal.  He reached down and touched himself through his 
trousers when the office door opened and his secretary stepped 
inside.

Jeffrey growled, his arousal overwhelming in its intensity as his 
focus moved from Stephen to Karen.

Karen stood just inside the doorway, oblivious to what was about to 
transpire in the room as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.  
"Your wife just called," she said crossly.  "She said to call her at 
home."

"This isn't the time to have this conversation, Karen," Jeffrey 
replied smoothly, unbuckling his belt he honed in on her.  "Come 
over here."

She didn't move.  "You said you were gonna ask for a divorce last 
weekend."

Jeffrey strode across the room, pushing the door shut and pinning 
Karen against it.  "I will baby, first things first."  His hands 
reached under her skirt and he lowered his mouth to her neck, 
groaning as he rubbed his body against hers, unfastening his 
trousers and dropping them to the floor.  "Is that the new thong I 
bought for you?"

"You said you wanted me to wear it to work," Karen giggled 
flirtatiously, then closed her eyes with a gasp as she was pressed 
into the hard wood.

XxX

LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT
PARKER CENTER
10:30 a.m.

Jack Martin sat in interrogation room C, slouched in the metal 
folding chair with his hands placed on the laminated table in front 
of him.  He was long and incredibly thin, dressed in the latest 
trend, his haircut stylishly short with dark roots accented by 
blonde tips.  

With him in the small room were a LAPD detective and Mulder and 
Scully.  The detective that Scully had been in contact with, Lewes, 
was leading the interrogation.

"Jack...may I call you Jack?" Lewes asked.

"Jack two oh oh oh," Jack replied sarcastically.

Lewes was undaunted.  "You have been living in the residence of 
Curtis Burns, is that correct?"

"Yes."  There was a tone of defensive impetuousness within that one 
spoken word.

Lewes continued.  "Were you there last night from about five-thirty 
on?"

"No, I was staying with friends."

"All evening?"

"And all day."  His voice came out in a whine.  "I'm just getting 
over the flu or something and haven't been feeling well.  I'm really 
not up to this right now."

Mulder looked over to Scully, who was watching the interrogation  
with her lips pursed, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a 
critical look in her eyes as she assessed the suspect.

Lewes continued.  "I don't see that you have much of a choice, Jack.  
Unless you'd like us to provide you with a nice cot and a private 
cell and we'll try this again in 24 hours."  Lewes paused when Jack 
sat up slightly, the slim man's body language indicating that he 
didn't like that option.  "Curtis recently asked you to move out of 
his residence, didn't he?"  

Jack flashed his long lashes at Lewes in an unhappy look mixed with 
a large amount of irritation, to which Lewes took as an affirmation.

"Were you with him last night?" 

His expression showed his annoyance.  "Like I said before, I was 
with friends.  Curtis kicked me out.  I still love him, even if he 
did go a little crazy and throw me out into the cold.  Listen, I'm 
the victim here, not the criminal."

Lewes chuffed.  "That's for us to decide.  Right now we're just 
asking questions, alright?  Was there anyone else staying with 
Curtis?  Friends, relatives...anyone you can think of?"

"Marta comes in the mornings to clean, and there's a gardening 
service that shows up once a week.  Other than that, there's no one 
that I know of."

Mulder stepped forward to whisper into Lewes ear.  Lewes nodded and 
shrugged one shoulder, and Mulder stepped closer to Jack.  Jack sat 
up slightly as Mulder approached.

"Hey," Mulder said amiably.

"Hey," Jack replied warily, looking him over with mild interest.  
"Nice suit."

Mulder looked down at his suit a moment, then glanced at Scully, who 
raised an eyebrow at him, leaning one shoulder against the back 
wall.  "Thanks.  Sorry to hear you're not feeling well.  I guess you 
missed work yesterday, huh?"

"I'm an actor, my hours are flexible."

"Really?  What are you working on right now?"

Jack slouched back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of him.  
"I'm between jobs at the moment."

Mulder nodded, biting his lip and watching Jack closely, his alert 
eyes expressing compassion.  "Taking classes?"

"Not anymore.  I'm an instinctual actor, the methods get in the way 
of my creative muse."

Mulder continued his sympathetic approach.  "Is that how you and 
Curtis met?  Through work?"

"No, we met through mutual friends."

"Did you ever work together?  I mean, that seems like an ideal setup 
- he's a director, you're an actor."

"We talked about it, but then Curtis started working on 'Detective' 
and the timing never worked out."  His lower lip jutted out in a 
slight pout.

Mulder nodded once more in understanding.  "So you worked on your 
projects and he worked on 'Detective'.  You know you do look kind of 
familiar.  Would I have seen any of your work anywhere?"

Jack shifted in his seat, crossing his long legs.  "It's been awhile 
since I've been out on any calls.  I've been sick off and on."  He 
coughed for effect, and Mulder glanced up at Scully, holding her 
gaze.

