Title: Legend of the Perfect Union
Author: JRFPatton
Feedback: Yes. This is my first attempt.
Archive: Anywhere, just tell me
Email: JRFPatton@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Classification: SRA
Spoilers: through All Things
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance
Disclaimer: The main characters, the familiar ones, are the
property of Chris Carter, Fox, and Ten Thirteen
Productions used without permission. This story is in no way
affiliated with or endorsed by anyone associated with The X-files nor
intended to infringe on copyrights.
Summary: A horrific investigation leads to unprofessional conduct
charges against Scully and Mulder. Their defense forces them to
them apart. When they decide to listen to each other, a rather
explosive situation develops at a church with a unique history.

Legend of the Perfect Union

She used to be young. Striding into her apartment full of purpose,
Special Agent Dana Scully saw the evidence of that youth still lying
in open photo albums on her sofa. Once she was carefree and terribly
young.  It didn't seem long ago. She was hopeful and open and wise
and full of curiosity. She went to concerts and danced and read out
of interest instead of need. She had a circle of friends and they
talked of love, marriage, fashion, rock stars, and movies. She used
to be warm.

"Just a minute."

Standing alone in her living room Special Agent Fox Mulder thought
the day turned colder with each passing hour - just like his partner.
He realized with a start that this was not something new, even though
it just occurred to him. Dana Scully had pulled back, retreated and
finally set up camp behind an impenetrable wall. He couldn't recall
anything he'd said or done to piss her off, so it must be this latest
case dealing with child pornographers and murderers. When he thought
about it, Mulder couldn't picture the last time he'd seen Scully
smile or heard her laugh out loud. Something that might, technically,
be called a half-smile pulled at her lips a few hours earlier. He
watched it emerge in slow, satisfied, Scully-style when they got a
lead on their prime suspect.

Mulder usually avoided all Violent Crimes Section assignments because
nothing good ever came of his association with them, and assignments
involving children, because he hated watching Scully endure them.
However, they couldn't duck this one, a double-header. A Violent
Crimes case involving murdered children.  A few days into the
investigation Mulder hadn't even bothered to illicit another "I'm
fine" from Scully. He didn't have the energy to ask and she wouldn't
have had the strength to lie anyway.

Mulder was hard pressed to recall a more horrific series of crimes.
Over the last two months, three young girls in the D.C. area had been
raped and murdered, their little bodies mutilated nearly beyond
recognition. Mulder had been stunned by the violence of the crime
scene photos.

And then there were the videos. As each child died screaming in
terror, someone videotaped it. Scully, shaking and pale, excused
herself after viewing the first tape-an unspeakably humiliating
display for her. No matter that a D.C. cop and another FBI agent
barely made it to the men's room. The video sold in the back of porno
shops as illegal snuff fiction until one storeowner reported a
resemblance between the little actress in the tape and the newspaper
photo of a murder victim.

Some things even offended perverts.

The videos represented the first break in the case. Until then,
nothing had tied the murders together. The crime scenes had been
carefully scoured to eliminate trace evidence. The victims were
apparently chosen at random by opportunity, not design. Now they had
backgrounds on the tape to search for and white noise to listen to in
hopes of uncovering identifiable noises. All that work, all the
manpower attracted attention. It was a major effort for the FBI and
DC police to downplay the whole thing to avoid a panic. Unofficially,
the word spread until even street gangs were on the lookout for child
killers. It shaped up worse than the Atlanta murders.

With the second murder, the D.C. police called in the FBI. He and
Scully were still combing through the D.C. police data - an
impressive amount of it - when the third body turned up. Scully
performed the autopsy, discovering a hair that didn't match the
victim or anyone else they could find. When Mulder pronounced it a
clue that put them a hair's breath closer to the killer, Scully
hadn't even lifted an eyebrow. His initial concern bloomed into
worry.

For his part Mulder developed a profile of men who could organize,
plan, and execute the murder of little girls, then videotape it for
sale. In fact, the current progress in the case owed much to Mulder's
skills as profiler. He felt sick for days after he began to his work
in earnest. He wished for a way to escape, even temporarily, from the
insanity he envisioned. A game, a drunk, a distraction.

In the end he made a conscious decision to distance himself from this
one. Now he was relieved. He saw the shell of Scully, recalled the
ravaged faces of the other officers on the case, and congratulated
himself on stepping back.  Law enforcement officers like the D.C.
squad charged with the investigation had been hard at work for eight
weeks. The men he'd met looked haunted. Mulder was glad he didn't
have to go home with any of them. Life with Scully - the part of
her he could still reach-was difficult enough. Now that he thought
about it, tempers were short all around. Everyone involved with this
case needed to spend some serious time in a decompression chamber. Or
in Tahiti. Or naked in Scully's arms.

Right this minute he would settle for a little light and heat. Scully
hadn't bothered to snap on lights or turn up the heat when they came
into her apartment. Mulder waited for her to change from a skirt to
something warmer so they could watch their suspect's apartment
building. He felt off center, restless, edgy, maybe something else he
didn't want to think about. He wished for something good to happen.
Like Tahiti. Or, the other thing.

Okay, he would settle for one day free of blood. Wandering idly
Mulder flipped through some photo albums lying on the sofa. Most of
them were family photos and pictures of a rather sophisticated girl
with a young Scully--huge eyes and long hair, as long as it was the
day she descended to the FBI basement. In every photo she smiled or
laughed. From her sofa he'd moved on to peruse her coffee table -
mostly folders of crime scene photos - and some scientific journals
that looked almost as cheery. He didn't intend to invade her privacy;
he just needed a distraction. Her mail sat piled on the table near
the front door and a fancy, oversized envelope peeked out from the
top, right between the electric bill, a flyer advertising a self-help
seminar, and two pizza ads.

He reasoned later it was fate that he saw the wedding invitation at
all. He had to shake it loose from the folded flyer that urged him to
"Seize This Opportunity - Your Dreams Can Come True". Ivory parchment
paper among the slick ads attracted him. The invitation had already
been opened, read and now lay exposed. The first words that
registered made his heart leap: "Church of the Holy Trinity" followed
by "St.Mary's City, Maryland".

"You've been invited to a wedding at Holy Trinity!" He held up the
invitation for her to see as she came out of the bedroom. She had
changed into jeans and a long-sleeved sweater. She barely paused. In
one efficient move Dana Scully grabbed her coat and plucked the
invitation from his hand. She dropped it back on the table on her way
into the kitchen.

"Yes...and no," she said. She picked up a brown paper bag on the
kitchen counter and motioned him out of the apartment.

"Yes...and no?"

'Yes, I've been invited to the wedding of a family friend and no, you
cannot come with me. Do you have a blanket in the car? Probably not.
I should get one."

He followed her. "Why can't I go?"

"No."

"I wouldn't want you to be mugged. Could be a rough crowd."

"My brother Bill and his wife are coming," Scully said, her face
somewhere in the middle of the chest at the foot of her bed.

Mulder remembered his unpleasant encounters with Bill the sailor. All
well deserved, which made it worse. "See--a rough crowd."

"No."

"Why not?"

Dana Scully stopped rummaging around the chest. "Because Amanda Chase
is a dear friend and being there when she marries is important to me.
Being there for you is only mildly interesting because it's Holy
Trinity."

"What if this is the one, Scully? What if your friend's marriage is
the one so blessed by God that the rays of heaven burn the couple's
image into the rock of the altar floor."

"That is exactly why I said no. This is not an X-File. This is my
friend's wedding. My whole family will be there. My aunt, my mother's
cousins...." She pictured Mulder trying to blend with walls. Worse,
she envisioned his debating virgin birth with her Aunt Minnie. She
shuddered. "No." Scully discovered a green blanket folded in with
a quilt and pulled it out of the bottom of the chest. It smelled like
mothballs. The chest lid slammed and she started out the door again.

He did not follow this time. At the apartment door she stopped and
put her hand on her hip. "Are you coming?"

"I'm thinking about it," Mulder said.

"It's just a legend, a myth."

"Like transubstantiation?"

Scully glared. "Are you going on this stake-out with me?"

"I'm thinking about it," Mulder said.

"Think and walk," she said, setting an example. "Our informant said
Braxton might be there tonight after twelve. It's almost eight. I
want this guy."

"I love it when you talk like that..."

"Seriously, Mulder, we've been searching for this man. And out of the
blue..."

"Blue. Imagine how blue Chesapeake Bay will be this time of year," he
said, catching up to her.

"It's almost winter," she said.

"We could drive down the night before..."

"It's not a long drive and I don't want to spend any more nights in a
motel than I have to."

"So, we could get up early and make a day of it," Mulder said.

"No."

"And when we get back. We'll go to Rocco's for dinner. My treat."

Scully stopped with her hand on the front door of the apartment
building. "Rocco's?"

"Lasagna with cheese so goo..."

"All right! But I'm warning you, any funny stuff-including but not
limited to-speculation on holy ghosts or cracks about marital
flash points in the church and I will drain your fish tank."

"You'd kill innocent fish!"

"In a heartbeat," she said, her words, like her breath, coming in
short puffs.

"The latch on this seat back is still broken," Scully complained. She
sat bolt upright. She continued to pull and tug at the lever on the
passenger side seat of the requisitioned Taurus to no avail.

Exasperated, she gave up and tucked her hands in her coat pocket.
She'd forgotten her gloves. Perhaps she lost them; she hadn't seen
them since last winter.

Mulder's face was turned toward the street and building where their
suspect Braxton was supposed to show. It was a renovated apartment
complex in a Washington neighborhood struggling to attract yuppies.
His busy fingers tapped on the steering wheel. Scully wanted to grab
them and make him stop drumming.

"I know this is our guy," he said. "He fits the profile. These
murders bear hallmarks of a crime he was questioned about several
years ago. He visited other cities where similar crimes..."

"You don't have to sell me," Scully said. "Unfortunately, we have no
DNA to match. In all likelihood the hair doesn't match him, but one
of his underlings. We're a little short on evidence."

"We'll get sample when we find him. We'll get evidence." His fingers
drummed on. "We will bury this man."

"Nice of him to drop in our laps." Scully shivered, rubbed her hands
together and studied Mulder with touch of resentment. He was never
cold. "Why are you so anxious to go to this wedding? It can't be only
the legend of the perfect union and it can't be my family."

"I like your mother." Mulder looked away from the building and
stretched. "I like your mother a lot." He had an answer, but it would
be no answer at all for her. It was ridiculous, in fact. He wanted
to, felt compelled to. He watched her go into the bedroom tonight,
unbuttoning her suit jacket and taking with her that wonderful smell
of woman he always associated with Scully, and realized in panic that
the room she left him in was flat, dull--without texture or life.

Mulder had distracted himself to keep from following her into the
bedroom and embarrassing himself. What would he have said: "I'm empty
here in the next room."

He closed his eyes. He longed to open them to find the world had
changed magically into Disneyland - where fantasy was fun, no
children hurt, and grown-ups connected with the openness and beauty
of the children in them. He was sick of ugliness, deception and
blood.

If he needed some magic, Scully needed it more, though she would
never admit it. He would do almost anything to wipe away the deep
sadness that seemed to grip her very bones. Being with family and old
friends at a happy occasion like a wedding might do it for her. That
was it, Mulder realized. He wanted to go to the wedding to see her
happy and safe.  He was always there when things were at their worst
for her, now he wanted to be there for the better part. Maybe some of
it would rub off on him. Maybe he could even see how it's done.

"Mulder? Why do you want to go?"

"No one has ever disproved the story of Aaron and Abigail Arnold.
Nice names," he said.

"Hmm. Alliteration adds to the romantic flavor, don't you agree?"
Scully said. "Who would want to know about Horace and Bertha Plotz?"

"Plotz - isn't that Polish? This is an Anglo-Saxon story. Devoted
Catholic girl with strict upbringing...."

"...All girls back then had strict upbringing."

"And knew it was rude to interrupt," said Mulder. Scully did not look
the least bit ashamed. "She falls in love with the Protestant
schoolmaster, a man of intemperate beliefs and few prospects."

"Hardly a match made in heaven."

"Her parents refuse their permission to marry. When her father joins
the Continental Army, they flee to the church and ask the priest to
marry them. The priest refuses. God does the job Personally." Mulder
made a sound like lightening and illustrated the zap with his fingers
on the steering wheel. "The lovers seal their undying devotion at the
altar with a kiss. Heaven blesses their union by burning through a
hole in the roof and searing their images into the solid marble floor
of the altar."

There it was: a hint of a smile in Scully's eyes and on her lips.

Encouraged, Mulder pressed on. "Theories?"

"An alien craft testing the dreaded Cupid ray?"

"The legend of the perfect union or something like it is a staple in
the folklore of every culture. I can see you've not given this
American phenomenon serious thought," Mulder said.

"The hole in the roof-now covered by a magnificent stained glass
window, by the way - occurred in 1779 as the result of a lightning
bolt," Scully said.

"So it was lightning..."

"Any lightening, laser beam or force strong enough to burn the
couple's silhouette in rock would incinerate them in the process."

"X-ray?"

"...Wheeled in from the Revolutionary War hospital across the
street?" Scully clucked. "Sorry to disappoint you. I'm afraid it's
just a coloration of stone that gives rise to the legend - like a-a
tomato that grows in the likeness of Elvis or a shadow on the wall
that looks like the Blessed Virgin."

"Squash," Mulder said.

"Squash?"

"It was a squash that was Elvis. The tomato was..."

"President Clinton-how could I forget," Scully said.

Mulder glanced at the building across the street and back to his
partner. "How do you know so much about Holy Trinity?"

"Amanda's been planning her wedding since we heard the legend of the
perfect union in third grade. I've been trying to talk her out of
this-"

"You don't like the groom?"

"I don't know him, except by reputation. He's a chemist at the lab
where Amanda works," Scully said. "I've always tried to talk her out
of Holy Trinity. It's like marrying in June - everybody does it."

"So you object on the grounds of triteness," Mulder said. "Do you
suppose that will affect God's decision to put in a personal
appearance at the wedding?"

Small creases of concentration appeared on Scully's forehead, giving
rise to a sudden and nearly overpowering desire in Mulder to
soothe them away with his fingers, then his lips.

"I think God blesses every union where a man and woman commit to love
and honor each other  -- the absence of smoke and lightening at the
altar doesn't make that less true," she said.

"The divorce and domestic violence rate say you're wrong."

"The legend never says that Aaron and Abigail lived happily ever
after," she said. "It only talks about the blessing part. Marriage is
perfect; the people in it aren't always."

A small vein near Scully's throat pulsed hypnotically against the
collar of her sweater and captured Mulder's attention. "Does Amanda
expect a miracle?"

"I'm sure she doesn't really believe the legend, but I suspect that
played a part in holding the wedding in the morning instead of the
evening."

"Trying to make it easier work for God?" Mulder said. "The sun being
a greater source of power than the moon."

The throbbing vein on Scully's neck disappeared beneath her sweater
to Mulder's relief. She glanced out the windshield at the full moon
shining over the buildings ahead. She gave him a mischievous look.

"In my experience the moon possesses a greater power."

"I had no idea you were such a lunar scholar!" Mulder's pulse picked
up.

Scully picked up a thermos from the floor between them. "Is this
coffee?"

"It is, but...." Mulder reached behind him on the floor of the
passenger seat. Before Scully could move, his face grazed her
shoulder.  "I have here another full of hot chocolate." Curious now,
she turned to see what he was doing. They nearly bumped noses when he
brought the thermos out.

"I know what these late nights do to your blood sugar," Mulder said.
"It's not pretty." Their fingers touched when he put the thermos in
her hand. Her small hand under his larger one felt cold and he held
it there longer than necessary. "Your fingers are cold, Scully."
Without thinking Mulder tucked an errant strand of hair off her face
and behind her ear. He did it slowly. "Want the blanket?"

She shook her head. It all seemed so natural Scully decided to enjoy
the rush and let it go without comment. She knew he worried about
her. Mulder tended to hover as an expression of concern. She could
see the dark circles under his eyes that meant the long hours and
this awful case were catching up with him too. Now that she really
looked at him, he seemed haggard, his eyes full of an
uncharacteristic emptiness. Perhaps the wedding would be good for
him. Knowing Amanda the festivities would be-riotous came to mind
but somehow Scully couldn't associate that word with Holy Trinity
Church. At the very least it would be one of those occasions where
people are happy and optimistic. God knows they could both use some
of that in their lives. She sighed.

She hadn't slept well since Skinner assigned this case. The bruised
bodies of the little victims and the unspeakable images on the tapes
had become mixed up in some thinking she'd been doing about her own
life since Amanda Chase popped into her life again. Now every time
she closed her eyes collages of the murdered girls dressed in white
dresses, FBI identifications, Mulder's eyes, and blood spatters on
bridal bouquets slapped her awake.

Always, lurking somewhere in the background, were all the children
lost to her.

A chill shook her. "Maybe you can turn up the heat?"

"Absolutely," he said. Without taking his eyes off her, he reached
for the dash and the car heater.

"You have to flip the ignition key first."

"Oh yeah." He was nonplussed.

"While we're on the subject of chocolate..."

"I thought we were talking about heat," he said.

Scully arched a brow and stared into his eyes. Her breath hitched.
She wondered what was going on with him tonight. The concerned
partner thing was nice and comfortable. Tonight felt different
somehow. Edgy and dangerous and...sexy.

"I brought cookies. Wrapped in the blanket behind your seat," she
said.

"Cookies?"

"Chocolate chip." She leaned back to reach behind the driver's seat.
He didn't move and she bumped into his shoulder with her nose. "Is
there a reason we keep drawing this car?"

"Less conspicuous?" he said.

"I still can't ...."  She arched back, rummaged around the blanket,
and groped for the brown paper bag. She could hear the paper rattle
in the seat, but couldn't grasp it with her fingers. She stretched
over further, burrowing the top of her head into his shoulder and
catching a whiff of his soap or aftershave, a musky smell. Now she
felt very warm indeed. He leaned over closer. She could almost feel
his breath on her neck and chin. She turned her face up slightly to
extend her reach. "I couldn't sleep so I made them last night."

"Ah-h," Mulder said. "I thought I detected a smudge of chocolate in
the corner of your mouth this morning." He stared at her lips and the
play vanished from his eyes. She felt the warmth glide deeper into
her middle and spread. "Scully...." Her name never sounded so soft,
seductive, and sweet. Her mouth watered, but not for chocolate. She
forgot the cookies in favor of something infinitely more delicious
and tried to sit up.

The latch gave way and the passenger seat collapsed into the rear,
throwing most of Scully into the back. She yelped in surprise. Mulder
tried to stifle a laugh, but failed.

"Not funny! I reported this seat. Twice."

Like a punch-drunk boxer, Mulder couldn't stop laughing; he heard her
snicker then start laughing with him.

He twisted around and put his arm under her shoulders to get her
upright. "Here, let me..." She grabbed his shoulder for balance and
he pulled her up, both of them still chuckling. The car windows
fogged.

Over his shoulder something red flashed across Scully's line of
vision. She stared. "There he is. Braxton. Our informant was right."
Scully nodded toward the apartment. She watched as a tall, well-
groomed man in a red jacket paused near the mouth of an alley to
light a cigarette. He stopped for a moment to inhale and straighten
the crease on his trousers.

"Get back-up," Mulder said and grabbed for the car door handle. He
heard Scully calling in their location as he closed the car door as
quietly as possible. He put his gun in his coat pocket and out of the
corner of his eye saw Scully do the same before she got out of the
car. "Take him at the front door."

"He has company on our left," Scully said as she came around to the
driver's side of the car.

It took a moment, but Mulder saw the stocky man in jeans, a blue
baseball cap and blue jacket slipping behind Braxton in the shadows.
He kept a measured distance in the shadows behind their target while
casting furtive looks up and down the street. He had his hands in the
jacket pockets, which meant he was cold or he had a gun.

Mulder put his hand in the small of Scully's back as if they were
coming into the apartment building from a date. He kept enough
distance between them so she could take out her gun in a hurry. They
both had one hand in their coat pockets. Their quarry didn't seem to
be in a big hurry, nor did the man trailing him.

"Bodyguard?" said Mulder. They were standing in the middle of the
street looking up and down an empty street.

"Could be," Scully said. "Braxton certainly needs a bodyguard."

