DISCLAIMER:  For the most part, the characters included
within this work of fiction belong to Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network.  I mean no
infringement.  The characters of Clyde Tremaine, Benton Crane, 
Dick Hanson, Anne Milliken and Raven belong to me and should 
not be used without my permission.

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

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


12 RITES OF PASSAGE
#4:  "Realization"
By Anne Haynes
AHaynes33@aol.com



New Haven Police Department
February 13, 1998
6:46 p.m.


"Listen to me, you son of a bitch, I'm telling you that a
special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation is
missing and you'd better damned well get off your lazy ass
and find out what the hell happened to her!"  Fox Mulder
leaned over the desk of New Haven Police Detective Clyde
Tremaine, shoving his badge in the man's startled face.

Tremaine put up his hands, lowering his voice to a soothing
baritone. "No one else has reported her missing--"

"I'M reporting her missing, damn it!"  

"But you weren't even--"

"I was on the phone with her.  I heard a sound of pain and
I heard the phone clatter to the ground.  Now I know she was
here in New Haven--"

"Have you checked with that friend you said she came here to
visit?"

Mulder glared at the detective.  Do I look stupid? he
wondered.  "I went by the address Scully gave me, but her
friend didn't answer the door.  I have no idea what her name
is, and I have no idea whether she and Scully were together
when I was talking to her--I don't KNOW!"  He raked his
fingers through his hair, panic churning in his gut like
piranhas in a frenzy.

Tremaine stood and put his hand on Mulder's shoulder, urging
him toward the chair in front of the desk.  "Agent Mulder,
let me run the address you have through the system, see if I
can at least find a name for you."

Mulder sank into the chair and bent forward, breathing
deeply in an effort to calm himself and focus on the task at
hand.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd reacted like
this--check that.  He could remember quite well.  November,
1994, the day he'd gotten the call to come to Northeast
Georgetown Hospital because his missing partner had
returned.  The sight of her, lying so pale and still in that
ICU bed, a breathing tube down her throat, her eyes taped
shut--

He'd lost it.  He hadn't cared that Scully's mother was
there, her fear for her daughter making her look decades
older than she was.  He hadn't cared about the other
patients in the ICU or the doctors and nurses trying to do
their jobs.  All he cared about was the fact that after
three long months of hell, the bastards had sent her back to
him at the edge of death, denying him even a single lead to
follow--and he'd exploded in rage and fear and grief.

"Think I have it."  Tremaine interrupted his dark memories. 
"Benton Crane, 404 C Ponce Street."

Benton?  

"Here's his number--want me to try him?"

Mulder nodded, swallowing with difficulty.  He pulled out
his notebook and jotted down the number Tremaine dialed. 
Tremaine engaged the speakerphone and sat back, waiting
expectantly as the phone rang at the other end.  After three
rings, a breathless male voice answered, "Dana?"

Mulder lurched forward, grabbing the telephone receiver and
lifting it to his ear.  "Benton Crane?"

"Who's this?"

"My name is Fox Mulder.  I'm Dana Scully's partner--"

"Where's Dana?"  The man sounded frantic.  Mulder's heart
sank.

"That's what I'm trying to find out," he replied.  "I was on
the telephone with her earlier and we got cut off, but it
sounded as if she might have been in trouble."

"My God," Benton said, his voice breathless.  "Where are
you?"

"I'm here in New Haven, at the police station.  Do you have
any idea where she might have been around 5:45 this evening?"

Benton didn't answer right away, and Mulder's stomach coiled
into a tight, angry knot.  He surged to his feet.  "What do
you know, Crane?  Where is she?"

"I...I'm not sure--"

"Tell me where she is!"

"She was looking into the disappearance of a graduate
student at the university.  A woman named Sarah Chandler. 
Apparently she and Dana had met over the Internet and now
the woman's missing."

Mulder sank back into his chair, stunned.  "She was
following a case alone?"

"I told her she was crazy to go in without backup--"

Tremaine frowned at Mulder, obviously not happy about being
left out of the conversation.  Mulder sighed and reached for
the button that engaged the speakerphone.  "Crane, I'm
putting you on speakerphone so that Detective Tremaine can
hear what you say."  He punched the button and put the
receiver back in its cradle.  "Did Dana tell you who she was
planning to speak to today?"

"She called around 3:30, saying she was going to canvas 
Sarah Chandler's apartment complex, then check out some
restaurant that the girl supposedly went to the day she
disappeared--"

"What restaurant?"