Reading his unspoken request, Scully stepped forward.

"That's a pretty nasty cough."  Mulder nodded his head toward 
Scully.  "Agent Scully is a doctor.   Do you mind if she does a 
quick visual exam?"  He smiled his most charming smile.  "Free 
medical advice, right?"

Jack shrugged and cleared his throat, then sat back up in his chair.  
Scully glanced over at Mulder as she pulled out her pocket Maglite 
and twisted it on.  Shining the light into Jack's eyes, she laid her 
hand over his forehead and then took his pulse right underneath his 
jaw.

"What kind of symptoms have you been experiencing?" she asked, 
twisting the flashlight back off.

"I was really out of it for at least a day or two, because I don't 
remember a thing that happened on those days.  All I remember was 
that I was sick and Curtis yelling at me, telling me it was over," 
Jack answered.  "Vomiting, chills, sweating, diarrhea."

"How long?"

"The vomiting stopped, but the others are still hanging around.  I 
feel like I've been hit by a truck."

Scully glanced up at Mulder, letting him know her brief exam was 
finished, and he gave her a small nod of acknowledgement.  Mulder 
leaned on the edge of the table, folding his arms in front of him.

"Jack, were you aware that Curtis owned a handgun?"

Jack hesitated.  "I knew he had one."

"Where did he get it?"

"I don't know where he got it.  I wouldn't go near the thing, but he 
felt he needed it for protection."

"In your estimation, would he ever use it?"

Jack hesitated once more.  "I don't know.  I'd never seen him so 
angry, it was like...barely contained rage the night we broke up."  
Tears welled up in his eyes and he stopped, wiping his cheek 
delicately.  "I was supposed to go over there and pick up the rest 
of my stuff, but I was too sick."  He looked up at Mulder.  "Is that 
how he died?  He shot himself with that goddamn gun?"

Mulder drew in a deep breath and released it.  "No."

The door opened and a uniformed officer entered the room, handing 
Lewes a file.  Jack sniffled, and Lewes looked the file over a 
moment, then closed it and handed it to Scully.  Stepping forward, 
he laid his palms on the table and leaned forward.  "Tell me about 
Curtis' other friends, Jack."

Mulder caught Scully's eye, nodding his head toward the door.

Scully handed the file back to Lewes, who continued to question Jack 
while she followed Mulder outside the interrogation room, glancing 
back to make sure the door was closed before looking up into his 
face.

"He does appear to be suffering from residual effects of a virus, 
Mulder.  Either that, or he's using.  His pulse is shallow and his 
pupils show a delayed reaction to light."

"You looked at his background check...it indicates frequent changes 
of residence and a lack of steady employment, isn't that right?" 
Mulder asked.

"He's been receiving state financial support in the form of 
unemployment or disability insurance off and on for the last few 
years."  Scully studied him a moment, recognizing all of the signs 
of a Mulder epiphany.  "Mulder, what's going on?"

His eyes glowed with the anticipation of a big lead.  "Did I see you 
put your laptop in the trunk of the car this morning?"

"Yes, why?"

He chewed on his lower lip, his mind obviously working overtime on 
his latest theory.  "I need to borrow it for a few hours."  He 
started off down the hallway toward the elevator, then turned to 
face her, walking backwards.  "Do me a favor?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

He smiled his charming smile once again, this time solely for her 
benefit.  "I need you to go back to the county coroner's office and 
examine Curtis Burns."

Her brow furrowed.  They both knew that the murder of Curtis Burns 
was strictly the LAPD's jurisdiction.  "Mulder, we've been over 
this..."

"Just...humor me, Scully.  Please?"

She let out a resigned huff and walked toward him.  "What am I 
supposed to be looking for?"

Mulder grinned at her assent and punched the elevator call button.  
The doors opened immediately.  "I wanna know if he also had anything 
that might resemble the flu."  Holding the doors open, he waited 
until she entered the car to push the button for the ground floor.

ACT III

5:02 p.m.

"Mulder, it's me."

He shifted his cell phone to his other ear, propping it up with his 
shoulder as he continued typing on the laptop.  "Hey Scully, where 
are you?  I've been trying to call you all afternoon." 

"I'm on my way to the car right now."  She let out a long, weary 
sigh.  "Mulder, I've found some anomalies in Curtis Burns' blood 
chemical levels."

"What kind of anomalies?"

"Predominantly, extremely high levels of anadamide, norepinephrine 
and enkephalins."

Mulder stopped typing, lifting the phone back up to his ear with his 
hand to make sure he was hearing her correctly.  "Curtis was using 
drugs?"

"If he was, he was either mixing several kinds of drugs or he was 
using some kind of organically altered superdrug.  What I found in 
his system is potentially lethal in such extreme doses.  We could be 
dealing with a whole new form of illegal substance, Mulder.  If a 
substance like this hits the streets..."