"That's your man," Mulder said with a nod.

"Right."

It was easy, almost as though it had been rehearsed. The two agents
finished crossing the street. As soon as Braxton came into the light
of the apartment building Mulder drew his weapon, identified himself
and took hold of Braxton's arm. The man's reaction was sluggish,
stunned. At the same time Scully drew her gun, pointed it at the
bodyguard and identified herself. The two targets stopped, wide-eyed,
and raised their hands.

"Hey, agent!" said the bodyguard.

"You're making a mistake."

"Over here," Scully shouted. She motioned her prisoner forward.
Mulder took out restraints and secured his man.

"Listen quick, agent...."

"Here!" Scully said pointing to a spot by Braxton. She patted his
pockets and felt the unmistakable outline of a gun in one. When she
took it out, she noted it was standard police issue and tucked it in
the waistband of her jeans.

"You don't..."

"Quiet!" As soon as she said it, Scully felt the hair on the back of
her neck go up. It was too quiet. She drew her cuffs and hurriedly
restrained the bodyguard. Something was wrong. Her mouth dropped open
in surprise, her eyes widened and she stepped back from her prisoner.
Scully ventured a quick look at her partner and saw his question too.
The street was clean - not a broken bottle or garbage can around the
apartment building. And quiet-even for the late hour. No one else
was on the street. No lights were on in the apartment building. No
lights across the street - even the streetlight had been broken. No
cars parked in front of the building, no garbage cans
strewn around. No dogs barking, no children screaming, no one around
at all. The world seemed to be holding its breath.

The silence broke all at once. Mulder heard someone - perhaps it was
Scully - say: "Set-up!" He shouted for everyone to get down. At the
same time Mulder saw the man in the blue jacket look in the street
and yell something like "No! You..." Braxton jerked out of Mulder's
grasp. The bodyguard moved after him. Scully reached for her
prisoner, but she was a second too slow.

In the stillness, heralded only by the squeals of automobile tires
and brakes, gunfire erupted.

Later Scully recalled the impression of a dark sedan bearing down on
them from the left.  She vaguely remembered headlights in her eyes
and the sound of car engines as she turned with her weapon ready to
fire. She heard an angry wasp buzz her ear. Mulder tackled her from
her left and she skidded head first across the pavement.

The two agents lay sprawled on the sidewalk. Mulder saw the night lit
up from a thousand starbursts. He covered Scully's body with his own
just as the bodyguard collapsed on them both. He heard screams,
another man in pain. Mulder raised his arm up to return fire and
discovered there was no one to shoot at. The gunmen and their cars
vanished down opposite ends of the street as quickly as they
appeared.

Scully pulled herself from under the stack of men, weapon raised, and
scrambled over to check the two prisoners. Braxton lay sprawled
behind the feet of his bodyguard. She knew from the wounds they were
already dead. In the distance she heard sirens.

"Where did they go?"

"Where did they come from?" Mulder said. He holstered his weapon and
leaned over to rest his hands on his knees. His arms shook and the
back of his shoulder was on fire.

Flashing lights-red from ambulances, blue from police cars, white
from search lamps - blazed across the neighborhood. The lights
bounced off the streets and doubled their glow. The dark was suddenly
and sadly luminous.

"You never saw them?" AD Walter Skinner said. "Either of you?"

"No sir. One minute they were here, the next they weren't." Scully
said.

"They came from up and down the street. Black sedan, gray two-door in
bad shape, one-two shooters each," Mulder said. "It was Chicago in
the roaring twenties."

"You aren't going to tell me this is the work of Al Capone's ghost,"
Skinner said.

"No sir, it is as it appears. An ambush," Scully said. "One of them
must have been parked on the street waiting. The D.C. police had the
street blocked off coming west earlier in the evening and removed it
an hour before the shootings." She pointed off to her right.

"Plates?"

"Mudded over," Mulder said.

"There are skid marks all over the street," Skinner said. He pointed
to the bodyguard who was being taken away on a stretcher. "The D.C.
police are.... this man, Victor Thrash, was one of theirs, an
undercover cop."

"Why didn't they notify us?" Mulder said.

"They claimed Braxton wasn't his assignment," Skinner said. "This
seemed like a routine stake-out when you proposed it."

"We've been looking for Braxton as the suspect in those child
murders. We got a tip, filed the paperwork..." Scully
said. "What was Thrash doing here?"

"Are you hurt, Agent Scully?" Skinner said. He nodded at her. "You're
bleeding."

Scully touched her cheek, surprised to find wetness there. She
automatically reached for the handkerchief she knew Mulder would
offer. He already had it out of his pocket and laid it in her hand.
She pressed it to her face with a wince. "I-I guess I
scraped it when Agent Mulder knocked me to the sidewalk."

Skinner aimed a questioning look at Mulder. "You okay?"

Mulder nodded. "I heard Scully say, 'Set-up' and I..."

"I didn't say anything," Scully said. "It must have been one of the
men."

Mulder considered that, then shrugged. "I must have seen one of the
cars coming from the right. A second car came from the opposite
direction at the same time. The shooting started; I shoved Scully and
dived after her. This was a well-planned assault." The ambulance
pulled away, forcing the FBI agents out of the middle of the street.
A pair of D.C. police officials crossed the street toward the federal
agents.

"And your prisoners?" Skinner said.

"Yeah, what about your prisoners? You left them standing there to
die." The words came from middle-aged, well-dressed black detective
with a badge pinned to his coat collar. His lips pressed together as
he struggled to control himself. His expensive silk tie was askew;
his shirtfront had a few drops of blood on it. The young white
detective with him said nothing, but he too appeared angry. "You cuff
our man and let him stand there without a way to get clear or defend
himself."

"We're very sorry for your loss, Lt. Lewis," Skinner said. He had met
the lieutenant only once, but he respected Thomas Lewis' reputation.

"Thrash was a fine officer, a good friend, and he was gonna be a
daddy in two more months," Lewis said.

Skinner inserted himself between his agents and the D.C. cops. "They
had no way of knowing your man was not with Braxton."

"You said he told you-"

"He only said I was making a mistake," Scully said. "He didn't
identify himself as a police officer."

"Where's his gun," Lewis said.

Skinner held up an evidence bag with a gun in it.

"You don't recognize standard issue weapons?" Lewis said. "Thrash
died in your cuffs, didn't he?"

"Do you have any idea how many police weapons are on the street,
lieutenant?" Scully said.

"Better than you," Lewis said. He spit the words.

"Then you must know having a police weapon is not the same as having
a badge."

"Did you give him time to show you?" said the detective.

"No, but..."

"Did you even think of those men once?" Lewis said. His face, which
might have been handsome in any other circumstance, pressed as close
to hers as Skinner's intervening shoulder would allow. His eyes, once
angry, now filled with hurt and pain.

"I-I grabbed for my prisoner, but he twisted out of reach," Scully
said. She continued to meet his eyes, while her fingers worried a
button on her coat. "I'm sorry for your man, lieutenant."

"Did he say anything?" Lewis said. "When he stood there helpless in
your control, did he say anything?" He sounded near tears.

A squad car inched by, nearly brushing Scully's coat. She took a step
to the curb. "What?" For reasons she didn't understand the word, her
tone, or her momentary distraction seemed to infuriate Lewis. He drew
anger back out of his sorrow.

"Yeah, say anything! Did either of them say something to you before
they were hit? You were standing right there - what did you hear?"

"Thrash said something like, ' No! You'. ...Or maybe it was 'who',"
Mulder said.

"Did you fire at the assailants?" Lt. Lewis asked Mulder. He snorted
at Scully. "You didn't, I know. You were under him."

Skinner shifted to put more of himself between his agents and the
lieutenant.

"What were you thinking?" Lewis turned on Mulder. "Two men standing
in the line of fire and you crawl over her?"

"I won't apologize for protecting my partner," Mulder said. "She was
blind-sided." His right hand made a fist; unconsciously Scully angled
her body to block it from view.

"Protecting her?" Lewis waved his arm at the FBI car across the
street. Spittle fell off the corner of his mouth. "Is that what feds
call it? That's one I haven't heard. What were you doing in..."

"That's enough!" Skinner said.

"Check it out. The passenger seat in that unit is down flat," said
the young man with Lewis. He pointed to the FBI Taurus.

"What does that mean!"

"Mulder..." Scully was suffocating in testosterone.

"You're supposed to guard the safety of your prisoners whether
they're my man or not!" Lewis turned on Scully and Mulder. "You
supposed to pay attention on stake-outs! That's the job!"

"Lt. Lewis, I tell my agents what they're supposed to do." Skinner
was taller than Lewis, though not by much. Both bull-necked and
broad-shouldered, they stood nose-to-nose. "Mulder, you and Scully
have your reports on my desk in the morning."

It was a clear dismissal, but Mulder hesitated. Scully laid a hand on
his arm and pulled him gently toward the middle of the street.

"Come on," Scully said in a low voice. "He lost a friend tonight."

Mulder took one more look at the yellow tape marking the crime scene
and the chalk outlines of the dead, then walked off across the street
with a furious stride. Scully trailed behind him to their car.
Following Mulder gave her the first opportunity to see the small
black line burned across the shoulder of his coat.

"Is that a....." She touched his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I think a bullet ruined my jacket. Drew blood. Nothing more."

"Give me the keys. I'll see to it when we get to my apartment," she
said.

"You just don't want to ride home looking at the car roof."

Scully poured Mulder a brandy while he peeled off his jacket, shirt
and tee shirt. The blood from the wound had dried through his shirts
and even though he pulled them off carefully, the wound reopened.
When she handed the liquor to him, Mulder wrapped his fingers around
hers on the brandy snifter.

"You want to ply me with alcohol and take off my shirt? Can we skip
the brandy and go right to whatever else you have in mind?" he said.

"We can," she said. "I don't advise it."

He grimaced, took two big gulps, then a third. Mulder sucked in his
breath, fire following the air down his chest." I can't believe
people pay money for that."

"Keep you warm on a cold night...."

"I can think of better ways to keep warm."

Scully smiled at him and put the back of her hand on his cheek.
Mulder wasn't much of a drinker-his cheeks flushed quickly.

"Lie on your stomach and let me see this," she ordered. "You've had a
tetanus shot recently, haven't you?"

"You ask me that every time I scrape my knee."

"I'll get my kit," she said and disappeared.

Mulder hated brandy. He hated getting shot at; he hated Scully being
shot at. He wasn't sorry he'd pushed her out of harm's way. Given the
choice he'd do it again no matter who else got hurt. She came back
with her first aid kit and knelt on the floor beside the couch.

"This will be cold...."

"...And sting...owwwh... ooh...." Mulder could feel her fingers
probing his back, cleaning the area around the line made by the
bullet. "Could you possibly be a little more gentle? Where is your
bedside manner?"

"There. I think we can skip the stitches. A few butterfly
bandages will do," Scully said.

"No trip to the hospital for stitches?"

"I could do them here next time, if you'd prefer," Scully said.

"No next time."

"There's always a next time with you," she said. The inevitable truth
of her words struck Scully dead center. Some night she wouldn't be
able to fix him up with bandages or stitches. Panic, a searing
hollowness, radiated from her heart. Better someone, anyone else but
him, including those two men tonight. Including her. She pealed back
the bandages and concentrated on applying several. When she smoothed
the last one down she said, "Mulder...."

"No, Scully. We did not let them die." He turned his head on the
couch to face her. "When you gave me the warning...."

"I didn't."

"Whoever then...I reacted as you would have, as any other agent
would."

She lowered her head and carefully rolled up the gauze in her hand.

"You didn't see anything," he said.

"Did you?"

"Just that it was too quiet, too clean, too open. By the time I
noticed anything else...."

"You didn't see the cars?" Scully shook her head. "You didn't hear
one of those two men say "Set up'?"

"I was too busy thinking it." She smiled at him.

"You probably said something and just don't realize it."

There was a heartbeat and she said, "Did you try to get them down?"

"Braxton pulled out of my grasp. I couldn't see them. My first
thought was to..."

"Protect me?"

"You're a trained officer. But you didn't see the car. You were
facing away from the one I saw." The heat coming on in the apartment
made a thunderous noise.

When she finally spoke she wasn't looking at him, she was gazing into
her vision of the hit. "I thought you fell on me because you were
hit. I heard a man scream... Braxton or his bodyguard, the undercover
man...I thought it was you. And when I found out it wasn't, I was
glad...weak, really, from relief." She got off the floor and began
rearranging items in the first aid kit. "I didn't care who it was as
long as it wasn't you."

"It's supposed to be that way."

"Is it?" She shook her head. "I-I'm not so sure. Could it be we've
reached a point where we're a danger to the public? I mean, shouldn't
our first duty have been to the men in our custody?"

"I didn't have time to think -"

"That's the point, isn't it? You instinctively reacted to save me..."

"You act like that's a bad thing."

"No, I-I..." She sat down on the coffee table. "I'm saying we may be
too ....close."

Mulder said nothing.

"Perhaps if we'd paid better attention on the stakeout..."

"-Instead of what?" Her face flushed. Mulder wondered what
embarrassed her. He couldn't recall anything going on that should
turn her face the color of her hair. The normal sexual tension
between them was one of the spices of his life. "Are you suggesting
that not only are agents supposed to work together without giving a
damn about each other, but they aren't supposed to laugh and talk
casually on the job either."

"We weren't following procedure," she said.

"Ah." Procedure was Scully's last refuge, the stronghold where she
retreated when she needed time to think. Mulder released an
exasperated groan into the couch pillow. The only good news here was
that it was a temporary condition. The real question was: what didn't
she want to face? What did she want to think about? Scully took her
kit back to the bathroom. He told himself to sit up but found he was
too exhausted from the late nights, the brandy and the shootings to
move. He replayed the stakeout once more, the heat in the car. Surely
Scully recognized too - he wasn't that far off his game. Maybe he had
pressed a little more than usual, but she hadn't objected. It had
become so natural for them to banter that way, testing each other,
jumping back, risking nothing. He didn't want that to change.

When she returned, he was asleep. Scully covered him with a blanket
and indulged herself by stroking his hair. For a moment she watched
his unguarded face. She turned off the lights and went to bed.

Skinner finished their report and tapped rhythmically with his finger
on the desk. He looked out the window for a moment into an afternoon
sun. He had known the agents in front of him a long time, felt closer
to them than most, and now he had an unsettling suspicion they were
all standing on some sort of precipice. He didn't much like the
feeling, especially since he had no idea where the danger was
coming from. That the two agents were close, he knew. They had to be
to do the job - not to mention enduring the ridicule that attended
most of their work. Skinner had never observed behavior that would
lead him to believe they had crossed the professional line drawn by
the bureau. He felt certain Scully wouldn't do it; he had no such
illusions about Mulder. The man did what pleased him - that was both
his value and his curse.

"So you know," he said finally. "Lt. Lewis is still hot. He maintains
you ignored the danger to the prisoners."

"We didn't," Mulder said.

Skinner sighed. He was uncomfortable about this. "He's claiming
personal involvement tainted your professional conduct and lead to
the circumstances surrounding Detective Thrash's death." Scully
studied her hands.

"You wouldn't have tried to protect your partner?" Mulder said.

"Agent, you're not hearing me. Lt. Lewis suggests you and Agent
Scully were negligent last night from the stakeout to the shooting.
He suggests you were too interested in...." Skinner searched for
words.

"...Each other?" Mulder said.

Both Skinner and Scully looked at him in surprise. Scully's cheeks
grew an adorable pink. Mulder felt himself respond to her coloring in
a more primitive way and crossed his legs.

Skinner took his time replying. "He claims you weren't attentive to
what was going on in the street or in front of the building prior to
and after the shooting."

"Lt. Lewis' accusations are not justified as you must know," Scully
said. "He has nothing to substantiate wrong-doing on my part or Agent
Mulder's. Could I see his complaint?"

Skinner pushed his glasses back on his nose and shoved the brown
folder across his desk. "Take a copy. His captain is asking the FBI
to launch a professional conduct investigation."

Mulder made a rude noise and started to say something.

"Save it." Skinner held up his hand. "I don't have to tell you how
unpleasant this is for me. They've requested your personnel jackets,
disciplinary actions, records..."

"Those are confidential," Mulder said.

"Yes, they are." Skinner leaned forward on his desk. "May I remind
you Lt. Lewis is a D.C. officer of 25 years with an excellent
conviction record? He's one of those charismatic squad leaders you
hear about once in a lifetime. He didn't get all that by taking no
for an answer. He knows how to get what he wants."

"Which is?" Scully said.

"Someone to blame for his dead officer," Skinner said.

"Sounds like a man with a guilty conscience," Mulder said.

"Maybe he and Thrash had an argument that day or maybe he just feels
responsible for all his men. In any case, I wanted to give you a
head's up. I could be wrong," Skinner said. "This could blow over
without further incident."

"And if he pursues it?"

"There will be a formal hearing," Skinner said. Scully sank into her
chair. Skinner was too uneasy to notice her discomfort.

"That went well," Mulder said.

That earned him a snort of disbelief.

"So, the wedding's Saturday." He waited in the hallway for Scully to
take a drink from the water fountain. She'd been unusually quiet and
that boded ill. Out in the hall there was a busy murmur of people,
shoes scraping on tile, papers dropping, elevator doors ringing.

She looked up and down the hall to see who might overhear. "He didn't
believe us," she said.

"He doesn't think we did anything wrong."

"He's afraid we did," Scully said.

"What's he afraid of?" They weren't talking about Skinner anymore.

"I'm going to get some things from the office before I go home,"
Scully said.

She left him standing in the hall alone, feeling like something
terrible was going to happen, like there was something important he
had missed. He got into the first elevator going
down. He decided to find out if his feeling was right.

Traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular, had wrecked havoc with any
evidence left at the scene of last night's shootings. Mulder had to
go on faith that the D.C. cops or the FBI crime scene experts had
done their work. He pulled up just short of the yellow tape strung
around the area. Much of the yellow chalk marking the bodies had
vanished; it never stayed in place long exposed to the
weather. And since the photographs had all been taken there was no
real need for them to.  A young, bored D.C. uniformed cop approached
and Mulder flipped out his identification.

"Were you here last night," the cop asked.

Mulder nodded.

"Heard two of your guys stood by and let Thrash take a couple in the
chest - thought he was the bodyguard or something," the cop said.

"I heard they reached and didn't get a piece of him," Mulder said.

"You and I heard something different. How could anybody think Thrash
was ..." The cop had lost his audience. Mulder was studying the
position of the bodies, the pattern of the blood. He stepped into the
street and walked around, thinking about last night, what he heard,
what he saw, and the yellow and red evidence on the cement.

He went back to the drawings on the sidewalk and squatted down.
Embedded in the cement near an orange marker were tiny dark specks -
blood, he thought-about where Scully scraped her cheek. Scully's
blood. His heart wrenched. He'd seen too much of it, caused
too much of it.

"You may have solved a mystery here," he said to the policeman. "You
said bodyguard - maybe that's what he was."

Mulder was certain the trajectory of the bullets and the
wounds on the bodies would prove him right. He called Scully.

"You need to do an autopsy on Thrash and Braxton."

"Assuming I'll be allowed anywhere near those bodies, what am I
looking for?" she asked.

"The direction and angle of the bullets," he said. "I want to know
where that puts the victims when the shooting started. I'd also be
curious to know if Braxton was drugged or drunk."

"That's standard. We should have it in two or three days anyway," she
said.

"We need it now."

"Okay."

When he snapped his cell phone closed, Mulder turned to the puzzled
cop. "Did you know Thrash?"

The young man shrugged. "Just his rep. Straight up, ya know. A real
cop's cop. Like all the men in his squad. Shame what happened. All
the guys in Thrash's squad - they're tight. They're tore up."

Mulder wanted to find out a lot more about the straight up Officer
Thrash and what he was doing on the street with Braxton in the first
place.


Where the hell was Mulder?

How often in the last few years had she asked herself that
question? How many times had she laid on this bed or one like it,
tossing, turning, and wondering what he was doing or where the hell
he was?