"She didn't say."

Damn it!  Mulder bit back a growl.  "Did she make contact
with your department, Detective Tremaine?" he asked the
dark-haired policeman.

Tremaine shrugged.  "If she did, it was probably somebody
from the day shift."

"Who's assigned to the Sarah Chandler case?  I assume she's
been reported missing."

Tremaine nodded.  "Yeah--I think it's Dick Hanson.  I'll get
him on the horn."  He crossed to a nearby desk and picked up
the phone. 

"Mulder?"  Even distorted by the speakerphone, Benton
Crane's voice was unmistakably wary.

Mulder pressed his lips together in annoyance, unutterably
angry with the man on the other end of the line.  "Yeah?"

"You said you got cut off and you thought she might be in
trouble--what did you hear?"

Before Mulder could answer, Tremaine called his name,
gesturing wildly.  "I think we've got something, Crane. 
I'll call back in a minute."  He hung up the phone on
Tremaine's desk and crossed to the other desk.

"Hanson said your partner came in around ten this morning
wanting to look into the Chandler case herself.  Dick had
somebody make her a copy of the case file, but he said she
seemed real interested in talking to Chandler's roommate, an
Anne Milliken."  Tremaine held out a piece of paper. 
"Here's her address."

Mulder took the slip of paper and nodded his thanks.  

"Want me to come with you?"

He shook his head, realizing that if he couldn't have Scully
covering his ass, he didn't want anyone else doing it for
her.  "I'll check with Ms. Milliken.  You go call Crane
again, tell him what's going on--tell him I'll be back in
touch." 

Nerves tight as drums, he hurried out to his mother's car
and headed for Anne Milliken's apartment near the Yale
University campus.

*  *  *  *  *


Scully was bound, gagged and blindfolded, and the back of
her head hurt like hell.  She'd never lost consciousness
after the knock upside the head, so she was fairly sure she
wasn't suffering from a concussion.  But the throbbing pain
in her skull wasn't exactly helping her slice through the
confusing whirlwind of events that had filled the last hour 
or so of her life.

She was in the back of a van; of that much she was certain. 
She was not alone, for she could hear the soft sound of
another person's respiration.  Female, she thought,
listening, gauging the pitch of the breathing, smelling the
faintest hint of lavender soap.  Someone different from the
one who had grabbed her up off the pavement after the blow
to her head--that had been a man.  Before she could so much
as turn her head, a hood had been thrown over her head, her
hands cuffed behind her back, and her captor had lifted her
like a sack of potatoes and tossed her across a bench seat
in the back of the van where she now sat.  

A blindfold had quickly replaced the hood, barely giving her
the chance to take in the dark, nondescript interior of the
vehicle.  Seconds later, the cuffs had been replaced by
softer but just as restrictive cloth bindings.  Then, for
the next half hour or so, her captors had left her alone to 
bounce and slide in an effort to keep her balance with
every movement of the van.  During those endless minutes,
she'd relived every horror she'd ever been through--Duane
Barry, Donnie Pfaster, the townfolk of Dudley, Arkansas--and
between paralyzing bouts of sheer panic, she'd scolded
herself for going out on her own without back up.

She knew better.  Hell, how many times had she given MULDER
that lecture--don't ditch me, Mulder, you know you need me
covering your ass.  Two heads are better than one.  Two GUNS
are better than one.  

She was distracted from her self-scolding by the sound of
movement.  She felt the slight heat of another body near
hers--definitely a woman, Scully thought as the scent of
lavender grew stronger.  She felt hands at the back of her
head, brushing against the painful lump at the base of her
skull.  Seconds later, the gag loosened and fell away;  she
pushed the balled up hankerchief out of her mouth and took
the first full breath she'd taken in an hour.  "Who the hell
are you and what do you want?"

A soft, feminine chuckle to her right made her turn her head 
even though she could see nothing with the blindfold in
place.  "You're tougher than you look, Agent Scully."  The
voice was higher pitched than she'd expected--a clear, soft
soprano.  Delicate and almost ethereal.  "I hope your head
isn't hurting too badly."

"Nice of you to care--although you could have saved yourself
the worry if you'd kept your blackjack to yourself."

"We had nothing to do with that, Agent Scully."

Scully arched an eyebrow, then realized her captor couldn't
see the gesture beneath the blindfold.  "Then who hit me?"

"We're not sure exactly for whom your assailant was working.
The matter is of no importance, anyway--he's no longer
working for anyone."