"I don't think that's what it is, Scully," Mulder assured her.  
"I've found something in the files that may explain everything."

She was silent a moment.  "An X File?"

"That's X Files, Scully, as in plural.  How soon can you get here?" 

XxX

5:42 p.m.

White production trucks and trailers took all the available street 
parking surrounding the Parker Center, blocking the driveway to the 
visitors parking area in the process.  The spaces not occupied with 
production trucks were filled with news vans sporting huge satellite 
dish connections on the roofs of their vehicles, hoping for the 
first crack at any breaking news as it pertained to America's 
hottest television show.  Circling the block, Scully pulled out her 
cell phone and speed dialed her partner.  She was finally able to 
get into the visitors parking area on her second try, and flashed 
her badge at the officer in the guard booth. 

"Mulder," she complained, "I'd have been up there fifteen minutes 
ago if these damn production trucks weren't blocking traffic."

"Is it the 'Detective' crew?" Mulder asked absently as he stared 
intently at the computer screen, making no attempt to find a window 
to look for himself.

"Judging from the presence of the news media, I'd say that's a yes."
A silver Porsche behind her beeped its horn, and peering into the 
rearview, she could see the driver waving.  Scully pulled into a 
parking space and threw the Neon into park as the Porsche pulled 
into a space nearby.  "Someone is honking and waving at me."   

"Another fan of the Dana Scully driving method, no doubt."

"Shut up, Mulder."  Scully stepped out of the car, closing the door 
with a little more force than necessary.  

"Dana!" Already in costume and makeup, Angie Fabrocini called to her 
from two parking spaces over, waving over the roof of her sports 
car.  "Hi!"

"It's Angie, I gotta go," Scully said into the phone, punching the 
end button and meeting Angie halfway between their respective cars.  
"Angie, hi.  Are you working tonight?"

"'Fraid so.  Did you see the show last night?  It looks like the 
contestants may solve the case tonight.  I'm here on call just in 
case."

Scully nodded.  "Great job last night, by the way."

"Thanks to you!  You helped me so much, in fact, my performance last 
night was the deciding factor for a project on another network.  My 
agent called this morning, and I've officially been offered my own 
series."

"That's great!"  Scully smiled, offering the statuesque woman a 
friendly hug.  "I'm so happy for you."

"Just get me away from that freak Jeffrey," Angie replied.  "The man 
is the biggest pervert on the planet."

"Jeffrey Schwartz?"  Scully blinked at her a moment, attempting to 
keep her voice conversational through her surprise.  "The network 
president?"

Angie paused, licking her lips.  "It's probably one of the most 
well-known secrets in the industry that Jeffrey Schwartz is a sex 
addict.  Nearly everyone who has come into contact with him has a 
story to tell."  She took a deep breath.  "It's, um, also no big 
secret that I made a few bad judgement decisions early in my 
career."  Angie's dark eyes expressed her regret.  "I was young and 
I trusted the wrong people, but I won't make myself out to be a 
victim.  And I don't want to make the same mistakes twice."

"Angie, if you're being harassed..."  

"No, Dana, I know what you're going to say.  It's true that Jeffrey 
has been after me since day one and I wouldn't have anything to do 
with the little troll.  He's given me ultimatums that he's yet to 
follow through with, including the threat that he'll ruin my career.  
But I don't have any proof of that except for my word, and all he 
has to do is pull out one of my early films and my credibility would 
be completely ruined.  I've no illusions about how the system works.  
But I can handle it."

Scully crossed her arms and looked down at the ground a moment 
releasing a slow breath, then looked up at Angie.  "What are you 
going to do?"

Angie's face broke into a genuine smile as she tossed her thick dark 
hair back over her shoulder.  "I've had my agent and several 
attorneys go over my contract for 'Detective', and the penalty for 
breaking it is minimal.  Well worth the money I'd have to pay to get 
out of it."

"Well, as happy as I am for you, I know of at least a few people who 
will be disappointed to see Dr. Maria Jolie go."

Angie smiled, reaching out and giving her shoulder a squeeze, 
leaving her hand there.  "Do you want to get a cup of coffee or tea 
or something?"  She caught Scully's gaze and held it a little too 
long, her eyes intent.

Scully recognized the look, and she glanced down to break Angie's 
gaze, poking the toe of her shoe at a spot on the asphalt.  "Um, 
that sounds wonderful, Angie, thank you.  But my...um, partner is 
waiting for me upstairs."

Angie bit her lip, drawing in a deep breath.  "Okay."  She paused, 
realizing Scully's discomfort and sighing softly.  "Dana, I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean to offend..."

"No, it's okay," Scully stopped her, reaching out to take her hand 
with a light squeeze of reassurance.  "It's just..."

"Scully!" Mulder broke in, walking toward them at a brusque pace.  