Scully thought about pounding her pillow as a substitute for what
she'd really like to do. The only bright spot in her day was the
autopsy--that was a sad commentary. As she anticipated, she hadn't
been allowed to cut. However, the coroner had been gracious to a
colleague he knew well and allowed her to observe and contribute her
thoughts to the preliminary reports. Tox screens were pending - that
took more time. From the autopsy she was able to get a bullet
trajectory. She had a good guess what Mulder wanted to prove, but
she needed his pieces of the puzzle to complete the story. He was
nowhere to be found.

Scully had something else for him. She had always thought the old
adage "Know Your Enemy" was good advice, not to mention good police
work, so she'd made some inquiries into Lt. Lewis. Her discoveries
put her senses on alert. She was not the profiler Mulder was, but she
knew he would find Lewis' background interesting.

Scully stared at her bedroom ceiling, then turned on her side to
stare at the window. She flipped over to check the time: 2:33 a.m.
Never a heavy sleeper, she was too conflicted tonight to turn her
mind off. She thought about going for a run to blow it off, but she
knew running wasn't a permanent solution. Running - the Freudian slip
made her chuckle in the dark.

For some time now Scully had a vague sense of the real problem. Last
night's stakeout crystallized it for her. She had almost crossed the
line- she needed a vacation far away from Mulder. As soon as this
case ended, she would book a week on a sailing ship out of Key Largo.
She'd gotten a brochure in the mail and tucked it in the bottom of
her bedroom desk drawer. A sail with the wind in her hair, warmth all
around her, blue skies and nothing but God's ocean all around her-
that was precisely what she needed.

She always accepted her sexual attraction to her friend and partner
as part of her human condition. What she defended against was an
emotional attachment that might lead her to act on that attraction.
Along with medical procedures and diagnostic techniques, Daniel
Watterson taught her that a consuming interest in a man's mind and
work could lead to a kind of sacrificial passion for his body that
was as draining as it was disillusioning. She had so few
illusions left. She clung desperately to the ones she still had.

She was too experienced to fall victim to the pleasure of physical
release. When she felt the needs of her body rise hot in her as it
had during the stakeout, she took care of it herself. She was
realistic enough to know a person couldn't have everything in life.
Still, having everything was a nice fantasy. She wanted to continue
believing in it. That didn't seem a lot to ask.

Her work had become all-consuming, as it had for Mulder. It loomed so
large in her mind that when she bothered to review he life at all,
Scully wondered whether she was foolish to think there could ever be
anything else in her life besides blood, vampires and mindbenders. It
was that 'anything else' she craved but would not name. Given what
she knew of the isolation and duplicity in his life-not to mention
his obsession with their work-Scully doubted Mulder gave a thought
to anything else. On the strength of that belief alone she was his
champion.

Most of the time she chose to dwell on what she had, not what she
didn't have. Except on nights like this when she waited for him. The
wind blew branches against her window, the cracks in the caulking let
in a whisper sound and she waited.

On this night she sensed something different in the darkness of her
impatience. The neat borders and definite checkpoints of her world
were blurring - she never felt that more keenly than yesterday -
- and she sensed it in Mulder too. She had become aware of anomalies
in his recent behavior. From time to time she caught him studying her
intently. Or, apropos of nothing, he would remark, "You always click
ballpoint pens twice before you write" or "Why do you crook your
fingers up when you eat sandwiches? It looks like you're signaling
for service" as though he'd made her small personal habits his
doctoral research project. He had always shown up at her door,
apologetic, almost embarrassed. Now when he dropped over he walked in
as though he belonged, as though what was hers was his too. He had
even gone through her photo album and mail. Avoiding her family was
Mulder's forte; yet he pressed to go to Amanda's wedding. A sailing
trip would put things into perspective. She found it all unsettling.

Unsettling had always been Amanda's bailiwick. After the first
phone call with a request to visit her down in Norfolk, the wedding
invitation came, followed by a second call to announce she was coming
to Washington for a visit. Unfortunately Scully had to go out of
town. Another call to chat-it was more contact than they had in
years.

Now that Scully thought about it, Amanda had been the nicest thing
about the last few months. She was one of those friends who picked up
the sentence she left off a day, a month, a year earlier and
continued from the same spot. It was a habit they'd developed as the
Navy moved their two families around. Often the families were
stationed at the same base - the girls thrilled to be reunited -
- always to be parted. Now, as before, Scully fell in step with
Amanda. That, too, was habit born of trust and time. It had always
been difficult not to be swept along. She never made any secret of
her affection for Dana Scully.

"Listen, pal, I've got too much regard for you to dress you up and
parade you down the aisle. But you know how I love you - don't miss
this. Be there for me," Amanda had said during the last call.

"I will," Scully said.

"I'm counting on that. You don't sound good. Justin, hand me
that...no, that pillow. Thank you. Now, go away..." Amanda sighed and
settled in. "What is it."

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You forgot to dot an i on your last report? You gotta stop being so
anal."

Scully almost chuckled. "I find it hard to take that seriously when I
recall your hysteria over a typo  ---"

"Oh please! It changed the entire formula! Not the same thing."

"Hm-mmm."

"And right back at you. Seriously...talk to me."

"Some murders. Bad."

"How bad?"

"Children."

A rare moment of silence from Amanda was followed by, "Almost over?"

"I don't think so."

"What about your partner?"

"Mulder is... obsessed."

"And oblivious. A dual phenomenon observed in 99 percent of the male
population over the age of three." She giggled and Scully could see
Amanda as she was the day they met in the third grade: tall even
then, frizzy black hair, all elbows and knees, huge grin, defiant
eyes, loud voice, open heart. "What else? There's more, isn't there?
With you there's always more."

"Gotta go," Scully said.

"The flee/fight response," Amanda said. Scully loved her friend's
brilliant blue eyes and could just picture them now trying to see
things Scully didn't want to show. "Can't you talk about it?"

"Nothing to say."

"Can you tell Mulder, then?"

"I can't even tell myself." Scully tried to laugh, but the truth cut
too close to the bone. As long as she never spoke it aloud, kept
everything in the back of her mind, she was safe.

Safe, from the Latin salvis, meaning healthy.

Scully heard a car door slam. She pushed the covers away, put on a
robe and went into the kitchen.

"Coffee's brewing," she said when she opened the door.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Mulder said.

"Oh no, I frequently drink coffee in the middle of the night."

"I've never mentioned it before, but sarcasm doesn't become you,
Scully." She gave him a drop-dead look. "You look all tousled, like a
child." He turned her head. "How's the scrape? Oo-h. It looks angry."

"I'm angry all over."

"Why?"

"Where have ...." He looked incredibly sad, beaten down and her
irritation gave way to concern. "Are you all right?"

Mulder sat down heavily on the sofa. "I spent several hours with
Detective Thrash's widow. We went through family albums. She held off
the D.C. police force - no small task. I turned off my cell phone."

"Oh." She would ask later how he talked his way inside the house.

Mulder rubbed his face. "My day went into finding out about Detective
Thrash. His record, his life, his dreams, his unborn child. He was a
Boy Scout, Scully. A 100 percent All-American idealist. A certifiable
saint."

"Do you believe this?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Great."

"He was a fine officer. Lt. Lewis handpicked him a year ago. That's a
compliment. Every police officer in D.C. wants that squad. You get
assigned to the 33rd and you got family. They're all messed up about
this."

"At some point are you going to say something that will make me feel
better?" Scully said.

Mulder stared into space for a moment, and then he stirred. "What did
you find?"

"While you were learning about Detective Thrash, I checked on his
boss. Exemplary officer. Dedicated leader. Married 15 years to a
fellow police officer. Two daughters. Divorced - bitter break up five
years ago. She met somebody else. From what I heard, he still cared
about her. His squad pulled him through by sheer force of will."

"So his family's gone."

"Pretty much. He is devoted to the job and his squad-he always has
been. That was one of the causes of the break-up. His wife didn't
like the competition."

"I thought they worked together."

"I guess he made a better colleague than husband," Scully said.
"He's won all sorts of commendations for valor, leadership...Skinner
was right. He knows how to get what he wants."

"What about the autopsy?"

She told him. They shuffled through the files on the coffee table.
Then they went over the size of the blood droplets, the spatter
pattern, though it was pro forma. They had already come to the same
conclusion.

"He was protecting Braxton. No doubt. He stepped in front of the man
and took several bullets for him," Mulder said.

"Why? You don't think he was involved with Braxton in any way."

Mulder shook his head.

"Then he was protecting the shooter."

Mulder shrugged.

"Perhaps he was the one who shouted set-up," Scully said. "He was
trying to protect the shooters, alert them to us, or visa versa."

"Makes sense," Mulder said. "I've been thinking about last
night...what did you hear Thrash say?"

Her brow furrowed. "He said I made a mistake. Then he said - then he
said to listen quick."

"Listen quick - a warning?"

Scully nodded. "I think so now. It didn't seem like it at the time.
Then he called me agent - twice, actually-and shouted something
into the street. "No! You!""

"Or, No! Who!"

"Or...." Her mouth opened in understanding.

Mulder finished: "No! Lou."

"Lt. Lewis?"

"The hit was Braxton-and Thrash tried to stop it," Mulder said.

"I'm almost afraid to say this - that makes the shooters-"

"-Vigilante cops."

Scully expelled the breath she'd been holding. "We don't have any
proof of that. Nothing."

"Yeah, but we're right." He was excited now. This felt good. "Lewis
and his cops investigated this case. They are a good homicide unit.
They came up with this suspect, but nothing to pin on him. They were
certain they had the guy. So they ask the FBI to step in. We come up
with the same suspect, the same lack of evidence. Suddenly we get a
mysterious lead on this Braxton's whereabouts. We know from his
behavior so far that Lt. Lewis is not a patient man."

"He's a veteran police officer, a skilled interrogator, a fine
investigator. Patience is a prerequisite," Scully said.

"Yeah, but what if he lost his. This is a horrible case. Look what
it's done to both of us. These guys have lived it for months. I
sympathize with Lewis - another day and I might have joined his
hunting party."

"Who knew where Braxton was going to be tonight?" Scully said. She
was intrigued, but not convinced.

"Not many. For sure the D.C. police - that means Lt. Lewis," Mulder
said.

"I'd like to know about our informant?"

"That would be interesting. Voice prints, call tracing-maybe
Skinner could help us there. Suppose it was Thrash?"

Scully licked her lips and clashed her hands together tightly.

"Mulder, police officers who would do this to one of their own -"

"I don't think they knew he'd be there and they certainly didn't
count on his taking a bullet for Braxton. You think they deliberately
shot him?"

"That's not what I was going to say. Officers who would shoot a
suspect and kill a fellow officer - even accidentally - wouldn't
hesitate to come after us."

"I think they already have," Mulder said. He pointed to the
envelope containing Lewis' complaint. "I think this is designed to
keep us occupied. They have too much integrity to kill us - but they
wouldn't mind ruining us."

Scully wandered into the kitchen to get coffee for Mulder and tea for
herself. She came back to the sofa wearing the same thoughtful
expression.

"All the spent shells on the street come from guns commonly used by
gangs. It could be a drive-by shooting. Could have been someone else
who hated Braxton."

"How many guns like that are lying around the D.C. streets or the
police property room? Think it would be a big problem for Lewis and
his squad to come up with those kind of weapons?"

"An entire squad?"

Mulder thought a minute. "Seven men. Not his whole squad. Thrash
didn't participate."

"Have we interviewed the neighbors?"

"The district cops did."

"We still need proof. We need a witness."

"No one in the squad will talk," Mulder said.

"We get someone to talk, or we may never prove anything," Scully
said.

"Any word on the cars they used?"

"You think we're apt to find something we can use?"

"What about the street closing? How did that happen and who was there
to make certain no cars went up or down that street at the time of
the shootings?"

"Good questions. We know the answers."

"We can not prove the answers. We need someone to corroborate-"

"Yeah," he said. Both hands rubbed his cheeks.

They sat in silence for a moment, thinking.

"Where's Lt. Lewis' complaint?" Mulder said. Scully pointed to the
coffee table. She had obviously been going over it too and she'd
spread the pictures of the slain children out on her floor. She
looked as though she'd been studying them. To make certain she never
forgot them, Mulder knew. No wonder she couldn't sleep.

Mulder began to read. His shoulders hunched in concentration. Scully
could read the fatigue in his eyes in his body too. She wanted to
rub his shoulders, give him some ease. She had actually moved in his
direction when he looked up. "Lewis was there...he was watching us
that night."

Instead of outrage, she felt guilty somehow. "How do you know?"

Mulder pointed to Lt. Lewis' letter. "Here. He repeats something he
said at the scene. He charges us with inappropriate conduct during
the stakeout. Now if he wasn't there, how does he know it was
inappropriate? You can't infer unprofessional conduct from what
happened later. "

"He's trying."

"But it's very thin. Very thin, unless he was there to see
something..." Mulder searched for a word "...suggestive."

The very idea seemed to make her self-conscious. She retreated to the
corner of the sofa. She was so uncomfortable it made him smile. She
looked terribly vulnerable and girlish.

"He doesn't go into detail - only that we knew or should have been
aware.... 'Inappropriate'...." she said. "You can't conclude from
this that he personally saw anything - or knows someone that saw
something."

"The way he came after us that night...."

"Grief, Mulder."

"Guilt, Scully."

"Why do I keep saying the same thing? We don't have any proof...."

"You feel it too, don't you?"

After a long pause meant to confirm his intuition she sighed. "Big
difference between knowing and proving."

"The question is, how do we get him to dig this hole a little deeper?
'Inappropriate'. He can't be stupid enough to make that kind of
mistake..."

Scully massaged her temple. "We weren't paying attention."

"What?"

She got up and took her mug into the kitchen, leaving him
dumbfounded.  "You act as though the entire building exploded and we
didn't notice!"

She cleared her throat and came back in the room slowly. "If the
building exploded we might have picked up on that." She studied the
knot in her bathrobe. "We weren't, strictly speaking, following
bureau guidelines on surveillance."

Guidelines? First procedure and now guidelines.  She did sense
something different last night and, while she examined this
development in meticulous Scully-fashion, she beat him up for having
normal but decidedly carnal thoughts. He grew annoyed. The
role she played in his erotic fantasies was none of her business.
He'd never let his lascivious musings interfere with their job, and
he'd be damned if he'd censor not only his actions but his daydreams
too. Nothing meriting guidelines and procedures happened last night.
He refused to be harassed by the Scully Thought Police.

Unless the Thought Police weren't after him.

His exasperation became vague excitement. Maybe last night surprised
Scully herself. It never occurred to him Scully would give more than
a casual thought to him in any role other than friend or colleague.
The idea that she did - at least did last night - would certainly
explain her passion for rules all of a sudden. And if it was that
serious for her last night maybe it was more than a casual thought. A
surge of hope forced him to squirm on the sofa. This notion merited
some further - and cautious-investigation. Scully wasn't a slap and
tickle. She was serious business and Mulder knew if he got too close
to the truth about this he'd better be prepared to put up or shut up
permanently.

Effused with purpose, he wondered how to proceed. Mulder hadn't
learned much about women, but he knew this about Dana Scully: she
wouldn't be pushed and she wouldn't be pulled, but she could be lead
-- carefully. "Uh, Scully, you don't think it's possible that what
happened in the car could be a natural kindda thing?"

"We were working!"

"Still not a felony. Do you concede the possibility that a man and
woman who like and respect each other might experience some
attraction?"

"We had a job to do."

"You saw Braxton."

"We didn't see the street, the broken streetlights, the absence of
cars going up and down the street..."

"Chances are we wouldn't have noticed it. We weren't meant to,"
Mulder said. "Unless something happened I missed, all we groped for
was drinks and cookies-which I never got, by the way."

Scully tried to see if he were serious and decided he was. He had no
clue about that night - how close she'd come to blowing it. She felt
relief tingled with a strange, but profound, sadness. She feared
there was something in her that she couldn't control, something that
signaled she wanted more from him-even Lt. Lewis seemed to think
so. But there couldn't be. Perhaps Mulder saw innocence in her
because he was innocent too, the idea of anything else never really
occurred to him. A man as obsessed as Mulder had no room for
something besides his work. That, of course, was their common
defense.

She cleared her throat but could not bring herself to look at him.
"We can't let the lieutenant drive this. Maybe interviewing the
neighbors...."

Deflated, Mulder said, "All we'll do is wear out our shoes."

"We could turn up something. It's the correct procedure."

"We'll miss a special edition of Thursday night football."

"The sacrifices we make." She shook her head in mock dismay. "So we
canvas. Mulder...?"

For the last minute he had been too fascinated by her body language
to think about the case. He hadn't realized he was pressing her. She
acted as though he might strike her. She curled into a tight ball to
present a small target, her knuckles became nearly white from griping
the cup, her eyes studied the floor, and she moistened her lips
often. She was asking something to do with the current case. He
thought. Or not.

"Mulder?"

He locked his hands behind his head and leaned back in what he hoped
would present a non-threatening posture. Scully ventured from the
corner onto the cushions next to him and put her hands on her knees.
His eyes closed and for a second Scully thought he'd fallen asleep on
her couch again. "Mulder, we-"

"A screen."

She waited for a moment but he didn't continue. "Perhaps we should
call it-"

"You know what a screen pass is," he said.

"The offensive team deliberately allows the opponent through the
first line of defense to enable a pass receiver to get in front of
the defense," she said.

He nodded. "Close enough. The quarterback hates screens. He pedals
backwards, sprints to the right or left  - he stands to get pounded."

"Have we strayed from the topic?"

"We might catch Lewis with a screen," Mulder said.

"Obviously, I should watch those NFL highlights more closely," she
said.

"Do you watch them at all?"

She favored him with look of disdain and took his coffee cup into the
kitchen. "Who plays quarterback in this scenario?"

"You, I think. I haven't completed a pass in years," he said.

"Perhaps you should stop playing," she said from the kitchen.
Mulder wondered whether they were still talking football. Over the
years Scully had acquired considerable skill at doublespeak. He
wasn't sure that was a plus. "You're in a better position to receive
his attack. He implied you're a fallen woman based on my tackle...."
Scully stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen into the
living room, apparently to see if he was trying to be clever. He
feinted innocence so she popped back in the kitchen to rinse out the
cups.

"We can make that work for us."

She wiped her hands on a towel, folded it across the kitchen counter.
"How difficult could it be?"

"You control the play only to a certain extent then you have to take
whatever comes. The interview could get -"

"Are you suggesting I shouldn't do this?"

"I'm just warning you it could get out of hand...ugly."

"It's already ugly."

"Okay then. We have to have witnesses to this without scaring him or
violating his Constitutional rights." Mulder pulled on his lips. "Do
you know you never let me finish my coffee before you take it away or
get up from the table? At a restaurant, in the car, in the office-"
She stared at him which, Mulder thought it best not to mention, she
seemed to be doing more frequently.  "We can't tell Skinner much
about this. He'd never believe it."

"Why should he? We have absolutely no..."

Mulder held up a warning finger as though another word would
interrupt his train of thought. "We play scared. Make Lewis think
he's right - that we're running for our professional lives." His
breathing came a little quicker.

Scully decided football must do a lot more for Mulder than it did for
her. "So we try this and when it doesn't work...."

"This gotta work," Mulder said.

He meant more than the plan, but as usual, she didn't catch it.
*****

"No shoulder pads?" Mulder asked.

They walked down the hall toward the FBI conference room to meet
Skinner, Lt. Lewis and Lewis' captain. Scully carried a brown
envelope and a black FBI folder.  She touched the top of her suit
jacket.

"Pretty flimsy," Mulder said.

"Hmm-m. Strong enough."

"I hope so," he muttered in her ear as he opened the conference room
door.

The three men in the room stopped talking and stared at their
entrance. Mulder hoped they got a good eyeful of him leaning into
Scully's neck. Judging from Lewis' smirk, he had. Skinner motioned
them to one side of the heavy cherry table opposite the D.C. police.
Hoping to make a point without making a show, Mulder pulled out one
of the upholstered chairs for Scully and scooted her up to the table
before he sat down. He pulled out the chair next to her and folded
his hands across his stomach.

The conference room was small, but formal and well appointed. As with
most of the larger meeting rooms in the Hoover Building a color
portrait of the Attorney General and the President of the United
States hung on the paneled walls. Someone turned down the harsh
overhead lights in favor of the using the wall scones around the
room; the conference room had a welcoming glow. Scully felt as though
she'd been called into the parlor to make polite conversation with
relatives she barely knew.  She had no illusions, however, that the
conversation in this room would remain polite.