A shudder of understanding rippled through Scully.  "Who do
YOU work for?"

"That's debatable."  The woman made a soft sound that could
have been a chuckle, although Scully detected no humor in the
sound.  "But for now, I'm here to give you information."

Scully took a swift breath through her nose, anger quickly
eclipsing fear as she realized that her captors had no
intention of killing her--at least, not yet.  "I'm not
interested."

"I think you will be."

"You have me mistaken with my partner.  He's the one with
the mysterious double-crossing informants.   It's one of his
little foibles--I've been trying to work on breaking him of
the habit of listening to shadows."

"Your partner isn't the one looking into Sarah Chandler's
disappearance."

Scully sighed.  "So this was your idea of a subtle warning--
'stay away from the case, Agent Scully, or you won't live
long enough to regret it?'"

"On the contrary.  Your assailant was sent to kill you--no
warnings issued.  But we find it more useful to keep you
alive."

Scully bit back a surge of rage, knowing that staying in
control was her only hope of dealing with these people and
emerging alive.  When she spoke, her voice dripped cool
sarcasm.  "I'm touched."  

"I don't care what you think of me, Agent Scully.  Your kind
regard isn't part of my agenda."

"Then what is?  And who the hell are you?"

"Call me Raven."

Scully laughed aloud.  "Isn't that a bit melodramatic?"

"It suits me," her captor said simply.

"Nice," Scully murmured, "a carrion eater, preying on the
dead.  I've come across too many of your sort in my
business."

Raven ignored the soft taunt and came to the point.  "Do you
want to find Sarah Chandler, Agent Scully?"

Scully pressed her lips together tightly, annoyed at the
simple question.  She didn't want to be rational and
pragmatic right now.  She wanted to be angry as hell, the
yell and scream and claw and hit.  

Was this how Mulder felt when Deep Throat jacked him around? 
When X had played his dirty little head games?  She suddenly
had a clearer understanding of what drove her partner to
meet with shadow puppets in parking garages and dank alleys
and behind bushes and in darkened cars.  He surely didn't
like it any more than she did--she KNEW he didn't like it. 
He chafed at the secrecy, the enforced subterfuge, just as
she did now.

But he couldn't turn his back on the secrets that lay in the
shadows.  And neither could she. "Talk," she rasped.

"At this very moment, Sarah Chandler is being reprogrammed."

"Reprogrammed?"

"Do you think she forgot the first eleven years of her life
on her own?"

"What are you suggesting, she was brainwashed into amnesia?"

"Do you doubt the technology exists?"

"Why would they?  What could she possibly remember that
could be worth wiping eleven years of memory?"

"Maybe some of the deepest, darkest secrets the universe
holds."  Raven's voice darkened slightly.  "Secrets that
were never to be told."

"Cut the crap," Scully spat, irritated by the woman's
deliberate ambiguity.  "What does Sarah know?  And why is it
imperative that I find her?"

"Because Sarah Chandler is the first domino--find her before
the reprogramming is finished, and you may start a whole chain
reaction that'll bring all the secrets to light."

"What secrets?"

"What happened to you while you were missing.  Who the big
players are.  What their agenda entails."  Raven's next words
were no more than a whisper, breathed in to Scully's ear.  "What
happened to Samantha Mulder."


*  *  *  *  *


Garnem's Pita Cafe
8:12 p.m.


The slender, dark-haired Lebanese girl behind the cashier's
desk stared up at Mulder in concern.  "Missing?"

He nodded.  "You said that she asked you questions about
Sarah Chandler's disappearance--" he glanced at her name
tag--"Teresa."

Teresa nodded.  "I told her about the man Sarah had eaten
lunch with the day she disappeared."

"What about the man?"

"Just that he was older, and had a British accent."

Mulder barely covered his surprise.  "Tall, thin, with a
long face and slightly sagging jowls?"

She nodded, her eyes widening.  "Agent Scully asked the same
question.  Do you know him?"

Better than I want to, he thought, but not nearly well
enough.  "What did Agent Scully do after you told her about
the British gentleman?"

"She asked how to get out to the parking area behind the
restaurant.  I guess she wanted to see it because that's the
way Sarah and her friend left that day."  Teresa nodded
toward a short, dimly lit corridor not far from the
cashier's desk.  "She went out that way and that's the last
I saw of her."

"Do many people go in and out that way?"

Teresa shook her head.  "Most of the time, yes, but we're
having it repaved, so it's blocked off right now."