Scully glanced sideways at Mulder and dropped Angie's hand, both 
women looking down at the ground.  Angie coughed nervously while 
Scully took a small step back and crossed her arms in front of her 
chest. 

Mulder's eyes went from one woman to the other, focusing on his 
partner, adding to the tension hovering over the scene. 

Angie cleared her throat.  "Well, I'd better get to the set.  Agent 
Mulder," she said, glancing over at him, "nice to see you again."

"Likewise," Mulder replied with a polite nod.

She turned back toward Scully.  "Dana, thanks again for all of your 
help."

"You're welcome," Scully replied, looking up at Angie with genuine 
warmth.  "Good luck."

Angie nodded with an understanding smile, then turned and walked 
away, leaving the two of them in silence.

Scully raised her eyes to Mulder's, knowing his astute ability to 
read people must have clued him in to what had just happened between 
her and Angie.  Even though she knew she hadn't done anything 
inappropriate, she still felt slightly unsettled and just a bit 
guilty over his sudden appearance.  But he gazed back at her 
comfortably, reaching out to take her hand.

"You alright?" he asked, weaving their fingers together.

She let out a deep breath, feeling the tension smooth away with the 
confirmation of his trust in her, and she smiled.  "Yeah."  He 
smiled, and she pulled lightly on his arm.  "So, Mulder, you wanna 
tell me about these X Files you claim will explain everything?"

He released her hand and placed his hand on her back as they started 
walking toward the building entrance, his voice taking on the 
familiar cadence of lecturer.  "Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1966.  A 
local hospital reported a strange outbreak of what appeared to be a 
virus of unknown origin.  Seven victims were treated and released, 
each claiming to have experienced lost time followed by flu-like 
symptoms including vomiting, diarrhea, sweating, chills, and in some 
instances, extreme physical pain.  Each one of the victims was 
described as having a heightened personality trait which dominated 
that person's behavior."

"Dominant personality traits," she replied.

He nodded, opening the door for her.  "The next incident was in 
Princeton, New Jersey in 1980.  Six students and one local girl 
reported the same physical symptoms.  The girl, Susan Jamieson, was 
brought into the hospital emergency room, apparently stoned out of 
her mind and exhibiting an extreme absence of inhibition."  He 
punched the elevator call button.  "But even more remarkable was the 
evidence that Ms. Jamieson had very recently engaged in vaginal, 
oral and anal sexual intercourse with no less than seventeen 
different partners in less than a twenty-four hour period 
*including* one of the infected Princeton students."

Scully's eyebrows shot up.  "Seventeen!  Was she a prostitute?"

"A waitress.  She gives new meaning to the phrase, 'coffee, tea or 
me?'."  The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside, Mulder 
pushing the button once again.  "She claimed no recollection of the 
events leading up to her hospitalization.  The last thing she 
remembered was going home with the student, who she described as 
'cute, but the greediest bastard she'd ever met.'"

Scully's brow furrowed as she considered what he had said so far.  
"So, whatever this is, maybe it's transferred through sexual contact 
like HIV, or HPV, or Syphilis, or...or Gonorrhea..."

The elevator opened, and they walked down the hallway toward the 
unoccupied office he had been working in earlier.  "It may be 
transferred through physical contact, but exactly how isn't clear.  
Three of the infected students at Princeton were housemates who 
claimed to have passed it from one person to the next with no more 
than casual contact."

"I'm more inclined to believe that sharing a water pipe was a part 
of the casual contact that they neglected to mention."  Mulder 
turned his face to look at her, and she continued.  "Anandamide is a 
naturally occurring chemical in our brain  that binds to the same 
cell membrane receptors as Tetrahydrocannabinol, the active 
ingredient in marijuana.  Enkephalins suppress the transmission of 
pain signals.  And Norepinephrine..."

"Produces the 'fight or flight' impulse," Mulder finished for her, 
opening the door to his makeshift office to allow her to enter.

She swallowed, staring at him a moment.  "These people were so high, 
Mulder, it's no wonder they didn't remember any of it.  Most likely, 
the symptoms the victims experienced afterward were the body's 
reaction to the withdrawal of these highly stimulating substances."

"You said these were naturally occurring chemicals."

"They are.  But something has to be introduced into the body in 
order to stimulate their release."  She stepped inside, turning to 
face him.

"But you didn't find anything to suggest that."

She paused.  "No."

"So it's possible that what we're dealing with here is something 
that enters the body, stimulates the release of these substances, 
and then exits the body."

"You're not going to say what I think you're going to say, are you?"

He just looked at her.

"Mulder...there's no evidence to suggest that this could be 
extraterrestrial."

He sighed.  "Whatever it is, Scully, all we know is that it's 
somehow transferred or shared through some form of physical 
contact."

"If that's true, then Jack infected Curtis, who infected David."