Skinner introduced them to Capt. Marvin Elliott of the D.C. Police.
He was short man, graying at the temples and obviously uncomfortable.
So was Skinner. Elliott sat next to Lewis, dwarfed by the man's
height as well as his presence. In the few private exchanges Scully
witnessed, Elliott clearly deferred to his subordinate. Lewis turned
his attention to the two agents. His brown eyes sparkled. His smile
was inclusive, not too broad and not too friendly. Scully recognized
a hunter with quarry in his sights.

"Agents, you asked for this meeting," Skinner said.

Mulder looked at Scully. Ready or not...but he knew she wasn't
prepared.

"When you assigned Agent Mulder and me to this case we had no idea
the depravity involved. In all our years of service Agent Mulder and
I have never investigated a more brutal case. We've not encountered a
suspect for whom we felt so much revulsion," Scully said. She took
out a folder and displayed the photos of the little victims on the
table. Lewis studied each one carefully. "I conducted the autopsy on
the last victim..." Scully tapped the crime scene photo. "The people
who killed Braxton were public servants." She heard Lewis stir.

"I'm sure we all agree with the sentiment, Agent Scully," Skinner
said.

"Agent Mulder and I hope to resolve whatever misunderstandings
exist about our roles the night of the shootings," Scully said.

"First, I'd like to apprise Lt. Lewis and Capt. Elliott of the work
Agent Mulder and I have done over the last few years. In addition to
the commendations in our jackets, our solve rate is above agency
standards - 75 percent -"

"Your conduct in the past is not at issue," said Capt. Elliott.

"Past conduct is often used as a barometer for judging present
actions, sir."

Scully felt a subtle shift in the air. Lewis opened a manila folder
and took out two pieces of paper. He appeared sympathetic and almost
sorry to be passing the sheets to her. "What about these past
actions?"

Scully discovered Lewis had copies of motel checkout bills from
Anine, Iowa and Nathan Junction, Nebraska where she and Mulder had to
share a room. "Yes?"

"How do you explain that!"

Scully spoke in the crisp, clear tones of one struggling to remain
rational amid idiots. "There are few motel rooms available in small
towns and on those occasions ..."

"Are there few rooms in New York?" Lewis slipped another piece of
paper out of his file and slid it over. Scully remembered well how
Mulder discovered that she was feverish with the flu. He spent the
night trying to bring down the fever." I became ill and-"

Skinner crossed his legs, the movement speaking of irritation and
impatience. "I don't see how this is germane, lieutenant." he said.

"I'm only pointing out violations of your own bureau policy, Mr.
Skinner," Lewis said.

"Agents Mulder and Scully are adults and seasoned agents. It is not
bureau policy to second guess their personal conduct on every
assignment," Skinner said.

"Unless there's a pattern," Lewis said.

Skinner acquiesced with the barest nod.

Lewis turned his eyes to Scully. He smiled. "I understand you and
Agent Mulder spend some of your free time together - Rocco's is a
favorite. The head waiter thought you were married or at least
longtime lovers."

Lewis turned to Mulder, "You spent two nights at her apartment after
the shooting, didn't you?"

To Scully's embarrassment, Mulder gave Lewis a sly smile then resumed
his careful study of the hands laced across his middle.

Skinner wondered why Mulder didn't jump in. The man reclined
comfortably in a chair pushed back from the table. He played with a
paper clip in his hand as though they were discussing dental benefits
or tax forms.

"You're very good," Scully told Lewis. "If you'd been as thorough in
your investigation of the case perhaps one of those little girls
would still be alive." The fire in her face was in her tone.

Lewis' eyes narrowed to slits. "Look, I don't care if you screw like
rabbits--."

"That's enough!" Skinner said. "Captain?"

"Let's move on to the night in question," Capt. Elliott said.

She scored first blood; Lewis was angry. Scully pressed her
advantage. "Where were you, Lt. Lewis, when your officer went down?
Why wasn't Detective Thrash at his assignment?"

"I have no idea why Thrash was on that street. I'm still trying to
figure that out," he said. "I feel responsible for my people, but I
can't monitor them 24/7."

"Nor can I," said Skinner. "Nor do I wish to." He promised Scully
latitude in this meeting, but he wondered how far he should extend
the privilege.

"On the night of the shootings, Agent Mulder and I drove to the
suspect's address. We were acting on a tip from an unknown informant.
We plan to stake-out the apartment building and bring the suspect in
for questioning should he appear."

"Questioning?" Skinner said.

Mulder roused himself. "We did not have enough evidence for an
arrest. As we shared with the district police, Agent Scully and I
felt questioning him about the murders was all we could do at that
time."

"You had no evidence?" said the captain.

Mulder retreated to his reclining position and studied his
fingernails. He had a hangnail, which he proceeded to chew on.

"Yes sir, we had something - do you want to go into the merits of the
case?" said Scully. "Based on Agent Mulder's profile and certain
other evidence, we felt confident Braxton was our man. Frustrating as
it was, we couldn't prove it-yet."

The captain sat back in his chair. Scully consulted some notes before
continuing. "At 10:54 p.m. the suspect appeared across the street
from where Agent Mulder and I parked.  I called for back-up and we
initiated-"

"Whoa, whoa!" said Lewis. "You skipped something."

Scully's expression, while still professional, bordered on mocking.
"I don't believe I omitted anything that bears on the shootings."

"That's what we're trying to ascertain in this unofficial meeting,"
Skinner said.

"If you had been watching you would have seen the street was
deserted, might have noticed a strange car parked nearby, could have
seen Thrash coming up the street...." Lewis said. "You could have
saved his life."

"Speculation. The unfortunate fact is, we were alert and we saw
nothing unusual until the suspects were in custody." Scully said. She
was firm. Her pulse raced.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," said the captain. "Agent Scully,
what did you and Agent Mulder do in the car while you were observing
the premises?"

Scully re-arranged the papers in front of her with a small show of
exasperation. She took some comfort in knowing she had almost
completed her part and she could pass off to Mulder.

"What happened from the time you arrived until you called for back-
up?" Skinner said.

"We sat in the car and, according to bureau policies, took turns
watching the front of the apartment building where we were informed
the suspect lived," Scully said.

Lewis leaned forward. "You sat there according to bureau policies for
two hours."

"Did I say two hours?"

"You said since you arrived. Was that two hours, three?"

Scully thought a moment. "Perhaps it was closer to three hours."

"You didn't see anything or anyone on the street for three hours-
and you didn't think it was unusual?"

"It was late. It didn't seem unusual at the time."

"Why?"

She blinked. "Why didn't it seem unusual?"

"Why didn't you notice it all those hours on surveillance? It seemed
to cause you some surprise later."

How could Lewis know that unless he was there? Scully glanced at
Mulder. His expression was unreadable. "Did it?"

"Three hours in a dark sedan on an empty street with a man you admire
and respect - you do admire and respect him," Lewis said.

"Of course."

"He's good-looking, right?"

Her throat began to close. A tight smile served as her answer.

"Three hours in the dark with a good-looking man you admire and
respect, a man you've worked with for what-five or six years?" Lewis
said.

"That's correct."

"Seeing anyone, Agent Scully?"

"You are out of line!"

"Agent Mulder is never seen with anyone but you," Lewis said.

"My personal life has no relevance to what happened that night-"
Scully said.

"You don't have a personal life. Not today," Lewis said. His tone
resonated with regret.

"It's likely you are projecting your behavior with your wife onto
Agent Mulder and me!"

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Possible. I worked a lot of cases
with the woman I loved," Lewis drew the words out. "I was on lots of
stake-outs with her too."

Scully's heart jumped into her throat. She'd made a mistake. She
helped him cast her partnership with Mulder in a soft romantic light.
Somehow this interrogation got away from Scully. That she recognized
good interrogation techniques when she heard them didn't give her
solace. Until now she controlled the tempo, the style of the
interview. She began to sense her feet slipping out from under her.
She fought her natural inclination to lash out and run. "We have
adopted -"

"We - you say that a lot. You're a great team, aren't you? You and
Mulder."

"Yes."

"Depend on each other?"

She nodded. All these innocent questions and answers added up to -
what? She turned to Mulder and received a penetrating look in return.

"Agent Scully?"

"Sorry..."

"Do you trust Agent Mulder?" Lewis said.

"Of course," Scully said.

"And he trusts you?"

"Yes."

"Like each other?"

She nodded, no longer able to trust her voice.

"Defend each other?"

"Yes."

"He saved your life once."

"More than once," Scully said.

"You shot him - and still you stay together?"

"Yes sir."

"He must really...enjoy. working with you."

Scully opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He had been
there. He had seen. Lewis sounded so positive of what he was saying
as though he knew Mulder, knew her and was privy to her thinking. He
had sucked all the oxygen from the room.

"You care for him," Lewis said in the kindest of tones.

"We've been together a long time."

Beside her Mulder stirred. She glanced quickly and realized he was
staring at her as though he hadn't really known before today, as
though she were a stranger. A cold sweat began at her hairline and
trickled down her back. She felt alone, cut off from him for the
first time in many years.

"Ever lie for him?" said Lewis.

Scully turned to Skinner. "Shouldn't we be discussing the night
of the shooting?"

"You asked for this." Irritated with Mulder, Skinner took it out on
her.

"Have you ever lied for Agent Mulder," Lewis said.

"No."

Lewis grinned. "Are you lying now?"

"No."

"Ever fudged any paperwork, any rules for him?"

"That would be foolish and possibly criminal."

"Ever take a bullet for him?"

"No."

"But you would."

"Yes."

"You'd let anyone else take a bullet for him too."

"No sir."

"You're there for him whether he's sick, broke, sad, happy?"

"Yes."

"Is he always there for you?"

"Always." Except now.

"Would you want anything to change?"

"Not that I can think of," she said.

"Would you want to be assigned to another agent?"

"No."

Lewis chuckled. "You sound married."

"We're partners. As you are no doubt aware-"

"That's what married is, Agent Scully. Partners with spice. Spice
changes boring three hour stakeouts into.something interesting."
Lewis leaned across the table and folded his hands. "Change isn't
always bad." His large eyes sliced through her to stare into her
core. His breath escaped in a soft sound. "Three hours to think of
changes, other things you could do."

Other things.... swaying to his lead with no way to break the power
without breaking the spell, Scully opened her mouth, but no sound
came out.

"Agent Scully?" Skinner's voice came from a great distance.

"We followed procedure."

"Stakeouts invite change," Lewis' voice lulled her.

"Sometimes-"

"Bet you were tired in that car." The words suggested Lewis knew how
very tired she was; his tone said he understood what she was tired
of.

"Yes, but-"

"Hungry?"

"Yes!" Scully leapt at the truth in that one word.

"You've been on surveillance with a woman. You know what it's like."
Mulder's lazy voice in the charged atmosphere drew everyone's
attention. "Now Scully's always cold, she wants the heater turned up.
She's even carries a blanket. Half the time it's so.... hot... I feel
like stripping." He left no doubt that a degree Fahrenheit was only
part of what he was talking about. He had a rapt audience. Scully sat
motionless in her chair, trying to get her breathing back on an even
keel. "Scully made some hot chocolate that night. I reached behind
her seat to get the thermos and leaned into her shoulder." He sniffed
deeply. "She wears this perfume... I was not thinking of procedure
right then." Scully's eyebrow shot up and her lips parted slightly.
Her hands began to sweat. "She brought homemade chocolate chip
cookies. She had them in a paper sack behind my seat and when she
leaned over to get them out of the back, she bumped into my shoulder.
She turned her face up to mine just a little to extend her grasp
and..." He stopped, looked into her eyes, and said, "I don't believe
Agent Scully was thinking about our suspect right then." The room was
silent and heavy. All Mulder heard beside him was Scully's rapid,
shallow breathing; all he saw was confusion in her eyes. "Then the
back of the passenger seat collapsed." He threw up his hands. "The
rest you know."

"Like hell!" Lewis nearly leapt out of his seat.

Mulder rose slowly. All eyes followed him around the room to the
far end of the table. He moved with an elegance Scully had not
noticed before. Deliberate, sensual - she blinked twice to clear her
head. "You know, you can't be arrested for what you think," Mulder
said.

Scully's lips parted.

"Hell, man, you fogged the windows."

"It was a cold night. Breathing fogs the windows," Mulder said.

"You couldn't have seen anything on the street. You weren't on the
ball," Lewis said. His eyes narrowed. His focus was all Mulder. "Or
maybe you were. What about it? The lady let the seat down---"

"I reported that broken seat twice," Scully said.

"I bet the seat fell like and Mother Nature just took her
course. Yes sir, I have been there," Lewis said.

"Twice."

"Whatever it looked like, I didn't lay a hand on her." Mulder was
maddeningly innocent.

Lewis' fingers popped up and down on the table. "Hell, man, you were
so busy with your hands on her, you couldn't have seen anyone on the
street."

"If I ever put my hands on her, you will be absolutely correct,"
Mulder said. A streak of fire pierced Scully; she stiffened and Lewis
caught it.

He whirled on her. "You know your mind wasn't on your job."

Scully turned to Mulder in guilty horror. She set her face in a rigid
line, certain it was too late.

Mulder's eyes on her were kind, gentle. "What's on her mind or mine
is nobody's business."

Spite flew out of Lewis' mouth with every word. "My man is dead. Your
career is over. She worth that, Mulder?"

"Can't punish people for what they think," Mulder said.

"Thought, hell! You two were laughing...hands all over each
other....and-and kissing....and fogging the windows! You should have
seen Thrash in time to get him away," Lewis said. His eyes bounced
from Scully to Mulder and back.

"That's not what happened." Scully's voice was an octave higher
than usual, but firm. She felt exposed, laid bare for the men in the
room to examine and condemn.

"But that's the way it looked three cars behind us," said Mulder. He
walked behind Scully's seat now and put his hands on the back of her
chair. She could feel the heat from his fingers through her jacket.
She dropped her chin, folded her arms, crossed her legs and drew them
tight against the chair. When she sat back, her shoulders bumped into
Mulder's hands and she nearly gasped.

"Come on, Mulder, we got a pretty good idea of how it was." Lewis
opening his arms to show Mulder he was among friends. "We all
understand how things can get away from a man in a hurry."

Mulder nodded. "You must have been panicky. You finally see Thrash.
You couldn't risk radio contact. No way to call things off -
everything was timed with the men in the other car. Your only hope
was three cars away in what looked to be a compromised position."

"You were Thrash's hope and you were compromised," Lewis hissed.
There, Scully cried in silent plea to Mulder. End it!

"That's the way it looked. You were watching a dream of quick justice
turn into a nightmare." Mulder leaned his face next to Scully. She
could feel the warmth of his cheek near hers and smell the shaving
cream he used. His eyes - and hers - zeroed in on Lewis. "We
understand how things can get away from a man in a hurry."

"What crap..." Lewis scoffed.

"We all think about doing something...out of character...to get
things we really want but can't seem to have. We get tired of waiting
for the right time, the right place." Mulder put his hand on the
chair near Scully's shoulder and pointed to the pictures on the
table. "How could you not think of a hundred ways to kill the man
responsible for this? You know he's the guy but the evidence takes
time to build. Time to have another child's death on your conscious.
Your thoughts turn to plans."

Scully felt the heavy imprint of Mulder's fingers on her back. She
didn't even dare breathe or shift her eyes from Lewis. He was
following Mulder carefully.

"What you and your squad did was make a lot of serious thinking
become reality."

"It's a lie," Lewis said. It fell out of his mouth without the ring
of conviction. His shoulders sagged.

"Thrash died trying to stop you from turning your fantasy of justice
a mockery," Mulder said.

"No..." Lewis said. His hands dropped off the table into his lap.

"He wouldn't go along with the vigilantes, so you assigned him
undercover far across town. He didn't stay; he called in the FBI and
he was on the scene to warn us. Or maybe he just wanted to scare you
off, clue you in that Scully and I were around so you wouldn't fire."

"No."

"The truth is, Lewis, you were so busy worrying about Scully and me
that you didn't look into the street or you would have seen Thrash
yourself!"

"No way!"

"You failed him twice!"

"Shut up!"

"If you'd seen him sooner, you might have stopped the hit, but it was
too late when you spotted him!"

Scully managed to find words for what she hoped was a coherent
sentence. "A neighbor identified you sitting three cars behind ours
that night." It was a slight exaggeration - the woman only said there
were two men in a car on the street that night.

"There are some fantasies that you should leave in your head," Mulder
said to Lewis. "And some, maybe, you shouldn't." He glanced at
Scully; her eyes shone wet and bright.

"Not true," Lewis whispered.

"Thrash's last words were for you. They were to you," Mulder said.
"Even there he tried to protect you. Just as a cop's bullet took him
down he shouted at you in the street. He yelled, ' No, Lou!'"

The tears that fell came from Lewis. He groaned. There was a beat of
silence.

"Autopsy showed the angle of the bullets that killed Thrash and
points of impact on his body.  He took two hits: one as he moved
toward Braxton, and another as he stood in front," said Mulder.

Scully's head jerked slightly. That was supposed to be her line and
she'd been too paralyzed to speak.

"We didn't know ....he wasn't supposed to be anywhere around
there...Nobody saw him until it was too late-"

"Honor his sacrifice by making it right," Mulder said.

Lewis nodded slowly.

"Christ, Lou," Captain Elliott said.

The silence in the room was complete. Skinner finally said,
"You'll want to make a full statement."

"My men..." Lewis said.  "I'm responsible. Only me."

Capt. Elliott looked like a much older man than the one who entered
the room. He started to put a hand on Lewis' shoulder, then thought
better of it. "Okay."

"Agent Scully, would you escort Lt. Lewis and Capt. Elliott down the
hall?" said Skinner.

Scully rose, but she couldn't look at any of the men. She knew how
she looked: flushed, hot, close to tears, guilty - as guilty as
Lewis. She touched his elbow. "Sir?"

The conference room was stifling. The longer she stayed in the same
room with Skinner and Mulder the more intolerable it became. She was
stripped. Her arms and legs felt leaden. For a moment she thought
Elliott might have to help them both down the hall. Then Lewis moved,
glanced at Elliott and said, "Oh."

He came meekly. Scully and Elliott each took an arm, and they
disappeared out the door.

The heaviness in the air lingered.

Skinner turned to Mulder with his mouth open. Mulder never struck him
as a mean or stupid man. Judging from Scully's reaction, today's
display was barbaric in its psychic cruelty. Just what the hell
happened in that car? Mulder glowed with what looked to be triumph on
the battlefield; he nearly tap-danced on the conference table.

"Congratulations, Agent Mulder, that was." Skinner was at a loss.
"Congratulations."

"Scully and I knew we had to get it right the first time. There
wouldn't have been a second chance."

"You and Scully rehearsed this?"

"Not rehearsed - discussed."

Skinner tried a new tact. "Agent Mulder, is there something you want
to tell me?"

Mulder considered the question. "Not at this time."

Skinner opened his mouth again then realized there was nothing he
could say. He was in a no-win situation. Something-he groped for an
appropriate word and came up with 'delicate'-happened along with the
trap sprung on Lewis. How much of that Mulder appreciated Skinner
couldn't decide. The man was either the biggest con or the biggest
fool Skinner had ever known.

"If that's all, I need to catch up with Scully," Mulder said.

"You do that."

Skinner was fond of his two subordinates. He wanted to keep them
around and together. He had a suspicion that they'd just tumbled over
that precipice they'd been standing around. The only thing he knew
for fact was that he had an agent down and no way to rescue her.
********


********

Scully couldn't hold back forever. It pleased her, however, that she
completed through the booking procedure and signed the necessary
papers, collected her car from the bureau parking lot and drove all
the way home without incident. At points where she thought she might
break, she recalled and recited to herself scraps of poetry, verses
of songs, mathematical formulas, and chemical equations-anything
to keep her mind from straying back to the 48 minutes spent in the
conference room. Those were the most humiliating, degrading 2,880
seconds of her life, time that would be book marked forever in her
memory, a rude awakening second only to her discovery that the man
she loved and idolized was married.  She was younger, more resilient
in medical school.