"Has anyone been out back at all this evening?"

She shrugged.  "Maybe to the dumpster, but probably not--the
kitchen staff usually waits until a half-hour or so before
closing time to go out there--especially at this time of
year when it's so cold."

Mulder's stomach coiled as he glanced down the darkened
hallway, feeling as if he were staring at the doorway to
hell.  What if she was back there, lying hurt--or worse?  

He took a deep breath.  "Thanks for your help."  Steeling
himself, he walked through the passageway to the back door.


*  *  *  *  *


Somewhere in New Haven
8:25 p.m.


The bindings on Scully's wrists were beginning to chafe, but
not nearly as much as her captor's irritating game of cat
and mouse.  "What could Sarah Chandler know about what
happened to Samantha Mulder?"

Raven shifted, the warmth of her body moving away from
Scully.  "It's not important what Sarah Chandler knows. 
Your first priority is to find her--with whatever means are
at your disposal.  You can deal with the consequences
later."

Scully strained against her bindings, anger surging through
her aching body, giving her renewed strength.  "I'm tired of
your little conundrums, Raven."  She spat out the name like
something bitter on her tongue.  "I don't like games.  If
you have information about Sarah Chandler or Samantha Mulder
or what happened to me, then tell me.  If you don't, then
either kill me or let me go."

"Don't worry, Dana.  I'll let you go soon.  I need you to
find Sarah Chandler before they're finished with her--and
you're losing precious time playing twenty questions with
me."

"Then tell me what you know."

"That's just it, Dana.  I know very little more than you do.
 I don't know exactly who has her, though I have my
suspicions.  I don't know where they're keeping her.  I
don't know how long they'll keep her or what they'll do to
her if their reprogramming efforts fail."

Scully's stomach lurched.  "Do you think they'll kill her?"

"It's always an alternative," Raven replied, her voice
expressionless.

"Then what DO you know?"

"I know that you can no longer keep your partner out of your
investigation.  He must be brought into the search for Sarah
Chandler."

"Why, so you can screw with his head like you're trying to
screw with mine?"

"His past is essential to uncovering the secrets you seek--
as is your own."

"My own?"

"Your memories of your time away are still locked in your
head.  You may be surprised to find what secrets your own
mind may reveal to you."

Scully closed her eyes behind the blindfold, blinking back
tears of sheer terror.  The gaping hole in her memory
frightened her--but not as much as the nebulous horrors she
might find locked away in that part of her mind that had
gone dormant almost four years ago.  She'd tried once to
remember and she'd left the counselor's office in a panic,
her heart racing and her palms sweating.  

Could she face that again, even for her friend?

Even if it could uncover the truth about what had happened
to Mulder's sister?


*  *  *  *  *


Alley behind Garnem's Pita Cafe
8:25 p.m.


Mulder found the cellular phone first.  It lay half-hidden
behind a dumpster in the alley behind the restaurant. 

He crouched by the small phone, his heart in his throat. 
The plastic casing was cracked, probably from hitting the
pavement.  He pulled out a pen and prodded the phone,
turning it over.  No blood that he could see--he tried to
calm himself with that observation, but the mere presence of
the discarded phone was enough to make his blood run cold. 
If it was Scully's--

But maybe it wasn't.  

There was one quick way to find out.  He pushed the memory
dial button and pressed *1.  In the dim streetlight, he
could barely make out the phone number of his own cellular
unit.

He closed his eyes for a second, fighting a wave of nausea.
Then he stood slowly and walked around the dumpster.  The
sliding door to the dumpster was shut firmly, but the smell
of rotting food and garbage stung his nostrils.  He reached
into his pocket and pulled out the pair of latex gloves he
never left home without.  Taking a deep breath, he donned
the gloves and reached for the handle.

The door slid open with a soft, rusty moan.  He pulled a
small pen flashlight from his hip pocket and shone it around
the interior of the garbage bin.  A handful of plastic bags
full of garbage lined the bottom of the dumpster, but it
didn't take long for Mulder to ascertain that the bin wasn't
hiding his partner's body.  

He slammed the door shut and stumbled to the back wall of
the restaurant. Leaning his forehead against the chilly
bricks, he gulped in cold, relatively fresh air, wishing he
could clear his mind as easily as his lungs.

After a moment, he pulled out his own cellular phone and
called the number of the New Haven Police Department.  When
Tremaine answered the phone, he didn't bother with preamble. 
"It's Mulder.  I need a crime scene unit at Garnem's Pita
Cafe."  He rattled off the address.