"Who infected..."

They looked at each other a moment, and Scully licked her lips.  
"David doesn't remember anything between his meeting with Curtis and 
going to visit..."

"Stephen," they finished in unison.

"I'll get the detective to pull up his address," Mulder said, 
heading toward the door.  He paused, turning back to look at her.  
"Do you mind if we stop for dinner on the way?  I'm running on 
empty."

Powering off the laptop, she looked up, offering him a gentle smile.  
"Worked through lunch again?"

He nodded, and with a grin, disappeared into the hallway.

XxX

STEPHEN TAYLOR'S RESIDENCE
10:15 p.m.

Stephen's appearance was unkempt, his complexion pale.  Despite the 
moderate temperature, he sat on his leather sofa wrapped in a thick 
comforter, shivering and perspiring.

"I may have to leave you suddenly," he warned.

"Thank you for seeing us again, Mr. Taylor, especially at this late 
hour," Scully replied, sitting on the ottoman of a plush cream-
colored club chair covered in raw silk.  "We're aware that the 
symptoms of your illness are distressing, and we won't stay long."

Stephen pulled the comforter closer.  "I was up watching the show, 
anyway.  The contestants arrested the right suspect and solved the 
case.  I don't remember them being that close to the finish."  He 
shivered.  "To be honest, Agents, I'm not sure I can be of much help 
to you.  My memory isn't all that sharp at the moment."

"What is the last thing you remember?" Mulder asked from his seat 
next to Scully on an identical ottoman.

"I woke up here this afternoon, feeling like...well, feeling pretty 
bad."

"And before that?"

"David had just arrived -- was it last night?  He was ranting about 
the demise of the show.  That's all I remember."

Scully studied him a moment.  "Mr. Taylor, do you remember meeting 
with Agent Mulder and I in your office this morning?"

Taylor's complexion took on a shade of green, and he sat up, 
throwing the comforter off his shoulders.  "Excuse me a moment."

They could hear him gagging as he ran of the room, Mulder grimacing 
as he turned to Scully.

"I hope he didn't get any on one of those expensive Persian rugs."

Scully winced.  "Mulder, if he doesn't remember meeting with us, in 
all likelihood he was infected at the time."

"And passed it on at some point during the day."  He looked down at 
his own hand.  "I shook hands with him this morning, Scully, why 
wasn't I infected?"

She shook her head.  "I don't know.  Maybe you are.  Maybe some 
people are merely carriers."

"Then why aren't you infected as well?  I touched you."  He wiped 
his hand down the side of his trousers.  "There's something we're 
missing here.  Something we're not seeing.  How do the personality 
characteristics factor into this?"

"Maybe they don't."

Mulder bit the inside of his cheek, thinking.  Somewhere nearby a 
telephone began to ring.  "There were documented incidents of 
specific individual character traits in both of the previous cases.  
Each case had a total of seven victims."

"That we know of.  There very well could be more that weren't 
reported."

"Maybe, Maybe not."  His foot began to bounce nervously, and the 
ringing telephone suddenly stopped.  "Seven, Scully.  A prime 
number, historically a number with both mystical and practical 
applications.  There's the seventh son of the seventh son, the Seven 
Wonders of the World, the Seven Sages of Greece, the Seven Churches 
of Asia, the Seven Bibles, the Seven Champions of Christendom..."

"Seven Sorrows of the Virgin..."

"Seven Years War..."

"Seven Bodies in Alchemy..."

"Seven Hills of Rome..."

"Seven Seas..."

"Seven Dwarfs..."

"Seven Deadly Sins..."

Mulder paused, breaking the rhythm of their repartee as he chewed on 
his lower lip.  "So far, we've seen pride, envy, anger and sloth..."

"Four of the seven deadly sins.  That leaves gluttony, avarice and 
lust..." Scully's eyes widened, a flag going up.

"That's it, Scully, that's the connection.  It's feeding on sin..."

"Mulder."

Her tone stopped his profiling stream of consciousness and he 
released his lower lip from between his teeth, looking over at her.  
"What?"

She paused a moment, licking her lips.  "I think I know who Stephen 
infected."

"Who?"

Stephen shuffled back into the room, pressing a cloth to his 
forehead.  "I'm sorry, Agents.  Can this day get any worse?  I don't 
suppose you have any influence with the LAPD...."

Scully's shoulders straightened.  "What do you mean, Mr. Taylor?"

Stephen sat back down on the sofa, wrapping himself in the comforter 
once again.  "The president of the network is being held without 
bail on charges of rape and battery." 

XxX

WILSHIRE AREA JAIL
11:21 p.m.

"He's not very happy right now," the heavy-set uniformed police 
officer huffed as he unlocked the door leading to the cellblock.  
"Been puking since they brought him in here."

"Has he received any medical attention?" Scully asked.

"Nope."