Scully maintained a serene exterior until she locked the door
behind her and stood alone in her apartment. She deposited her keys
on the table and slung her briefcase on the couch in a sudden burst
of blind rage. She nearly screamed in fury; it was so powerful her
throat hurt from holding it down. Fists clenched she strode up and
down the narrow hallway from the door to her bedroom, pausing only
long enough to kick off her shoes. They made a pair of satisfactory
thuds against the closet wall.

Anger dissipating, she collapsed on sofa and buried her face in her
hands. She was such a fool, such a weakling. She had allowed this to
happen. She was no longer safe. She felt sick. She loved him. She had
admitted as much in that interrogation room. My God, how could this
have slipped up on her! When did she become so out of tune with
herself that she couldn't recognize simple signs and warnings? What
use was recognizing paranormal behavior and cosmic phenomenon if she
didn't notice what was happening in her own inner space? How could
she not realize it and take steps to protect herself? Her best
friend, her partner - how could she permit herself to fall in love
with him?

Worse, much worse, everyone knew. Mulder knew. Her mask had been
ripped away, torn from her hands. She had declared her most intimate
secrets out in the open for everyone to see, pity, ridicule. She
would never be taken seriously again. And Mulder had aided in her
demise. He robbed her of one of the few childish daydreams she
permitted herself to keep. She hated him with all her heart.

Why had he done this? Why had the Mulder who worried about whether
she was sleeping through the night or getting enough to eat done
this? Had he enjoyed that spectacle? Perhaps it was the only way he
had of guarding his own comfort zone. She had been right, then, the
night of the shooting. They were too close. She was too close and
Mulder chose this most cruel of methods to keep her at arm's length.
She stumbled into the bathroom to wash her face, wondering what she
would do, how she could live without those things she valued most:
her work, her self-respect, her last illusion-and Mulder.

The phone rang and she only stared. The caller left no message.
Scully changed her clothes, separated her laundry into three large
piles and took them to the machines downstairs. The phone rang again
and again the caller left no message. She set up the ironing board,
found a cloth and a can of furniture polish, and began dusting. No
message the third, fourth and fifth time the phone rang. The
next time, Mulder's voice came on the machine: "Pick up, Scully. I
know you're there." He sounded exuberant, excited, happy.

She obeyed out of exasperation. "I am doing laundry."

"You left without collecting the kudos. Skinner said to tell you
congratulations."

"Lewis wanted to confess - you knew that."

"I thought he might want to get it off his chest," Mulder said. "I
know how he fe-"

"I know you want to discuss this, but I'm busy," she said.

"I'm sorry -"

"I've got things to do before the wedding tomorrow."

"What did you think?"

"The plan worked. We did well."

"Sorry, Scully!" She hesitated a moment too long. "You and I know
there was only one thing said that wasn't true. I brought the
chocolate."

"You warned me things could get ugly."

"Was it ugly?" The bastard sounded surprised. "Were you listening?"

"I was indeed. Hanging on every word, Mulder. Nothing else for me to
do, trapped as I was in that conference room with our suspect, his
superior, and our own."

"What did you hear?"

"Goodnight." She refused to be humiliated and patronized by the same
person on the same day.

"What? I-I neve -"

"Goodnight, Mulder." She hung up.

She knew he wouldn't call back, but she half-expected him to knock on
her door.  Just in case, she put her gun in her dresser drawer so she
wouldn't shoot him.

As the piles of laundry, dust bunnies, and stacks of ironing
diminished, Scully could at last review parts of the meeting without
cringing. She might be able to salvage her career. She would behave
as though the entire thing was part of the plan. She had been shot in
the stomach; she could endure that. Skinner couldn't know what was
truth and what was scripted for the plan she sketched for him.
Everyone would fall into line with her. Perhaps she hadn't lost her
profession or her credibility. Later, when this had faded in
everyone's mind, she would leave. Back to Quantico. Maybe private
practice.  She got out a scrub brush and bucket and stripped the
kitchen floor. She remained on her knees when the phone rang again
and let the machine pick it up.

It was Amanda with a party in progress in the background. "Hi. Just
wanted to .... I guess I'll see you tomorrow. I wanted-I needed
to....well, see you soon."

Mulder's motive in the debacle, the penetrating way he looked at her
when she turned to him for help - she considered that as she brushed
her teeth with vicious strokes that punished her foolishness as well
as her gums. She gradually slowed to thoughtful brushes. Why had he
sat back like a stone, ignoring her dilemma, listening to her
confess? She wasn't much of a player at the relationship game, but
she had some experience. She wasn't wrong about Mulder's regard for
her. She put on her pajamas slowly. That begged the question: why had
he allowed the interrogation to continue in the face of Lewis'
admissions? They had enough to hang him several times over. She
pulled down the covers and eased under them. Before she dropped onto
the pillow she had inkling. "What did you hear?"  Not what he heard
or Skinner heard, but what had she heard. Today's performance might
have more to do with what she learned than what Mulder discovered.

The more she replayed the interview, the more tiny droplets of
hope filled the hole in her chest. Staring at the ceiling from her
pillow she admitted she was as afraid of leaving the comfort zone as
Mulder-perhaps he lost patience with her cautious ways and sought
some method to get things out in the open, to speed them toward the
inevitable. The inevitable. It didn't sound very romantic to put it
that way-not that romance had been the hallmark of what she shared
with Mulder to date.

She could admit she loved him without feeling like a schoolgirl, now
that it seemed to be an open secret. When had their mutual love and
respect not been an open secret, an assumption on both their parts?
It was always simmering beneath the surface; they just never talked
about it - except in the language of innuendo and doublespeak that
was the refuge of the insecure and the cowardly.

Somewhere between the 3 and 3:45 a.m. replay of the interrogation,
Scully got it. She turned over and faced the moon shining through the
windows. The devious shit, she thought. She wondered whether he'd
ever considered just sending flowers or candy. She'd ask him someday
- after she responded to his overture in kind.
*****************

Mulder lifted his hand for the third time the next morning, trying to
summon the courage to knock. He was nervous. Scully sounded hurt and
angry. He heard it over the telephone last night. Angry he was
prepared for, counted on. Hurt - that was something else. He never
meant, never intended to cause her pain. That would be unforgivable.
He stood outside Scully's door the fidgeting with his tie and
wondering for the millionth time whether he should go. Her brother
couldn't stand him, her friends didn't know him, Scully was angry,
and he'd never joined her family gatherings before. He turned away
from the door, and then sighed in resignation. He'd already shined
his shoes. He knocked on the door hoping she'd left without him.

"You're early," she said. "I'm still wrapping Amanda's present."

She looked refreshed, excited...lovely. He knew his feet carried him
into the apartment because after a few seconds he realized he was
inside and she'd shut the door. Mulder hadn't seen Scully in a dress
on many occasions. Suits with skirts, pantsuits, jeans - even her
underwear. No dresses. At least not like the light-colored one she
was wearing. Simple, flowing, fitted to her waist, secured in the
front by a row of tiny pearl buttons, and long sleeves of a gossamer
material fixed at the wrist by two more pearl buttons. The skirt
tapered from above the knee to an inch below the knee in back and
hung around the bottom in irregular shapes. Mulder wasn't much of a
fashion commentator but the overall effect was uniquely soft and
feminine.

"Isn't it a breach of etiquette to be more beautiful than the bride,"
he said.

Her eyes sparkled. "No one is supposed to wear white. This dress is
champagne. And...thank you." He looked like a whipped dog, albeit a
handsome one, she thought with some satisfaction.

Mulder tried a small smile. Too soon to tell, but it appeared things
were okay. The question was whether they were better than okay.

"We're supposed to meet my family outside the church and go in
together." She searched for a coat in the little closet off the
kitchen.

"Fine," said Mulder. He didn't sound like he meant it. Scully enjoyed
his growing discomfort immensely He stood in the apartment with
uncertainty hanging from him like crepe.

"Mulder?"

"Do you still want me to go?"

She sighed.

"I understand -" He was crestfallen.

"Only as a participant. You can't just sit in a corner and observe."

"What?"

"Participate. Meet and greet, smile, laugh, drink punch and eat
cookies. Listen to my cousin's elephant jokes, dance with my mother,
play with the children, exchange small talk with Bill. A
participant."

"Fair enough."

"More than fair."

"Scully? Don't let me screw this up."

She knew what he meant, but she couldn't extend herself anymore. She
feared if she stretched any thinner she would disappear as she nearly
had with Daniel.

"Well-work on it," she said.

She didn't hate him; she was thinking.

Work on it. That means be charming at the wedding, be entertaining,
laugh, smile, or walk home. He could do that. His heart repeated the
hope like a litany: she didn't hate him.

And she was thinking.

"We still have Braxton's organization out there," he said.

"A now headless organization." She wouldn't look at him. "Perhaps
legal can untangle some of those corporate webs Braxton wove around
it."

"Any idea how to proceed?"

She seemed to move further away from him, hugging the door. "Not
really."

"Tell me about the bride," Mulder said. "Was she in the photo album
on your couch?" He kept his eyes on the highway, but he was very
aware of Scully. The bride sounded like a nice, neutral - safe-
subject.

"Tall, long hair? She's vibrant, mischievous, smart, kind to a
fault..."

"The good ones are all gay or about to be married," Mulder said
wistfully.

"She was one of the few constants in my life from third grade until
high school."

"What happened?"

"Her father was killed in a training exercise and her mother moved.
We kept in touch. She came to see me after my father died."
Scully said. She burrowed into her coat. "I was very glad to see
her."

Scully didn't have many friends in her life - although Mulder guessed
she had more than he did and more if he weren't around. They just
weren't the type to form friendships quickly and the one friendship
that mattered to him most--he stole a glance at her. She was smiling
out the front window. "What?"

"Ever notice you want what you don't have?"

"Frequently."

"Amanda always looked so much older and worldly than she was so she
tried very hard to be - anything but." Scully put her elbow on the
window and although she looked outside, she saw nothing. "I was
short, freckles, tomboy and I tried to be...wanted to
be....Amanda." She smiled at her sad face. This wouldn't do for
Amanda's wedding day. Not for Amanda.

"You never mention her."

"Really? Are you sure you just weren't listening?"

A moment of awkward silence passed. Because it was so
uncomfortable Scully looked out the window again and said, "The day
I met we were the new girls in school. At lunchtime I sat on the
school steps watching all the other kids. Amanda walked over to the
boy's baseball game and announced she wanted to play. When they
wouldn't let her, she stole the ball." Scully grinned. "She threw it
to me, and I threw it to her, they caught up to her first-"

"...and you clobbered the ringleader with a bat."

She scowled at him. "A tuna fish sandwich. My lunch. I ground it into
his hair. That boy, Larry McCann, smelled like tuna for days! After
that Amanda and I were always together. She came up with new and
terrible things for us to do. She was the scourge of Sister Marie's
catechism class."

"Now she's a chemist?"

"An inventor for the military. Some type of liquid bomb. It's all
classified."

"Both of you scientists."

"She liked manipulating science. I enjoyed it-"

"-for the certainty it represented. The rules it obeyed."

Scully considered it for a minute. "From what she says, it sounds
like Justin is also a purist."

"Justin the groom?"

Scully regarded Mulder with skepticism. "It's not like you to be
curious about such things."

"Practice. I'm making polite conversation."

"My mother likes him. She says he's very stable," Scully said.

Because he was working on it, Mulder refrained from saying the groom
sounded like a horse. They drove on in silence, a silence made
disquieting by things not said. After a time he realized she was
asleep. He touched her arm. His hand there was warm, comfortable. She
drew her sleeping breaths shallow and quick as though she was ill or
wounded. He didn't turn on the radio. He wanted to hear her to
breathe. He wanted to hear her breathing next to him.
***

Julius McMannis, the regular organist at The Church of the Holy
Trinity and a rotund, middle-age man of classical tastes, often
commiserated with Father John Martin over the weddings at Holy
Trinity. Privately they called the historic old church The Wedding
Mill. The organist deplored the contemporary music today's couples
selected; Father Martin deplored the mates they selected. The
organist played with distaste; the priest performed the
ceremonies with disinterest. Six times on Saturdays, once a day
during the week and twice on Fridays they went through the liturgy,
pressed the organ into service and dreamed of what more they could do
if they had a normal job, a normal parish. Father Martin's greatest
joy lay in preaching and worship, yet he only proclaimed the Word
twice a week. Julius became a church musician to support his habit of
eating regularly while he composed great works that would move the
masses to tears. The priest could only celebrate his oratory and
Julius could only celebrate his creativity on Sundays. Together they
cursed the legend that brought so many couples to Holy Trinity for
weddings. The organist and the priest forged a bond of frustration
and disillusionment.

On this Saturday Father Martin took another bite of breakfast toast
and wished it were a waffle smothered in butter. The diet he put
himself on was a killer. It might loosen his pants, but his spirit
was still constricted. He looked at his schedule of weddings, trying
to picture the bride and groom involved in each one and found he
couldn't.  He sighed. In his first parish 30 years ago, Father Martin
knew every couple. It was a church of 1500 persons and he knew them
well. He baptized many of them personally, knew their families,
counseled them at Cana Retreats before the ceremony. They were his
children. He was loyal to them and their generosity supported the
parish.

Weddings kept a roof - albeit a leaky one-over Holy Trinity. The
small parish of 400 could not support the needs of the historic
church alone. Even with the wedding income the Diocese had to pay for
the recent re-wiring made necessary by various city code violations
and the repaving of the back parking lot. The bishop had already made
it clear the parish needed to do more to support itself  -- as though
Father Martin could squeeze another wedding into the schedule merely
by getting up an hour earlier on Saturday.

He had to concede more weddings meant more revenue - he'd long since
given up thinking of them as happy, festive occasions where two
people who loved each other began a life together or even as
ceremonies celebrating God's plan for the human race. And the
counseling he required was little better than one of those self-help
quizzes on the Internet. Instead, Father Martin wondered if running
the wedding mill put his soul in danger of hell - the more marriages
he celebrated the more he contributed to divorce, which was a sin.
Did that make him an accessory to the sin? He posed this to Julius
one Saturday as they prepared for another onslaught of brides and
grooms.

"You mean you hold yourself responsible for all the idiots who
marry in haste, and repent in an equal rush?" Julius said. "Doesn't
sound practical, John. People want to hurt themselves they'll do it
at Holy Trinity or somewhere else." The state of his soul wasn't the
only problem. Holy Trinity was falling around his ears and no one
seemed to care. Least of all the bishop. Father Martin sometimes
thought he could hear the plaster cracking and the wood splintering
around him. Oh, everyone from the Holy Father in Rome to the
last deacon to the tourists who drop in a dime at the door thought it
possessed a glorious history but no one wanted to shoulder the
responsibility for it. They were content to let the huge number of
marriages - ill advised or not - support the House of God. Father
Martin thought the church's one foundation should be more
substantial.

He wondered more than once whether it might be better to just to get
rid of Holy Trinity. Be done with it - legend and all. Just put a
match to it and warm himself by the glow. At least there would be
some fire from Holy Trinity in that end. His only regret there would
be losing Abigail and Aaron. Father Martin leaned back in his office
chair and stared out the window. Forecasts to the contrary, it was a
cloudy day. The bride and groom who wanted the blessing of perfect
union would be disappointed today.

The priest thought of the black silhouettes of Abigail and Aaron on
the white marble of the altar, and discovered he liked them very much
in spite of the predicament they had put him in. He was a sucker for
a real love story. He suspected that contributed to his growing
disillusionment about his job - he no longer thought of it as a
calling. From all he could glean from researching the legend,
Abigail and Aaron had been real people, ordinary people of the time,
who just turned out to be extraordinary lovers. They had tried to
behave honorably, live in accordance with God's laws and even back
then such conduct was amazing enough for the Lord to note in stone.
Today the media would probably poke and prod and tear Abigail and
Aaron to shreds. He could just visualize the tabloid headlines at the
supermarkets checkouts. He was glad they died decades ago.

A white van with a large green and yellow flower painted on it drove
through the parking lot at breakneck speed. Father Martin frowned and
got up from his chair to peer out of window. The Daisy Dozen florist
was one of his least favorite firms. He continued to watch as a tall
burly man in a jumpsuit much too small for him got out of the
driver's seat and walked to the back of the van.

The Daisy Dozen must have forgotten something for the first
wedding. Father Martin checked his watch. It was almost time for the
-- he fingered through some papers on his desk - Chase/Butler
wedding. Was Chase the bride or the groom? For a minute Father Martin
couldn't remember.

Scully had never visited Holy Trinity. Amanda described it to her
dozens of times and she'd read the brochures. Still, she wasn't
prepared for the size. It was small. Even though she knew it only
seated 300 or 350 people, counting a choir and organ loft in the back
balcony, Scully was surprised. Such a small place for such a big
story.

The original building of stone - which might have been impressive in
another setting-sat in the middle of appendages built beside and
behind it. The old gray stone of the original contrasted with the
brighter gray and even red brick of later construction. In fact, all
the additions dwarfed the original building until the total facility
was neither pretty, historic-looking, nor uplifting. The neighborhood
around it was seedy too. Parking lots, used car dealerships and,
across the street from the church, a large restaurant with a flat
roof that would serve as the reception hall for Amanda Chase's
wedding. Scully tried not to be disappointed.

Mulder parked the car across the street from the church and noted
Scully's dismay. "Graceland is a lot like this. The King bought a
farm in the country and the city of Memphis grew out to surround it.
So you've got podiatrist offices, grocery stores, appliance
warehouses right there with Graceland, Heartbreak Hotel, and The
Hunka, Hunka-Burning Love Chapel."

"The perfect wedding venue," she said.

"It looks a lot like this," he said, still working on it. He got out
of the car, consulted the sky to see if an umbrella would be needed
before they came back and went around to the passenger side to open
the door.

Scully handed him the present and as she got out of the car she
recognized an elderly woman on the sidewalk in front of her.

"Sister Marie? How wonderful to see you." She grasped the old woman's
hand in both of hers.

"Who is it!" said the old woman. Her small, narrow head, shielded and
nearly swallowed by her wimple, tried to make its way forward. Her
face, when it emerged, looked like a wrinkled pink turtle's. "Who is
it?"

"Dana Scully, sister. Amanda Chase and I were in your first catechism
class at Our Lady of Sorrows..."

The old woman leaned on the arm of the young man with her. "Dana
Scully? Oh, my! Charles - you aren't Charles. Who are you? This is
Dana Scully."

"Charles Andrews--Sister Marie is my aunt," the young man said.

When Scully introduced Mulder as her partner the nun asked, "Partner?
Are you in business?"

"FBI agents," Mulder said.

"Really?" said the nun to Scully in some confusion. "An FBI agent? Is
Amanda in trouble? I'm not surprised! I suppose Dana Scully is here
too?"

Charles looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. Mulder struggled
to suppress a grin.

"I told you Amanda was the scourge of the class," Scully said.

"Amanda wasn't alone," Sister Marie said, shaking a bony finger at
Scully. Her head seemed to shake clear for a moment. "You kept her
out of jail - until now. You know, I never believed that sheet and
holes trick was all Amanda's doing. Such quick minds. Such warm
hearts. You and Amanda-I couldn't keep up with either of you two. God
has blessed you?"

"Yes, sister."

"And you, young man, has God blessed you too?"

Without realizing he did it, Mulder moved closer to Scully. "I've
been lucky."

Sister Marie seemed confused. "I thought you said you were Dana
Scully," she said, squinting at Scully, then Mulder. "Is she your
wife?"

"Partner," Mulder said.

"How long have you been married?" said Sister Marie.

"Almost seven years," he said, succumbing to the old woman's fantasy.

"Marriage is a great blessing," she said.

"Great feeling," said Mulder, still trying to be agreeable.

"It isn't a feeling, young man. It's action."

"Cantankerous as ever," said her nephew with an apologetic smile.
"Let's go inside."

"Where are we going?" said the nun.

"Amanda Chase's wedding," said Charles patiently.

The nun scoffed. "She's too young to get married." Her nephew tucked
her hand under his arm and guided the nun across the street.

Mulder shuffled his feet and grinned. Sheets and holes trick?

"Before you ask, Mulder, the sheets and holes had to do with the
the Holy Ghost and merits no more discussion."

"I don't think Sister Marie gets out much - physically that is."

"We thought she was old when we were in catechism," Scully said.

Scully's family congregated at the bottom of the front church stairs.
Mulder felt Bill's eyes on him from the moment they crossed the
street and saw the man lean over to whisper to his wife. She made a
hasty response that displeased him.

Margaret Scully smiled at Mulder. She rather liked Fox Mulder, he had
a bit of the tortured poet in him. She kissed her daughter.

"Where have you been?" Bill said.

Scully hugged her brother. "Nice to see you too, Bill."

Bill glared at Mulder. "Are you here on a case?"

"I came with Dana," he said, trying to project an air of hail-fellow-
well-met.

"Why?"

Mulder looked to Scully for help and she regarded him with a blank
expression. "I wanted to," said Mulder, still trying to be friendly.

"You wanted to," said Bill. He did not look friendly.

"You look nice, Dana," said her mother. She felt uneasy without
knowing why. It could be because the only times she'd been around Fox
Dana was in danger or trouble.

"What happened to your face?" Bill said.

Scully's hand flew to her cheek. "A little trouble with an arrest."

"Mulder isn't hurt," said Bill.

"He pushed me out of harm's way," Scully said.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Mulder said.

"Seems to be a recurring theme," Bill said.

Without appearing to intervene, Margaret Scully stepped between Bill
and his sister, taking Scully aside. "Elizabeth Chase is looking for
you. Amanda wants to see you right away - she doesn't seem to care
about Justin, Father Martin or anyone else, just you."

"What's going on now?" Bill said.

"Dana?" Her mother gave Scully a searching look.

"I'm sure it's just pre-wedding jitters," Scully said.

"This is a church, not a crime scene," Bill said, making his point to
Mulder.

Scully bit her tongue and started up the steps, followed by Mulder.
"You can't go."

"I thought it was only the groom who wasn't supposed to see the bride
before the ceremony," he said. He opened the front door for her.

Elizabeth Chase waved frantically over a crowd of people to attract
Scully's attention. She was one of those a ghastly thin woman who
always seemed to be in motion. For this occasion she wore a fitted
deep rose-colored suit that flattered her white hair. "Well, Dana,
thank goodness! Maybe Amanda will calm down now. She's a nervous
wreck."

For a moment Scully tried to reconcile the self-assured Amanda she
knew with the description "nervous wreck."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mr. Mulder. Your life must be very
interesting with Dana around," said Mrs. Chase.

"It certainly is," Mulder said.

"How do you keep up with her?"

Mulder laughed, "I'm not sure I do."

Mrs. Chase led them through a narrow corridor behind the wooden
staircase to the balcony. In the corridor she knocked on a door and a
edgy woman in a white dress opened it.

"Dana." Relief flooded her face and poured down her body. "Thank
God," said Amanda Chase and dropped her head in her hand.

"Amanda! You're going to muss your hair," said her mother.

"I'm glad to see you, pal."

"I'm glad to see you too, Amanda." But Scully wasn't sure she meant
it. Amanda had an air about her that did not look festive.

Amanda glanced at her mother, Mulder and a bridesmaid hovering
nearby and mustered a smile. "You look great. Is this Fox Mulder?"

She gave him a long appreciative look.

Mulder hoped his fly was closed. "Best wishes," he said.

"Where is the bride's bouquet?" said Mrs. Chase. "Honestly, that
florist..."

"I saw it over there, Mother," said Amanda.

"It's lovely," said Scully.

"I understand you are a very smart guy, Mr. Mulder. How is it you've
let my pal stay in play?" Amanda said.

For a second Mulder thought Scully would save him the need for a
reply. Then he realized he was on his own. "Maybe I'm not as smart as
I look," said Mulder.

Amanda approved. "More on that later, I'm sure," she said. "Right now
I need Dana..."

"The ceremony starts in 10 minutes," her mother said. Her voice was
an octave higher than usual.

"Mother, nothing's going to happen without me."

Mrs. Chase started to protest, then harrumphed off. Amanda backed
into a small room off the parlor, taking Scully with her.

The lemony aroma and dust in the air of the small room blended into
the musty, old smell that always seemed to permeate old buildings.
Scully had serious questions about the last time the wooden floor had
been swept. For a few moments the two women regarded each other
warmly.

"Is that your mother's dress?"

"I had to let it out about six inches," Amanda said. "Is it okay?"

"More than okay," Scully said. "What are we doing in here? Your dress
is going to get dirt ..."

"Listen, pal, I'm in a serious jam here."

"What?" Scully was afraid to ask.

"I must be insane!" Amanda drew a ragged breath. "I never believed
that blessing crap, but it would have been so amazing - poof!" Her
hands illustrated. "And what a perfect way out-"

"Way out!" Scully felt a deep, dark chasm opening at her feet.

"I'm so glad you're here! There must be a God or my pal would be a
doctor instead of an FBI agent."

"You're scaring me," Scully said. "You haven't killed anyone, have
you?"

"Not yet, I don't think," Amanda said. "We can't let anyone find out.
Not my mother, not yours, not even that foxy Mulder you hang with."

"Amanda-"

"And Justin. Oh, God, especially not Justin. He would be
so...disappointed."

"He doesn't expect insanity from you?"

"Limited doses. Not explosive amounts." She put her hands on her
cheeks. "Wrong thing to say."

Scully sucked in a breath.

"I need you to clean up after me again. One more time. Before Holy
Trinity is literally someone's last burning memory."

"You didn't steal-"

"Self-defense! I didn't do it for fun, although," she couldn't
suppress a grin, "it could have been a lot of fun if the forecast of
sunny weather held..."

"I am leaving now unless you tell me what this is all about."

Amanda stopped to chew on her bottom lip. When she spoke again she
sounded like a different woman.  "I got a call from a man two months
ago who was interested in the liquid neo-bomb Justin and I are
working on for a government project called CUP. I didn't know him,
didn't recognize the name...but I believed in him." She
shuddered. "I believed him, Dana, because the first thing he did was
relate Justin's schedule to me in great detail. Great...detail."

The air out of Scully's mouth made an "oh" noise.

"I ignored it at first. Then Justin had a car accident. Small one,
thank God. He wasn't going fast. The man on the phone said it was a
warning."

"Did you have the car checked? Report it?"

Amanda shook her head. "So I stalled the guy. I told him the device
wasn't working right, wasn't ready, not reliable. It was a lie. He
acted like he knew that. I started feeling that someone was following
me. I heard this damn clicking on my phone and told myself it was a
bad connection. Then, ah, last month...Justin got mugged. Whoever it
was shot at him. I've never been so scared....Anyway, the police
came. The man on the phone said not to tell anyone or-"

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried. I didn't know how to...I couldn't reach you."

Scully thought with a stab of guilt that Amanda had made several
attempts to get through to her, but she was too preoccupied to see or
hear.

"Your child murders...did you--?"

Scully nodded. "I'm so sorry, Amanda."

"I was afraid to just show up on your doorstep. How would that look
suddenly visiting my friend the FBI agent? I was scared to talk on
the phone. I was afraid he was listening - and I didn't want Justin
to know. He's not like Mulder. He hasn't been trained to protect
himself - or me. I don't know people who go around waving guns for a
living.... except you."

"That's an oversimplification of what I do," Scully said. She folded
her arms across her chest. "So I'm here now. What have you done in my
absence?"

Mrs. Chase knocked on the door. "Amanda! Dana! You girls have
exactly seven minutes."

"He wanted a demonstration or a sample of our neo-bomb."

"A demonstration? Sample? Not the formula, not a disk..."

"Don't you think that's strange?"

"Very. In my experience these types of exchanges involve pieces of
paper or disks, not a product sample," Scully said.

"Yes, well, this is a highly classified product. I've probably broken
a dozen laws just telling you about it. I finally ran out of excuses
and time. I had to arrange to give him what he asked for. I couldn't
guarantee the demonstration, but I told him he could scrape off a
sample. See, I had to do it when I could smuggle the material out of
the lab and detonate it in a contained area, relatively clear of
obstruction, still enough people to make it safe for me to be there."

"And someplace you could bring me without being conspicuous," Scully
finished.

"Yeah." Amanda breathed a sigh of relief.

"Here!"

"Hey, that neo-bomb belongs to Justin and me. We invented it, it
brought us together. I thought, what better way than here? If it
detonates, we pass it off as the blessing and nobody even gets
scared."

Scully said grimly, "We need to notify the authorities and get a bomb
disposal squad."

"No!"

"Amanda-"

"Two seconds, Mother. Two seconds." Amanda scoffed at Scully. "We
don't need a bomb disposal unit. It doesn't explode all over the
place. That's one of its many virtues. It's contained - big industry
buzzword right now, by the way. Once it explodes, this baby burns, in
that specific area, and -whoof-it's gone within a few seconds. I'm
telling you, Dana, it's something else. It carries the water-soluble
qualities of ammonal, the insensitivity to shock and friction of
explosives like C-4 and Flex-X, and unlike ammonium nitrate it
doesn't have to be kept cool, although...."

"Can I concede your genius and get back to the man on the
phone?"

"Sorry. This guy knows a lot about the neo-bomb, but not everything.
For instance, he doesn't seem to know that there is a sealant for it
- a neutralizer. Coat the area and it is safe. And you could set off
a bomb there with no problem! I mean, another bomb." Amanda glowed
with an inventor's pride. "It's really a marvelous weapon!
Terrorist's dream. No evidence, no trace. And best of all-"

"Amanda, stop this now."

"Risk becoming a widow before I'm a bride?" She shook her head.

"We can protect you..."

"I'm counting on that." Amanda shook her head. "Listen, we have a
chance to stop it forever, right here. He'll come looking for the
sample where I told him to look. And who will be there? The FBI!
Clever, huh?"

Scully tasted a familiar sour fear in her mouth. Amanda lived in a
television cops and robbers world.

"Two minutes are up!" said Mrs. Chase through the door.

"There's so much wrong with this I scarcely know where to start."
Scully said. "In the first place, I don't believe it's the neo-bomb
or a sample that he's after at all."

Amanda looked blank. "What then?"

"You. I think he's trying to rope you in with this test. After that,
you will belong to him. You have nothing to support your story of
coercion except a police report of a mugging! Now you've taken a
high-classified material out of a secure area. Think that can't be
traced to you? He's probably got the paperwork in his hands right
now. My guess? He won't be here. Won't contact you until you go
back to work. Then he'll let you know what he really wants."

Amanda went as white as her dress. "Omigod. I never thought...."

"That's an understatement."

"Dana - you believe me, don't you?"

Scully squeezed her friend's arm. "Of course I do."

"Can you help me?"

"Exactly where did you put it?"

"I rubbed it all over Aaron and Abigail. In the area marked off by
the stanchions," Amanda said. "And if there is sun, I've got a
blessing. If there's no detonation, we have a small problem that has
nothing to do with the guy on the phone. The neo-bomb has
to be coated before some stray ray of light or a surge in the
temperature ignites it while no one's looking and the altar cloth or
somebody's coat accidentally catches fire."

Just beyond the door her mother said, "Amanda!"

"But now that you're here," said Amanda, "you can clean Aaron and
Abigail up before -." Her hands went boom.

Some things never change, Scully thought. She opened the door to
reveal Mrs. Chase, who was trying not to look panicked.

"Thank goodness! Any longer and Father Martin says we'll run into the
next wedding. What was so important it couldn't wait," said Mrs.
Chase, not really caring.

The two friends looked at each other. "Ah, I wanted Dana to cancel
some reservations Justin and I made," Amanda said. "We booked into a
bed and breakfast nearby, then decided we'd fly to Aruba tonight."

"I don't have anything to write on," said Scully, holding up her
small wrist purse. She looked to Mulder for the pen and paper he
always carried; he had already reached into his jacket.

"I'll take care of it for you," Mulder said, grateful for something
useful to do.

"No sun?" Amanda said.

"I don't think so," Scully said.

"Oh well."

Scully watched Amanda relax and marveled that such a brilliant person
could be so na‹ve.

"Hoping for a miracle?" said Mulder.

Amanda grinned. "Everyone hopes for that. Don't you?"

"I would like to see one," he said.

"Oh, so you don't believe in blessings or miracles?" Amanda's eyes
sparkled with mischief. She glanced at Scully, then back to Mulder.
"Then how do you explain the good things in your life that you don't
deserve?"

Mulder's mouth went dry. "I don't," he said. "I can't."

"But I bet you enjoy them all the same," said Amanda.

"I do," he said, rubbing his chin. "I do enjoy...them."

"You better go take your seats or Amanda will beat you down the
aisle," said Mrs. Chase. "Come on, everyone. It's time."

As she turned to go Scully looked back at her friend. Tall and
beautiful, luminous black hair cascading down her back, her straight
gown of satin and lace fitted to the waist, Amanda Chase took a deep
breath and let it out slowly.

"You look wonderful, Amanda," Scully said.

Amanda accepted the bouquet a bridesmaid handed her. She faced the
door and seemed to glow. "I feel wonderful."

The men who founded and built Holy Trinity determined from the
beginning it would withstand anything but an act of God. The interior
they designed spoke to functionality, strength and discipline; the
result was simplistic beauty. Its accents included arching windows
and stone floors, modified flying buttresses and winding staircases
patterned after the cathedrals they'd left in Europe. Over the years
the inside had been renovated. Still the European influence remained.
Large wooden front doors fed worshippers down a wide central stone
aisle that plunged resolutely toward an elevated altar. Two white
marble steps lead up to the altar rail and six steps more to the
communion table and the kneeling benches set up for the bridal party.
Rising up from either side were pulpits of intricately carved wood,
one for the priest and one for the liturgist. On either side of the
church large stained glass windows depicting the miraculous works of
Christ.

A young usher, one of the groom's relatives, offered his arm to
Scully and Mulder followed them down the aisle, uncomfortable beneath
the glances of those already seated.  Scully let go of the usher's
arm and scooted into a seat next to her mother. She located the black
outlines of Abigail and Aaron on the marble to the right of the
kneeling rail on the altar. She practically sat on her mother's lap
and earned an impatient noise for her inattention.

"We're crammed in here," said Bill. "We don't have enough room." He
leaned over to look at Mulder the end of the row.

Margaret Scully frowned at her son. She understood Bill's irritation.
Sometimes, like Bill, Margaret didn't think it was a healthy
relationship for her baby girl. But Fox was a good man, and he was
genuinely fond of Dana. This man and her daughter shared a strange
bond. She stared her daughter. It hit her that this was the first
time Dana included Fox in a family gathering.

Bill's remark was not lost on Scully. Nor was her mother's silence
and stare. She closed her eyes against the sadness she felt and
pretended not to notice. Scully refused to defend her family of
choice to her family of birth.

Scully studied the Tiffany stained glass windows, circa 1912, on
either side of the church and the famous circular Tiffany mounted in
1918 to highlight the hole in the roof where the rays of heaven
allegedly burned through the ceiling and immortalized Aaron and
Abigail. She also searched the church for someone or something that
looked out of place. As she twisted in the pew she became keenly
aware of Mulder's shoulder pressing against hers and his hip next to
hers.

The Wedding March began, everyone stood and a smile played at
Scully's lips when her friend came down the aisle. Her practiced eye
scanned the congregation for someone who wasn't paying attention to
the bride. Someone besides Mulder. His eyes rested comfortably on
her. Scully rubbed her nose to avoid further scrutiny.

Mulder returned to the altar just in time to see Justin burst into a
smile that he tucked quickly into his everyday face. It was too late.
Mulder had already seen and knew a flash of jealousy.

The music stopped, everyone sat down and Father Martin began,
"Dearly beloved, marriage is an honorable estate instituted by God
for the comfort of His children and for their salvation. Come these
two people now to be joined in this holy state of matrimony. Who
gives this woman to this man?" said Father Martin.

"Dana, move down closer to Fox," whispered Margaret Scully. "We need
some room here." Scully did as she was told. Everyone moved about on
the pew and got more comfortable. While all the movement was going on
Scully stole a look in the balcony.

From his seat, which had improved immensely since Mrs. Scully's
command for her daughter to move closer to him, Mulder could make out
dark shapes on the marble of the altar floor to the left of the
priest - the silhouettes of Aaron and Abigail. He had a somewhat
clearer view when standing. He wondered when he could go up to see
them and the question was answered in a moment. Father Martin
recited the entire legend for anyone in the assembly who hadn't
heard the story, traced the silhouettes in the air, and invited
everyone to come forward after the ceremony to see them. He asked, of
course, that they not step on that section of the marble. It would be
roped off to remind them to stand clear. Mulder definitely wanted to
see it. For the moment he was content to sit close to Scully and
watch the show. It occurred to him with surprise, that she was not at
all attentive to the ceremony. He tried to catch her eyes. They roved
over the church and finally landed on him. Scully drew a short breath
and found it difficult to turn away this time.

Father Martin began as he always did: with the commercial to support
the church. Then he moved to his brief prepared meditation. Since
this was an older couple - old enough to know what they were doing at
least - he would use the one on patience. Gazing out over the
congregation, Father Martin saw the exchange between the couple
wedged into a family pew on the bride's side of the aisle. He
regarded the bride and groom carefully, glanced at his text, at
Scully and Mulder. The congregation stirred in the long silence.

Suddenly his standard homily - a little about the legend, mixed in
with some platitudes on the marriage-seemed trite and irrelevant.
So he began with no idea where he was going.

"Part of the legend of Aaron and Abigail that we tend to overlook is
that they weren't just lovers. They were seekers - and they were
afraid. Perhaps that's why they turned to each other in the first
place: they were looking for something no one else was interested in
finding and they didn't want to search alone. Certainly we know they
were revolutionaries - who else would have crossed the artificial
lines of class set up against them? We know they were afraid - they
came to Holy Trinity early and secretly. And we know they tried to
stay within conventional bounds, but could not. The truth they knew
was too big, too wide for convention. Rejected and alone, they had
but one place to go. They came together to God." Father Martin
indicated the section of marble marked off by low velvet ropes.
"Terrified seekers. That's not the usual way to view the lovers of
legend, but when you deal with the human heart you can't
rely on conventional thinking.

"We are all fearful seekers. For too many of us fear - fear of
rejection, of loss, of disillusionment, of death-is more powerful
than the desire for justice, truth, love. For those like..." Father
Martin looked at the congregation and settled on the bride and groom.
"...These two before us today, the journey is now less frightening.
They not only have someone to share their fears but they are
privy to the simplest yet most difficult of life's mysteries to
grasp: love is given to us by God to give to one another."

Scully's hand fell to her side. Mulder's darted out from the pew
seat, closed around it gently and guided it to a hiding place between
the flow of her skirt and the hem of his jacket. Beside him Scully
focused on the altar, but it wasn't until she licked her lips
that he knew she was thinking.

At the altar Amanda said, "I do." It was almost too soft to hear.
Scully turned to Mulder. For a second their eyes met. Mulder lifted
his palm and eased it atop her hand. At the time he crossed his legs
to hide his growing arousal - and to give their hands more room.

"...To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or
poorer, and forsaking all others keep yourself only for him as long
as you both shall live?" the priest intoned.

Father Martin couldn't keep from glancing at the couple in the second
row. He saw the woman smile to her companion and looked away quickly:
that was meant only for the man beside her, a message only he would
know how to interpret. "Let us pray," the priest said.

Scully slid off the pew to kneel on the bench in front of her, taking
her hand away. No! Mulder nearly fell to his knees beside her. He had
no idea what the priest said. He only knew one prayer and he leaned
forward in his seat to say it softly: "Scully..." No one but God and
the woman on the kneeling rail heard. She inclined her head to him so
he could see her peek up at him, her mouth parted in what he could
only call amazement. She moved to rise and he put both hands under
her arm and elbow as though she were a feeble old woman in need of
assistance and she allowed it. He could feel the warmth of her
through the thin material.

"Do you have tokens of your pledges?"

The maid of honor fumbled her bouquet and the bride's, then dropped
the ring with a dink, dank, duck on marble floor. Scully jumped,
jerked her hand around to her back where she usually wore her gun and
searched the church again. A groomsman retrieved the ring. A titter
ran through the congregation and Mulder raised his eyebrows. Scully
shook her head. The vein in her neck throbbed. Mulder's eyes narrowed
as he wondered exactly what she was thinking.