There was a noticeable stench of vomit and excrement as the officer 
lead them directly to a holding cell near the front of the 
cellblock, where Jeffrey Schwartz sat huddled under a rough wool 
blanket.  

Scully and Mulder shared a look, both knowing that Jeffrey's illness 
was a clear indication that whatever it was that had infected him 
had already moved on.
 
Jeffrey glared up at them as the officer unlocked the cell door, 
shivering and seething.  "My human rights are in violation, I'll 
have you know," he said as the agents stepped into the cell.  "My 
attorney is in direct contact with the Attorney General."

"We have nothing to do with your incarceration," Mulder replied, 
"but we would like to ask you a few questions about the events 
leading up to your current situation."

He gathered up as much dignity as he could muster for a man wearing 
traces of his own diarrhea and vomit.  "I'm not talking to anyone 
without my attorney."

Mulder nodded in understanding.  "Okay, how about we make it off the 
record?"

Schwartz glowered at Mulder, then at Scully.  "I don't remember 
anything."

Under the circumstances, his declaration was not surprising.  Scully 
stepped forward hoping a different approach might put him more at 
ease.

"Mr. Schwartz, I'm a medical doctor.  While we can't do anything 
about the accommodations, I might be able to make sure that your 
time here a little more comfortable if you'll agree to answer a few 
brief questions."

He let out a soft huff of humiliation and looked off to the side, 
shivering.  "I told you, I don't remember."

Scully looked up at Mulder, who met her gaze and nodded toward the 
door.  They turned to leave and the uniformed officer unlocked the 
cell to let them out.

"We've got two possibilities for tracking this thing down, Scully, 
avarice and gluttony."  Mulder told her as they followed the officer 
back out of the cellblock.

"Finding the one person in the Los Angeles metropolitan area who 
matches one of those vices ought to be a piece of cake," Scully 
deadpanned.

The officer snorted and Mulder's cell phone trilled from his inside 
jacket pocket.  Mulder retrieved the phone as the officer led them 
into a receiving area with benches and chairs that were separated 
from the administrative area by a long counter.

"Mulder.  Hey Danny, don't tell me you're pulling an all-nighter." 

Stepping behind the counter, the officer took a seat at a desk near 
the wall.  

Scully stepped up to the counter, asking conversationally, "Who is 
pressing the charges against Mr. Schwartz?"

"His wife is what I heard," was the officer's reply.

Mulder's telephone conversation continued through the exchange.  
"Yeah, man, but sometimes the illusion is better than the reality."  
He paused.  "No, I'll tell you about it later.  So what have you 
got?  Yeah, okay, can you fax it over here?  The number is..."

There was a pregnant pause as both Mulder and Scully looked 
expectantly at the uniformed officer at the desk.

"Do you have a fax machine over there?"  Mulder asked the officer, 
holding the phone away from his face.

The officer blinked at him.  "Uh, sure.  310-555-1213."

Returning to his call, Mulder said, "Yeah, did you get that Danny?  
No, one, two, one, three.  Right.  Alright Danny, thanks."  He was 
about to hit the end button, but he lifted the phone back up to his 
ear.  "No, I didn't, who was it?  No kidding?  I'll make sure to 
tell Scully.  Yeah, okay."  Ending the call, he turned to Scully, 
sliding the phone back into his inside jacket pocket.  "He's got a 
transcript from the video we sent him."

"Did he find anything telling?"

"He said he thought there were a few interesting moments."  Mulder 
paced back and forth in the small space in front of the counter, 
chewing on the side of his thumb.  "I guess our best lead on finding 
who Jeffrey infected is to talk to his wife."

Scully pursed her lips.  "The one thing we haven't asked ourselves, 
Mulder, is what happens once the cycle is completed."  He stopped 
pacing and turned to face her.

"That's been bothering me, Scully.  There are definite cycles -- 
fourteen years between the first two cases, and then twenty-one 
years between the last case and now."

"All divisible by seven," she commented.

The fax machine behind the officer's desk rang, then beeped as it 
began to receive the transmission.  Mulder glanced over at it, then 
directed his attention back to his partner.  "The last victim in 
1980 suffered the symptoms of withdrawal just like the other six."

"Which brings us back to the question, where does it go?"

Mulder shook his head.  "Maybe it starts all over again."

They stared at each other, neither able to answer the question 
satisfactorily.

"I think we should go to Princeton," Mulder stated.

"For what?  We're here to find out who murdered Mr. Lee.  Other than 
the fact that a lot of people have acted strange and gotten sick, 
there's been no crime committed that falls within our jurisdiction."

"But this stimulant may have caused the victims to commit murder, or 
in the case of Jeffrey Schwartz, rape and battery."

"How are we going to prove that?  Mulder, even if we could isolate 
this stimulant and show the physiological responses it promotes in 
its victims, everything that we've seen so far suggests that the 
people infected merely acted in accordance with their individual 
personalities."