The ring secure in his hand now, Father Martin proceeded. "Rings are
outward and visible signs of the inner and invisible love which binds
two people in marriage. As these rings are gold, they are precious;
as they are circles, they are eternal; as they are freely given, they
are freely received.  Let us pray in the name...."

Mulder felt Scully becoming more agitated, more distant. She kept
glancing into the ceiling at the circular stained glass window just
left of the center of the altar. He raised his face to the sky too
and sighed. Was she looking for a miracle for her friend while he was
working on one down here? He was a failure. He couldn't do it, not
what she needed anyway. Not what she deserved. His shoulders slumped.

"Inasmuch as Amanda and Justin have consented together in holy
marriage and have signified the same by giving and receiving rings, I
pronounce that they are husband and wife. Those whom God has joined
together, let not man put asunder. In the Name of the Father, Son and
Holy Spirit. Amen"

There was a pause - to Scully it seemed the church was holding
its collective breath - and Father Martin said, "You may kiss your
bride." Justin, his everyday face transformed, took the bottom of
Amanda's veil, lifted it and kissed her lips. Mulder looked up at the
stained glass window in the ceiling. He noticed he wasn't the only
one. Everyone in the church but Scully seemed to be peeking at the
sky, just in case. Scully again scanned the church. The organ began
to play. The sky stayed overcast and no sun shone through the stained
glass window. Aaron and Abigail remained as the priest left the
altar. Scully let out her breath slowly. She glanced around the
sanctuary to see if she could spot anyone who looked unhappy. Anyone
besides Mulder.

"It was lovely, don't you think," said the woman behind Mulder. He
wasn't certain for a minute then realized she was indeed talking to
him.

"Yes." He was very conscious of Scully's eyes on him and he gave the
woman a charming look.

"I suppose you want to see the altar?" said Scully. She sounded a
little strangled.

"No," he said, courage gone.

"Maybe later."

"I'd like to see it," she said.

The organ, which had played over and above everything else, stopped
rather abruptly. The congregation was stilled momentarily, then
snatches of conversation began to replace the music.

"Dana? You and..." Bill made motions to move out into the aisle.
Scully bucked the tide of wedding guests and stepped up the altar,
pausing to bob her respect to the cross on the altar wall, then moved
to join a gathering throng near the roped off area. Half a dozen
people were already staring at the black images on the white marble
floor. From the elevated altar Scully surveyed the church, the people
moving in the aisles. Nothing. She saw nothing. She studied the floor
where Amanda had smeared the liquid bomb. It was invisible on the
stone.

"You want to tell me about it?" said Mulder without lifting his eyes
from the floor.

Scully froze.

"Is this it? The legend? That's why you came." Bill said with some
triumph. He and Tara stood on a step below the images on the floor.

"Come to think about it, this kind of mumbo jumbo is right up your
alley."

"Let's go," said Scully, touching Mulder's sleeve.

They stepped into the reception hall across the street and waded into
a sea of old friends and relatives who engulfed Scully, hugging and
kissing her, admiring her, engaging her in conversation, enfolding
her. He admitted a dozen times that he was a lucky man and agreed
several more times that she was wonderful. He repeated that they were
partners and said she was very good to work with. He told a former
neighbor she was very pretty indeed.

Mostly he watched her. She laughed, smiled, her face now clear of
the pain and worry he saw so often. She told stories to an aunt and
uncle. She laughed with her mouth open. She looked like a child.  She
moved gracefully around the room from person to person, group to
group. When she smiled he could see her teeth. He caught her eye once
or twice and she sent him one of those full smiles. This was hers; he
felt like an appendage - a necessary one, somehow, but still an
appendage.

Mulder made an effort. He did work at keeping their bargain, at
participating. He talked with her mother about the climate in
Washington, he listened to her Aunt Minnie bless the pope several
times, he endured a long tale by a family friend about fishing in the
Canadian Rockies. At last he took refuge against a wall, nodded to
Sister Marie's nephew who was holding up the opposite wall, and
looked around for Scully. She was beside him in a moment.

She balanced a small plate of food in one hand while she
surveyed the room full of people laughing, talking, eating,
waving their arms, drinking punch, and hugging old friends.

"You think you would feel differently if this was all yours," she
said.

"I don't know," he said. "It's never been mine."

"That's one of the choices we make, isn't it? Do you want this? Not
all that's infinite is space, Mulder." She offered him a carrot stick
from her plate.

"I'll bet Sister Marie's nephew believes this reception is infinite,"
Mulder said between bites.

"Gatherings like this are strange," she said. "Everyone assumes
you've been frozen in time for the last 20 years. Sister
Marie's not the only person here who thinks of me as a girl."

"You seem to have fallen into step with it."

"I suppose I have. Maybe for me that's the comfort in all this. It
harkens back to simpler days. Familiar patterns..."

"...unspoken, but nevertheless real, affection." he said.

"That too," she said.

"Scully, I never wanted to hurt you."

She touched her cheek. "I should apologize. Bill plays big
brother badly."

"I don't mean that."

Her smile vanished. She put the plate between them. First she
searched his face for some hint of his thinking, then she threw down
the gauntlet, "So, what have you heard today, Mulder?"

He was stunned. Floored. Paralyzed. From the corner of his eye he saw
Amanda, regal in her white gown, gliding to his rescue like a runway
model on steroids.

"I need to talk to you, Dana," Amanda said. To Mulder she said, "May
I tear her away for a minute? It's getting late..." She glanced out
the window.

"That's okay." Mulder said. "I'll amuse myself."

Amanda watched his retreat with some appreciation. "Nice. Very
nice."

"I hope that's a remark about the reception and not Mulder's ass,"
Scully said.

"Which is yours, right?" Amanda said. "Right?" Amanda suddenly had
the feeling she'd stepped into something messy.

"No," Scully said.

"Liar. Honestly, you're no better at it now than you ever were-
that's why I always had to do the talking. You don't want to kiss and
tell, hey, I understand."

"Nothing to tell. We're partners."

"If there's nothing to tell you ought to be ashamed. That gorgeous
man is having to sit on his hands to keep them off you."

"I know in your present euphoric state you can't imagine that someone
else could be...."

"What a crock."

"Where's the sealant?"

"Let's go in the bathroom."

The two women made their way through the reception hall, pausing
for well-wishers to congratulate the bride. A retired Navy captain
stopped them to remark it was good to see the two of them, reminisce
about what little devils they were - and hoped they were staying out
of trouble. The man laughed.

"I should have let Larry McCann alone that first day," Scully
muttered as they hurried away.

"Don't act like you did me any favor - you just wanted to get rid of
that nasty tuna sandwich."

Inside the lounge Scully leaned against the door and crossed
her arms. "Look, Amanda, I didn't mean..."

"I know. You always hated it - being in trouble. Having people
think...disappointing your father." She looked around for inspiration
and found none. "It was always me-you trying to make everything
right. See, I knew. I knew I could test things because you wouldn't
let me go too far. You saw it as weakness in you-I never understood
why. It was a-a power and-and strength. What I never figured out was
why you stuck by me."

Scully studied her shoes until she could speak. Finally she said,
"You were always my hero. I've missed you."

"Oh, I think you've found someone more fun to play with," Amanda
said. She reached out her hands and Scully took them. "Did you see
anyone suspicious at the church?"

"I didn't expect to," Scully said. "He won't show up until everyone's
gone. He or one of his representatives may be on the grounds hoping
for a demonstration or to see that you followed through - but who?
The organist, the florist, the caterer, the priest?"

"Oh geez, pal, not a priest!"

"The point is, we don't have a clue."

"If you catch somebody scraping Abigail and Aaron?"

Scully shook her head. "The worst we could charge him with is
defacing property. You're on the hook for the rest."

"Shit!"

"The best we can hope for is to identify him, nab him when he
contacts you again," Scully said.

"Now there's a potentially explosive situation in the church!"
Amanda reached under her dress and pulled at a glass vial
clipped to her garter. "Ever wonder why the bride wears one of these?
Now you know."

Scully chuckled in spite of herself.

"Just rub this on with your hands. Something about human body appears
to be part of the chemical formulation that enables this sealant to
work. Part of why human damage in an explosion is so expected to be
so minimal. God, the possibilities are so limitless. Somehow it
relates to-ever heard of spontaneous human combustion?"

"In passing."

"Well, it's real - I know you won't believe that, but it is. Justin
and I may have stumbled onto a cure in this neo-bomb neutralizer. We
weren't looking for it, but it turns out we might have an antidote,
or cure or salve or whatever you want to call it. The atomic
structures of ...never mind. I can see this doesn't interest you.
Doesn't interest the CUP people either. Well, this will fascinate
you. One thin coat completely wipes out the neo-bomb. Then it's safe
and undetectable. The generals love this. That's it."

Scully tucked the vial in the small purse around her wrist. "Enjoy
your honeymoon. Stay away from phones and strangers," Scully said.
"When you come home, call me. And I mean right after you return."

"I promise. Thank you."

"Any thing else I should know?"

"Yeah, this..." She twisted her wedding ring "...this is real good
stuff."

"I meant about the bomb."

"Sister Marie got it wrong, Dana. Don't kid yourself and don't wait.
Hell - the real one-comes when you recognize the truth too late."

"We probably caused Sister Marie to lose her mind, you and I. Nice of
her nephew to bring her today."

"Oh, her nephew lives in Arizona. That guy must be someone from the
retirement home where she lives," said Amanda. "Poor soul thinks
every man is her nephew."

Scully nearly laughed aloud. "Make certain the wedding photographer
gets a good picture of Sister Marie and her nephew."

"Him!"

Scully said nothing, but she appeared less worried than she had a
moment earlier.

Amanda regarded her friend with a new respect. "Way to go, pal. Why
don't you just go up there and slap the cuffs on him."

"Don't watch any more detective movies, Amanda," Scully said. "Get
the picture and I'll make a copy while you're on your honeymoon. And
when you call me -"

"The minute we get back -"

"We can set up something to finish this off. Right now he's not
going to make a move unless he's threatened. Which no one is going to
do." Scully said.

"Sister Marie?"

"She's safe...and happy with her nephew. It's quite possibly the
nicest thing this man's done in his entire life."

**************
Justin Butler accepted a peck on the cheek from yet another elderly
aunt of the bride and over her shoulder he saw Fox Mulder disappear
into the men's room. Making his excuses to the woman he cast about
for Amanda. Failing to see her, Justin followed Mulder inside. He
held the door open for Sister Marie's nephew to follow him.

"Congratulations, again," Mulder said as the two men stood at the
urinals.

"Yeah, thanks." Butler glanced up at the nephew who came in to wash
his hands. "So, ah, you and Dana are FBI agents."

"That's right," Mulder said.

"Been partners long?"

"Long time."

Butler apparently found this good news. "Amanda thinks Dana is an
amazing person."

Mulder nodded.

"You must be quite close," he said.

"Yes."

"Working together...and being close," Butler said, waiting for Sister
Marie's nephew to finish up. "Amanda talks about her friend Dana
Scully all the time - says she's wonderful. Real straight arrow, by
the book."

The nephew dried his hands and walked out the door. "No argument from
me," said Mulder.

"But she says you, on the other hand..."

"I'm a wonderful person too."

"Do you have any security clearance?" Butler said suddenly.

Mulder nodded.

Butler seemed relieved in more ways than one. He glanced around the
men's room again to make certain they were alone then plunged ahead:
"Amanda and I are part of the CUP project, a series of classified
weapons - military stuff, science fiction..."

"...My favorite," Mulder said.

"Our latest experiments involve a type of, ah, let's call it
pyrotechnical material that can, ah...Mr. Mulder, I've done an
incredibly foolish thing," Butler flushed, zipped and washed his
hands. "You ever been in love?"

"When you're able to do anything at all, you will definitely do an
incredibly foolish thing."

"Exactly," said Justin, pleased to have found a kindred spirit. "I've
done something illegal. You're more apt to arrest me than
congratulate me."

"I couldn't arrest you. Scully would like it." Mulder's heart seized.
"Does this involve fire?"

"Not if you help me. I wanted this day to be special for Amanda.
She's been so distant, preoccupied, non-communicative lately."

"I understand that," said Mulder.

"I thought she was having second thoughts ... Well, I thought I could
provide the proof she seemed to need that this was right. She can't
just accept that some things are like absolute numbers - they just
are."

"I understand that too."

"I was so stupid." Justin pulled a sealed test tube out of his tuxedo
pants pocket. "Weather forecast said sun. Sunny weather. Of course,
there was no sun. It was always a risk. Someday soon there will be,
perhaps when no one is around if the fire should spread."

"The blessing?"

Justin nodded miserably. "A neutralizer."

Mulder took a test tube from Justin's hand and held it up to the
bathroom light. It looked like light colored oil. "Is it safe?"

"It is," Justin said. "And so is the, ah-ah..."

"Pyrotechnic material?" Mulder offered.

"Yes. That's part of its value, in point of fact. CUP stands for
contained, undetectable, portable. The polymers inter...well, suffice
it to say the, ah, pyrotechnic material is relatively safe to handle.
The application of a small amount of neutralizer or sealant - which
is a misnomer by the way, but Amanda insisted that-"

"-application of a small amount-"

"- is enough to make this all go away. Apply it with your fingers-
just believe me. We are only beginning to understand the power of
the human body. Something about body chemistry actually seems to
repel molecules that-"

"That's it?"

"Pretty much. I would wash my hands afterwards."

"What if I didn't have security clearance?"

Justin blinked. "Well, I-I guess I would have had to make some
excuses and disappear for a while," he said miserably. "On my wedding
day...in my tux...with Amanda waiting. Oh God, I don't know."

Mulder put his hand on Justin's shoulder and thought there was
nothing as pathetic as a rule-player who bent the rules. "I would not
want to keep the lovely Mrs. Butler waiting either."

Five minutes later Mulder came out of the restroom looking for
Scully. He didn't see her. He walked around the room craning his
neck, but saw nothing. Some of the guests were beginning to filter
out of the reception hall.

"Are you looking for Dana Scully?"

The speaker was the teenage bridesmaid. In the endless parade of
people he'd met-Scully's relatives, former neighbors, friends, and
acquaintances-he seemed to remember this girl was a cousin of the
bride's, but he couldn't think of her name. She twirled the bride's
bouquet and, to his horror, began to flirt. Girls like this rendered
him speechless as a teenager and he discovered he had retained a
modicum of that fear.

"You know where she is?"

The girl lifted then dropped her slender shoulders. "I think she's
around. Bathroom, maybe."

"Oh?"

"With Amanda.  Hey, you guys together or something?"

"Partners. We're partners."

"You act together," said the teenager, looking Mulder up and down.

"Partners is not together."

"No sex, huh?"

"Does your mother know you talk like that?"

"Are you with somebody else, because I know Dana isn't."

"How do you know?"

"I look. I ask," said the girl. She twirled the bouquet by her side.

"Did you come with someone - your family, a boyfriend. . .a keeper?"

"You gay? Because Dana is exceedingly..."

"No! And yes, she is."

Puzzled, the girl said, "Then I don't get it."

"What are you going to do with that?"

"The bouquet? Use it for potpourri or put the flowers in a
vase or something."

Mulder reached into his pocket and brought out a $20 bill. "Wouldn't
you rather have a new CD or something?"

Clutching the bride's bouquet in one hand Mulder jogged across the
street to Holy Trinity. He hadn't seen Scully outside the hall or in
the parking lot, which was lucky. He thought he would have just
enough time to get to the church, smear the sealant over the altar
floor and get back before she discovered him missing. Overhead, the
gloomy weather looked like it might dissipate. Too late for this
wedding, he thought. He should be able to get this done before
the clouds broke. He trotted up the front steps of the church.

Twenty minutes later Mulder washed and dried his hands in a bathroom
he found in the back of the church. He checked his fingertips and
rubbed them together to see if he could feel any sealant on them. He
sniffed. Nothing. Nothing but industrial strength hand soap. The
sealant smelled better. Satisfied, he retraced his steps
down a dark corridor to the door he had taken from the vestibule.
In the front of the church, his eyes took a minute to adjust to the
light. The organist in the choir loft upstairs ran scales then began
a soft, haunting melody that Mulder could feel the cave of his chest.

He listened for a moment, letting the music sink into his soul, then,
intending to check his work, Mulder opened the doors to the
sanctuary-and promptly forgot how to breathe.

On the altar Scully squatted before the images of Aaron and Abigail,
rubbing her hand over the stone. The skirt of her dress, tucked
behind her, flowed into a pool at her back. Streaks of soft light
from the oval stained glass overhead filtered in, highlighting her
hair, casting shadows on the side of her face and accentuating the
curve of her breasts. Small fingers moved here and there over the
marble floor and her work in the light shafts gave texture to her
body. She was quite simply the most beautiful creature Fox Mulder had
ever seen. His heart quickened. It was time and he moved silently
down the aisle to claim what was his.

Scully wasn't surprised to see him coming down the aisle toward her.
It never surprised her anymore to find him near. He put one foot on
the first step and paused, a posture that made him look confident,
almost arrogant. His hair, slightly windblown, glistened from the
faint light in the church and his dark eyes seemed larger than life.
The corners of his mouth turned up just enough to create tiny
vertical lines at the end of his lips. His manner, his stance, his
gaze, even the air around him felt charged. Alert now, Scully brushed
her hands together and tilted her head in curiosity.

"Did you catch the bouquet?"

"That honor went to one of the bridesmaids. A teenager. I didn't see
you leap into the fray."

"Are you planning to be the next bride?"

He toyed with it. "I bought it from the winning contestant."

"You bought it!"

Mulder took two steps up the altar. "For you. She was too young. She
didn't understand the responsibility that goes with the tradition.
You liked it...." When she reached for it he saw her fingers. He
clucked, "First blood on your face and now this. You always need a
handkerchief." He pulled one out of his pocket and unfolded it.

"That's why I have you," she said.

"Yes, Scully, you do have me."

Now she was surprised. Her lips parted in a silent "oh".

He climbed another step, took her right hand in his and turned her
palm up. He began with the little finger, wiping the worst of the
black off, then returning to massage, stroke, and caress both the
front and back. He didn't hurry, but gave each knuckle, each nail,
each crease of her skin the same careful attention as the previous
one. Something with an oily base coated her fingertips and looked
faintly gray on the pure white cloth. Their heads were close
together; he could almost feel the heat from her forehead, her breath
on his cheek. Scully put the bouquet in her right hand and he took
her left in his. He saved her ring finger for last. Mulder caressed
it tenderly, turned her hand over and brought the back of her ring
finger to his lips. He spoke his promise into her palm.

Mulder's ceremony was the most sensual experience Scully could
remember. She felt liquid, indolent, languid from his ministrations.
She had one fleeting notion that this wasn't appropriate in a church,
on the altar. But then, it wasn't a seduction. It was a declaration-
honorable, holy, sanctified. Until he kissed the back of her finger
and his lips moved against her palm, every atom of her hungered for
more. His proclamation complete, Mulder climbed one more step until
their eyes met for once on the same level. She knew what he wanted.
She sucked in a quiet breath. Here, in this place, she must tell him
the truth outright. When he asked, it wasn't phrased the way she
expected, but her answer came quickly: "I do. I do, Mulder."
***************

In his office Father Martin prayed, "God, please let me walk in
the church this one time and see that someone from the last wedding
has met his obligation to clean up." He didn't relish the idea of
once again picking up petals, tossing out greenery or vacuuming fern
spores. That was the florist's job. His stomach growled. He reached
for a sugar-free sour, puckered his lips, and started to the
sanctuary. He would have to start being firmer with those flower
people. The florist from the Butler/Chase wedding was supposed
to clean before the florist for the-he rummaged in his memory for
the name of the next bride and groom - Linton/Murphy wedding could
get started. He knew the florist hadn't been in since he had heard
nothing from the sanctuary to indicate cleaning and sweeping in
progress. Timing was everything in these back-to-back weddings and
Father Martin wished these people would get with the program.

Halfway out the office door he decided to get some fresh air, perhaps
run into the florists in question or intercept any early arrivals
from the next wedding party. He walked down the narrow hallway
between his office and the sanctuary, opened an outer door and
stepped into the crisp air. The wind had picked up; clouds in the sky
blew past almost as fast as leaves on the ground. Father Martin
reminded himself that should he encounter early arrivals he ought to
suggest they park behind the church. He walked slowly to the front of
Holy Trinity, blessing the break in the weather and cursing all
florists everywhere.