He looked at her, his face showing his disappointment.  "Maybe 
that's why I wasn't affected, Scully.  Maybe I don't have the 
dominant personality traits it looks for when searching for a new 
host."

She studied his face, her eyes softening.  "You said it yourself, 
Mulder.  It's looking for a predominant sin."  She poked a finger at 
his chest.  "You're predominantly virtuous."

He raised his eyebrows.  "Was that supposed to be a compliment?  
*Predominantly* virtuous?"

"It means that if I had to pick just one virtuous word to describe 
you, Mulder, I'd have trouble choosing."  She held his gaze.  "So 
what else did Danny say?"

The corner of his mouth turned up in a grin.  "You can have the cash 
or he'll take you to lunch when you get back."

She blinked at him a moment, then a smug smile crossed her face.  "I 
solved the crime?  So it was the drive through attendant who killed 
the fictional Mr. Oh?"

"You could be a millionaire, Scully."

She let out a soft snort.  "I'll take Danny's ten and call it even.  
The last time he offered to buy me lunch we went to McDonald's."

"So..." Mulder leaned an elbow against the counter, lowering his 
voice as he picked at a button on her jacket.  "What would you do 
with a million dollars if you did win it?"

"Money often creates more problems than it solves, Mulder."  He 
scowled at her, and she shifted her weight on her feet, leaning back 
against the counter, relenting.  "Oh, alright.  After Uncle Sam took 
his share, there would be significantly less than a million, of 
course."

He was still playing with the button on her jacket.  "Of course."  

"I suppose I'd set up college funds for my nephews...pay off 
Charlie's mortgage...buy mom a new car...I'd buy you a car, for that 
matter, and then we wouldn't always have to get a Bureau car or take 
mine whenever we leave your neighborhood."

He laughed softly, leaning closer.  "But what about you, Scully?  
Isn't there anything *you* really want?"

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  "Nothing that money 
could buy.  I suppose I already have everything else."

"Hey Romeo," the desk officer interrupted from behind the counter, 
"Your fax is finished."

Mulder sheepishly turned toward the officer as Scully turned away, 
biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.  

"We're *partners*," Mulder mouthed at him, emphasizing the word 
'partners'.

"Of course you are," the officer said with sarcasm, handing him the 
fax.

Mulder pressed his lips into a thin line, ignoring the officer by 
focusing on the thick fax.  "Scully," he said, his shoulders 
straightening when he got to the third page.

She stepped up beside him.  "What is it?"

"Danny isolated an off-camera conversation between two males on the 
videotape at timecode 010:13.  Male #1 says 'It's a .357' to which 
Male #2 responds, 'Hell yeah, she's a real beaut.'  Male #1 answers 
with, 'The way things are, I'm not leaving the house without it."  
Mulder exchanged a look with Scully, pulling out his cell phone and 
punching a number on the speed dial.  "Yeah Danny - Mulder.  I need 
a voice I.D. on the dialogue from timecode 010:13.  Uh, page three 
of the transcript.  Yeah, I'll hold.  Thanks."

Scully looked at him, drawing a deep breath as they waited for Danny 
to return with the voice I.D.  Her cell phone trilled, and Mulder 
glanced at her in surprise as she answered it.  "Scully...yes, 
detective," she replied, glancing up at Mulder.  She mouthed 'Lewes' 
to which Mulder nodded.

Danny returned on the line and Mulder turned his back to Scully to 
block out her conversation.  Scully did the same thing so that she 
wouldn't be distracted by Mulder's conversation.  They both finished 
at the same time, ending their respective calls and turning to face 
each other.  There was an expectant pause as their eyes met, each 
eager to share their information.

"You first," Mulder offered.

She gave him a knowing smile, recognizing the look in his eye -- he 
had the answer to the question, 'Who shot Mr. Lee?'.  "Detective 
Lewes received a positive I.D. on the fingerprints lifted from the 
handgun retrieved from Curtis Burns' house, as well as from the 
remaining bullets that were inside the weapon."

"And?"

She shook her head.  "Uh uh.  Your turn."

They stared at each other, each challenging the other to reveal 
their information first.  Slow smiles spread on their faces as the 
tension between them grew.

"Count of three?"  Mulder offered.

"Jeez!" the uniformed officer exclaimed from behind the counter.  
"Why don't you two just get a room?"

They'd forgotten they had an audience, and they broke their gaze in 
surprise, Scully crossing her arms, running her teeth along her 
molars and looking down at the floor as Mulder looked over his 
shoulder to glare at the officer.  The officer rolled his eyes at 
him and turned his back on them, and Mulder turned back to Scully.  
When Scully raised her eyes to his, he shrugged, smiling shyly.