"Father, is anyone in the church?"

Father Martin turned to see an older woman coming across the street
behind him. He thought he remembered her from the wedding he just
finished.

"I think I hear the organist. But I don't believe anyone else is
there. You're welcome to come with me and check."

"I asked several people at the reception across the street and they
thought my daughter came over with her, ah..." Margaret Scully
paused. She was never quite sure what to call Fox Mulder that would
be accurate. "Partner" needed an explanation, "friend" didn't quite
say enough, "boyfriend"-while probably true-seemed juvenile,
"significant other" sounded stilted, and "lover" was something she
couldn't say to a priest and frankly didn't want to think about
herself. "We're getting ready to leave, you see."

They climbed the front steps to the church in silence and the priest
opened the heavy outer door for her. Inside they paused. Even though
the light was brighter outside and shone through the window panes in
the doors, it was still rather dim in the church. Father Martin
became aware of organ music, the tune unfamiliar, but one of the
loveliest melodies he had heard Julius play. Obviously his friend was
indulging himself before the next wedding march.

"Who's playing?" Margaret asked. "It's beautiful. Is it the same
organist who played for Amanda Chase's wedding?"

"I believe so," Father Martin said, although he couldn't be certain
himself. He'd never heard such thrilling notes. "Let's look in the
sanctuary." He gave her a look of long-suffering indulgence and
opened the double doors into the sanctuary as the last notes from the
organ faded.

The light that struck them was so brilliant Father Martin gasped,
squinted and shaded his eyes. The sanctuary was ablaze-even the
darkest and most remote corners glowed with white light and heat. He
was vaguely aware that he smelled smoke. When he could see the altar
at last, he was transfigured. Intuitively he crossed himself and
clutched the crucifix around his neck.

A light beam streamed down from the stained glass window on top of
the church and bathed a couple that stood kissing at the altar.

Father Martin recognized them at once as the man and woman who had
commanded his attention during the last wedding.  The light
illuminated their bodies and cast their shadows onto the marble
floor. Flames shot up from the rock. None of this disturbed
the couple. The man and woman apparently didn't notice the light,
the humming that filled the chapel, or the fire beside their feet.

They parted slowly-too reluctant to take their eyes away from the
miracle they saw in each other to notice another enveloping them.
When they did, they merely turned their faces up and around in the
light. The air seemed to change from gas to solid and burst
around them in a billion tiny crystals. The cascade fell upon their
hair, their faces, and their shoulders like confetti. The couple held
each other fast, gazing in astonishment first at the light, then the
smoking floor. The woman cupped her hand as if to catch the
untouchable, then laid the hand on the man's cheek. For a moment
they stood nose to nose. When their lips met again it was, Father
Martin realized, an act of communication: they were explaining
something to the only other person in the world who could understand.

The light rolled back onto itself up through the stained glass window
and into the sky. A cloud shielded the sun from the earth once again.
The church grew dark and quiet. Father Martin felt more alive than he
had in years.

"Oh ..." breathed Margaret Scully. Her face, like Father Martin's,
shone with awe.

The man retreated down the one step and held out his hand to the
woman, his wife-for Father Martin would never be able to think of
her any other way. They walked down from the altar gazing at each
other in wonder. At the foot of the altar steps, the woman stopped,
turned to genuflect and cross herself as some nun had taught her
years ago. The man-her husband - raised her up, then clasped her
hand in his and led her slowly down the central aisle. Though badly
mismatched in height, they walked with an easy gait born of practice,
unaware they were being watched, smiling with a great secret they
thought only they knew. Behind them the marble floor smoked.  They
didn't look back.

"My God," gasped Margaret.

"Oh, yes!" said Father Martin. The words, which had come so
automatically to his lips earlier, now had new meaning in his heart.
He murmured them again without realizing he spoke aloud: "Those whom
God has joined together..."

"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," said Margaret,
crossing herself.

"Amen," they intoned together.

It startled the couple to see Father Martin and Margaret Scully at
the head of the aisle. They stopped dead and Scully's jaw dropped.
Father Martin noted with satisfaction they instinctively
turned to each other even in shock. They all four stood, staring
until Father Martin held out his hand to Mulder. Everyone began to
speak at once.

"Ah, there is..." Mulder said.

"Dana....what...?"

"Mom, I..."

A bang followed by a series of clatters, one loud oath and a dozen
heavy, stumbling footsteps reverberated on the wooden balcony
stairs above. A book - or several - fell down a few steps. The
blended sound resembled a train passing over a trestle.

"Father Martin! Holy Jesus! John!" The organist, a fellow obviously
unaccustomed to running down a flight of stairs, tumbled into the
vestibule rubbing an elbow. His face was red, his breath came in
gasps, his hooded eyes rolled back in their sockets. "Jesus God,
John! You should have...did you?" He stopped short, gaping at the
people inside the sanctuary. "Oh, my...."

"Julius McMannis," said the priest. "Our church organist."

There was an uncomfortable silence  during which Julius took two or
three steps into the sanctuary, all the while staring at Scully and
Mulder in breathless astonishment. Into the silence Margaret Scully
said, "That last piece. I've never heard anything like it before.
Very pretty."

"Why, thank you. Well, i-it seemed to flow out of me, from my head to
my hands. I-I was afraid it wouldn't sound right." Julius looked
faint. "It might be right this time." He continued examining Scully
and Mulder as though they were bugs on pins.

"Sounded right, Julius," said Father Martin.

"We should go," Scully said.

"You understand, this is only half of it," said Father Martin. "The
most difficult part is to accept the miracles we're given. We look
for them, ask for them, and when we get them, we don't believe."

"I believe," said Mulder. Scully squeezed his hand. "The story of the
blessing... It really belongs to Aaron and Abigail...and to Holy
Trinity."

"I never really appreciated that story. Like Holy Trinity itself,
everybody wants the blessing, but not the burden," the priest said.
"I guess I lost touch with the ceremony, the church, even the
legend."

Mulder cleared his throat. "Good-bye then."

"I-I'll call you, Mom," Scully said, giving her mother a quick kiss.
She nodded to Father Martin and played with the bouquet in her hands.
"Father, ah, about....ah, well, you see...it-it was-"

"-Magnificent," Father Martin said.

Scully might have said more, but a number of noisy young people began
coming into the vestibule. Mulder pulled her out a side door, just as
it hit Father Martin that the newcomers must be the 1 p.m. wedding
party. He hurried down the central aisle toward the altar, but he
already knew what he would find. Margaret Scully and Julius followed
a step or two behind.

White images, reverse silhouettes, lay in the blackened marble.
Abigail and Aaron were gone. The new white outlines of a man and
woman shone smooth and as clear as though painted by an artist -
which, Father Martin mused, they had been. The Ultimate Artist.
Father Martin knelt and rubbed his fingers across the cool marble
outlines, marveling at the detail - down to the little cowlick in the
man's hair and the leaves on the bridal bouquet. Julius, his mouth
still wide open, stood beside the priest and gazed up at the circular
stained glass window in the church roof. Father Martin could see
clouds passing overhead, darkening the sky.

"Put your hands here, Julius, in the outside of the print. Careful,
it's hot."

The organist knelt and put one finger tentatively on the blackened
stone where Father Martin pointed. "Jesus God," he intoned over and
over.

Heat radiated from the scorched marble. Julius scratched the rock
with his fingernail enough to assure himself the black was not soot
that could be washed away. Father Martin, put his hands on the
images, closed his eyes and asked God to forgive his cynicism.

"Looks like it's going to rain, Father," said a young man in a tuxedo
who stood at the foot of the altar steps. "Guess that means Melody
and Tom won't be the lucky couple. Whew! Look at the smoke. That last
wedding mustta burned a lot of candles."

Father Martin realized he was sad to see Abigail and Aaron go. But he
rather liked the looks of the new couple. He turned away from the
stone floor to find Mrs. Scully at the altar rail praying the rosary.
Although he never intended to use it, he would like to know their
story.
**************

"Cold?" Mulder asked. Holy Trinity disappeared in his rearview
mirror. Scully shivered; he watched her quick breath puff in the air.
"The heater will start working any minute now. Maybe."

"Not cold really," she said. She studied his profile. She'd seen it a
thousand times, but she felt as though she was looking it through new
eyes.

In a moment he said, "Do you have any explanation for what happened?"

"Not a good one," Scully admitted at last.

"I have a theory," he said.

"Which is?"

"I think it speaks to an area of your expertise-chemistry."

"Chemistry?"

Mulder's fingers brushed the glass tube in his overcoat, but pulled
out the paper bearing the address of the bed and breakfast. "I forgot
to cancel."

"It's not far."

"I hope not. It will take some time to explain my theory to you
adequately-and requires both hands."

Scully watched the world go by outside her window. A sly smile
reflected over the hand that held her chin. Her breath now fogged the
glass and world went by in a blur.

The Hose and Garter Bed and Breakfast lay an hour from the church
on the leeside of the bay. The key was in the mailbox at the end of a
gravel driveway in an envelope marked "Mr. and Mrs. Butler". No one
seemed to be around.

The honeymoon suite --- for that was what the sign on the door
proclaimed in letters made of twining hearts and flowers - occupied
the entire second floor of the colonial style house and offered a
private entrance as well as a view of the bay. Mulder opened the door
and whistled.  "Nice."

In keeping with the motif of the house, the furniture and furnishings
had a colonial flavor. Their host had laid a fire in the hearth in
front of the biggest four-poster bed Scully had ever seen. A thick,
navy terrycloth robe lay across each side of the bed. Mulder lit a
match at once. Firelight soon flickered around the room and chased
the dark into small corners.

Mulder located the bathroom and went inside without even taking his
overcoat off. In the sitting area an overcrowded table held a bottle
of champagne chilling in a wooden bucket, a vase of flowers, a plate
of fruit and a covered tray of biscuits and cheese. A large window on
the wall near the sofa opened up on the bay. Scully threw her coat
across the back of the sofa, crossed her arms, and admired the view.
The sun had long ago surrendered to gray clouds. Its remains would
sink into the bay soon. She wondered if it sizzled in the bay as it
was supposed to when it set into the sea.

She put her hand in the pocket of her dress, fingering the nearly
empty glass vial. She tried to remember what Amanda had said about
interactions. The flash fire had rendered the stone - and the church-
safe. All that remained was - Scully looked at her hands - a small
amount of oil embedded in the pads of her fingers and a 180-degree
turn in her life.

Mulder came out of the bathroom and flicked on a bedside light. He
pulled at his tie. "Champagne?" He filled two glasses and handed her
one. They toasted and took a sip. It was too dry for her taste.
The vial weighed heavy in her pocket, like a secret on her heart. It
was her secret now, although as with so many other times, it began as
Amanda's. She wanted to be rid of the evidence.

Scully put down her glass, wandered into the bathroom, closed the
door and wrapped the empty vial in a tissue from a box by the sink.
Some paper and tissue lay in the wastebasket so she didn't need to
worry about the glass vial making a clanging noise when it fell. She
was about to flush the toilet as a cover when she noticed the
upturned seat from Mulder's visit. Was this going to be her life now
- perpetually flipping down toilet seats? And while she thought about
it, oily drops floating in the bowl caught drew her attention. Gray
residue clung to the sides of the toilet too. Suspicious now, she
pushed the contents of the wastebasket aside to discover an empty
test tube there.

Mulder knew - and he must also know she had applied the sealant to
counteract the chemical Amanda had put on the marble altar floor. She
watched in the mirror as red flew up her neck to her cheeks. Mulder
knew chemistry was exactly what happened in the church. He hadn't
lied. He had merely allowed her to think what she wanted.  She should
be angry. Instead, thinking of what Amanda did - and what Justin
must have done-she thought perhaps the myth of the perfect union
was Mulder's gift to her. Justin Butler must have sent him with the
sealant-which meant Justin rubbed the stone at Holy Trinity with
the invention too. He wouldn't have sent Mulder with the test tube if
he were trying to cover for Amanda -  from what Scully knew of him it
was more in character for Justin to confront Amanda and do the job
himself. No, Scully decided, Justin had treated the altar too.

Thinking of what might have happened with that much liquid neo-bomb
made Scully quake. She put down the toilet seat and sat. There should
have been more than enough sealant over the marble to stop
detonation. Amanda assured her it had been tested and worked. Perhaps
Mulder hadn't used his neutralizing chemical yet. The sun hadn't been
very bright or hot pouring through that window. Perhaps two neo-bombs
needed two applications of sealant. Otherwise, what happened? There
must be a hundred explanations. She realized she had been so
preoccupied she hadn't really noticed what had been done to the
church. She groaned. What was the damage?

Father Martin, Julius the organist and her mother clearly thought
they had witnessed the blessing of the perfect union. Scully made a
disgusted noise. Perfect union. She studied the ceiling. Never were
two people so mismatched. They had to work hard just to have a viable
partnership over the last few years. Could they really survive adding
things like toilet seats and sex into the equation?

The organist, Julius. He had looked at them like they were officially
canonized saints when they were only a pair of frauds, criminals at
that. She refused to contemplate the number of laws both secular and
spiritual that she had violated today. She'd be in confessional
the rest of her life.

Her mother. Scully rubbed her eyes. The truth was, she wasn't
married to Mulder, not in a traditional sense. Not in any sense
that her mother and father would approve-although, now that she
thought about it, her mother looked awfully approving the last time
she saw her.

She thought about the damage done to her, to Mulder, to their
partnership and discovered she couldn't think of any. She had no
doubt, no regret. What she took away from the altar had nothing to do
with crimes, neo-bombs, religious legends, or familial expectations.
When she fanned away the smoke, what remained was something she'd
always had, always wanted, but had been afraid to examine. Maybe that
-- or something like that --  was what Mulder had been trying to get
her to see in Washington. Scully looked closer at the face in the
mirror. Was she different now? She couldn't tell, except she couldn't
seem to stop smiling like a fool.

Mulder tapped his heels up and down on the floor, blew air into his
cheeks and back out, rubbed his hands together, glanced at his watch.
He felt trapped in a cartoon or a television sitcom: the wedding
night and the bride wouldn't come out of the bathroom. Should he
knock? Call to her? Confess he knew the fire in the church was not
Divine blessing but a crazy cocktail concocted by the bride
and groom? Somehow that last didn't strike him as a good idea. Mulder
started to get out of his clothes and put on the robe. Might speed
things up-but he didn't want anything about this to go fast,
except the part where Scully came out of the bathroom. When he heard
her fumble with the doorknob, Mulder collapsed on the padded arm of
the sofa.

Scully noticed at once that Mulder had taken off his jacket,
unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out of his pants. His tie was gone
too. Now he ran a hand through his hair - something she realized she
had wanted to do for years. He had his head down and when he looked
up at her, his eyes were big and soulful. In the firelight she
thought him terribly boyish, so unlike the confident man at the
altar. His insecurities and his heart lay as open as his shirt.

Mulder didn't try to hide how much he wanted her. It was liberating
to let his eyes roam over her without fear of discovery or ridicule.
She seemed to enjoy it and leaned against the foot of the four-poster
so he could feast to his heart's content. The fire cracked, popped
and sizzled.

"You should have left when you had the chance," he said at last.

"When would that have been?" she said. "Was there a time we weren't
bound together?"

"Sounds like predestination, fate."

"Sounds like somebody had a plan. Several somebodies, actually."

"It must have been fate that I came into the church. I just
washed my hands...." He watched her eyes widened and she grabbed for
air. "You think the newly minted Butlers are good at their work?"

"I would bet on it."

"Think they knew what they were doing in the church?"

"That I can't say." Scully herself didn't know if she meant the bomb
or the marriage.

"Then we have an X-File."

"It's probably just what you suggested-chemistry," Scully said. She
realized too late she had played into his hands. She grinned.

"C'mere, woman," Mulder growled, the sound coming from something low
within him. She took her time, but when she stood before him, his
hands slipped around her waist and under her chin. He drew her into
the space between his legs and her mouth to his. He wanted to touch
her everywhere all at once. But he forced himself to be patient,
slow, deliberate. He ran his hands over her hair, her shoulders, her
throat, feeling her warmth under his hand, feeling something
wonderful and real in his life. His fingers slid up her throat to cup
her face so he could study it as he would a work of art. For a moment
his thumbs stroked her cheeks and he realized he owed her more than
this.

"I was listening today." This wasn't news to her.

"I'm listening now."

"I heard myself say over and over in a dozen different ways that you
are, as you have been for some time, the center of my life. May not
be as much as you need or deserve...but.You have the right to make
that decision for yourself-provided I give you good information."

"A mistake you frequently make."

"Now rectified."

"You risked nothing," she said.

He risked a slow, satisfied smile.

"Mulder, if you knew this before why didn't you just send flowers
or candy?"

"You give me too much credit. Besides, you'd have eaten the candy
and-probably the flowers too," he said. "I never knew the little girl
who became my partner. But you, Agent Scully, hold sacred only what
you learn yourself."

Scully laughed and stroked his hair. "It's not too late."

"For candy and flowers?" he said, not understanding at all. "Yeah, it
is. We've gone straight to champagne." To prove his point he reached
up to drink again - this time from her mouth. Her eyes fluttered
closed, anticipating the pleasure of him. He captured her fully in a
soft moan of homecoming. His tongue nudged her lips apart and she
opened for him to lead the dance. They tasted the tartness of
champagne, of bittersweet moments lost and found.

Scully slipped her arms up his chest and around his neck, effectively
pushing his shirt off his shoulders in the process. It wasn't enough.
She pulled his tee-shirt off and placed the flat of her hands against
his chest. His muscles tensed under her touch; she skimmed the scar
of her bullet wound and bent to kiss him there.

His eager hands began a gentle journey up her sides and around her
middle. He unbuttoned her dress from waist to collar until it fell
open under his hand. Mimicking her move, he brushed the material off
her shoulders down her arms until he made a place to lay his head,
his lips kissing the swell of one breast. He touched it, feeling the
nipple hard beneath the lace. His hands moved then to range up her
bare back and he marveled how good she smelled, how soft her skin
under his fingers, and how powerful his response to her. He was
strong, invincible, eternal. He would spend the rest of his life
here, next to Scully's heart.

That heart pounded in frenzy and air whooshed in and out her lungs.
Not all arousal. Not yet. He knew the sound, the feel and the scent
of a woman ready for her lover: the change in the texture of her
skin, the glow in her face, her breath, the shining need in her eyes,
a faint salty taste. He could take Scully now and she would go
willingly.  For him it was enough - more than enough. For her it
should be-had to be-Mulder cast about for something to help sever the
last threads that bound her.

"Hard to imagine you're now a legend...and with such an imperfect
partner."

She chuckled, kissed his forehead and leaned her cheek against his
the top of his head. Her hand caressed his cheek with feather strokes
as she stared into the fire. After a moment she said, "Actually, I've
come to love your imperfections. They complement mine."  He felt her
surrender then and his lips moved against her skin into a smile.

She knew, as he did, the real truth of the legend: the perfect union
is two flawed souls pooling their weaknesses. The blessing - the
lasting one - comes inherent in the strength that results.

"All right then," Mulder said and led her to the bed. "From this day
- forward."

He slid the dress off her hips and helped her get out of her shoes
and hose. He treated himself to the feel of her legs with stockings
on and free of them. Toeing out of his shoes, he stripped and tossed
his pants across a chair. He took the time to pluck her dress from
the foot of the bed where he had flung it and drape it over the back
of a chair with exaggerated care, knowing the concession to her sense
of order would please her. And he did want to please her. It was his
last coherent thought for quite a while.

Scully shivered-in anticipation this time. Mulder sat naked beside
her and she turned her back to him so he could finish undressing her.
He unfastened her bra and tossed it toward the sofa. Task complete,
he kissed her spine, her neck, her shoulders. She hunched over to
give him more access and he spread his hands out to slide up and down
her back then glide around to encircle first the right, then the left
breast. Her breath caught in her throat. She leaned back into him and
purred from the sheer joy of it all. Her neck arched against his
shoulder and she turned into his kiss.

They would talk of mundane things like smoke and lightening later.
Right now she wanted the chemistry he promised; she craved union in
all its glorious imperfections. ###