She took a fortifying breath, letting it out in a quick huff.  
"Curtis-"

"-Burns," Mulder finished for her.  They both grinned, and casting a 
quick glance over his shoulder, Mulder bent down and whispered in 
her ear, "that's two for two, and I owe you dinner."

EPILOGUE

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER
7:48 p.m.

Mulder powered on the television with the remote, pulling his 
lightweight sweater over his still-damp hair as a familiar rhythm  
resounded from his front door.  Lowering the television's volume, he 
tossed the remote onto the coffee table and finger combed his hair 
before crossing into the next room.

Scully was standing expectantly in the hallway when he opened the 
door.

"Why Agent Scully.  Come on in...mi casa es su casa."

Looking him over briefly and raising an eyebrow, she stepped past 
him into the apartment.  "Gracias."

"Oooo, somebody's been shopping," Mulder said with appreciation, 
checking out her new form-fitting slacks and blouse from the rear as 
he followed her back into the living room.  She was wearing the 
really high heels.  "You up for Italian tonight?"

She turned to face him.  "Il Porto?"

He grinned, purring, "You know what I like."

Stepping closer, she smiled at his flirty tone.  "It's a beautiful 
evening, Mulder."  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her 
closer, and she laid her chin on his chest, looking up at him.  
"Mind if we walk?"

Looking at her with amused indulgence, he deduced, "You found a 
prime parking spot right in front of the building."  She nodded, and 
he bent down, placing a kiss on the top of her head.  "I'll get my 
shoes."

He disappeared into his bedroom, and Scully turned and looked at the 
television.  "Excess Hollywood" was running a report on the curse of 
the cancelled series, "Detective," and she picked up the remote 
control from the coffee table, turning up the volume.

When Mulder returned, Scully was still standing in front of the 
television, her arms crossed and her chin resting on the end of the 
remote in her hand as she stared thoughtfully at the screen.

'...charges were dropped against Schwartz after settling out of 
court for an undisclosed sum of money, rumored to be eight figures.  
The soon to be ex-Mrs. Schwartz has been seen around town with hunky 
soap star Mark Robb, reportedly sparing no expense at several 
exclusive Beverly Hills boutiques,' the reporter announced. 

"What would you call that, Scully, avarice or gluttony?"  Mulder 
asked from the sofa as he tied his shoes.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.  "Sounds like avarice to me."

On screen, "Excess Hollywood" was airing a clip from "Detective", 
showing The Kinneys dressed in black, investigating the murder of 
Mr. Oh inside the Wendy's restaurant.  

'Mike and Sandy Kinney solved their investigation, winning the 
entire million dollar prize.  Was what happened to the Kinneys 
afterwards part of the "Detective" curse?'  

Video footage showed the Kinneys climbing out of a brand new Chevy 
Suburban, dressed in somebody's tasteless idea of good fashion, both 
significantly chunkier than they had been on the show just weeks 
before.   

"Doh!" Mulder said in surprise at the recent footage of the 
contestants.

The report continued, 'The Kinneys have spent nearly all of their 
winnings on fine dining, lavish furnishings, automobiles and 
expensive trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City, where they've stayed 
in posh penthouse suites and gambled at high stakes tables.'

Scully turned and faced Mulder.  "What do you think happened to the 
sin-eating stimulant?  Did it infect Mrs. Schwarz, the Kinneys, or 
both?"

Mulder shook his head, staring at the screen.  "I don't think we'll 
ever know unless it happens again."  He reached out and took the 
remote from her hand, and she snatched it back as an image of Angie 
Fabrocini appeared on screen.

'Not everyone associated with "Detective" has been victim to the 
curse, however.  Angelina Fabrocini, who played the sexy Dr. Maria 
Jolie on the series will star in her own series next Fall about the 
life of a female FBI agent.'

Mulder walked over and powered the television off manually, smiling 
broadly when she raised her eyebrow at him.  Holding his hand out to 
her, he said, "Let's go make gluttons of ourselves, Scully." 

She tossed the remote control down on the coffee table, stepped 
forward and took his hand, a slow smile curving on her lips as he 
pulled her along with him, leading her toward the door.  She stopped 
in the foyer, tugging him back toward her.

"Heroic," she said.

He looked down into her upturned face, confused.  "What?"

"The one word that describes you, Mulder.  I've found it."

They grinned at each other warmly, and he tugged on her arm again, 
pulling her toward the door.  "Does that mean I have to wait until 
I've slain the dragon before I get the girl?"  He held the door 
open, allowing her to pass ahead of him into the hallway.

"Only if the dragon comes with a side of pasta," she replied, 
giggling at the look he gave her as he locked the door and pocketed 
the keys.  The sound of her bubbly laugh trailed faintly down the 
hallway, still echoing through the empty apartment after they'd 
gone.

Fin

beduini2@yahoo.com
http://www.justduckies.org/beduini

Thanks go to Marty and Sybil.