"Is she--?"  Tremaine's voice was wary.

Mulder closed his eyes again. "I don't know."

He waited by the dumpster, his stomach churning, not moving
from his spot by the back wall of the restaurant for fear of
further compromising the potential crime scene.  Tremaine
arrived within ten minutes, followed by a couple of crime
scene investigators.  Tremaine crossed the alley to Mulder's
side.  "Whaddya got?"

Mulder waved his hand at the cellular phone by the dumpster. 
"It's Scully's."

Tremaine spared him a quick, sympathetic glance before he
gestured for the technicians to come over.  He pointed out
hte phone and the techies went to work.  Tremaine grabbed
Mulder's arm and pulled him to the side.  "If there's
anything to find, these guys will find it, Agent Mulder. 
But maybe you'd better go handle your partner's boyfriend--
he's been calling every ten minutes, looking for answers. 
He could probably use someone to talk to--and he might be
able to shed more light on what happened.  You know it's SOP
to question the significant other--maybe he knows something
he's not telling."

Mulder stared at the detective.  

"Is that a problem?" Tremaine asked.  "I could send one of
my guys--"

Mulder shook his head quickly.  "No.  I'll go."

He walked back to his mother's car, his head spinning.  He
didn't know what to feel--terror?  Anger?  Jealousy?  Hurt?
He was too numb to feel anything at all.  Numb and stunned. 

Functioning on auto-pilot, he made the twenty-minute drive
to Benton Crane's Ponce Street apartment in just under
fifteen minutes.  He took the stairs two at a time,
concentrating on the way his heartrate increased and his
breath exploded in his lungs.  He reached the fourth floor
landing in seconds, jogged to #404 C, and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, and Mulder found himself
face to face with one of the most handsome men he'd ever
seen--something straight out of a movie, he thought, taking
in the man's perfectly chiseled features, light blue eyes
and thick, dark hair.  He was as tall as Mulder himself--
maybe an inch taller.  He was broad shouldered, narrow-
hipped and the jeans and t-shirt he wore couldn't have
camouflaged an ounce of fat--had there been an ounce of
excess fat on that body, which there wasn't.

Mulder hated him on sight.

"You're Mulder," the man said.  He even had a good voice--
low, slightly musical. 

"Crane."

Benton Crane's eyes narrowed, raking over Mulder
appraisingly.  "What's happened?  Do you know anything about
what happened to Dana?"

"We found her cellular phone behind a restaurant where she'd
conducted some interviews concerning Sarah Chandler's
disappearance."

"How do you know it's her phone?"

"My number was programmed on the memory dial."

"God knows why," Crane muttered.

Mulder narrowed his eyes, his shoulders aching with the tension
that was building and coiling in his muscles.  "I AM her
partner."

Crane cocked his head.  "Yeah, so she says."  His tone of
voice left Mulder with no illusions about Crane's opinion of
him.

Mulder gritted his teeth and glared at the man.  "Think I could
come in and ask you a few questions, Mr. Crane?"

Crane stepped back slowly and gestured toward the interior
of the apartment.  "What do you want to know?

Mulder had a million questions, but he started with the most
important one.  "Do you know anything about Scully's
disappearance that you haven't told us?"

Crane met his glare with a hard, cold expression. "If I
knew anything, I'd have told the police."

"But not me."

Crane didn't answer.

Mulder sucked in a deep breath.  "Then maybe you can tell me
this, Mr. Crane.  Why would my partner come here to
investigate this case without even telling me what she was
doing, much less asking me to back her up?"

Crane shook his head slowly, a wry smile curving his too-
perfect mouth.  "You really are more clueless than even I
imagined."

Mulder took a couple of steps toward Crane, closing in,
invading his space. "She never should've gone out there
without back up."

Crane didn't back away even an inch, meeting Mulder's
intense glare without so much as flinching.  "I know that. 
I told her that, but you know Dana."

"Yes, I do." Mulder's fists clinched at his sides.  "I know
her very well."

Crane merely smiled.  "Obviously not as well as you think."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe that if you knew Dana so well, you'd know that she
doesn't take kindly to being ditched like a bad date every
time you get the urge to go play chase the alien."

Mulder backed away from Crane, afraid of the blood-red haze
of fury coloring his vision.  Had Scully said that to this
man?  Had they talked about him behind his back?

His gut twisted, and he had to swallow the lump that rose in
his throat.  "Mr. Crane, where were you this afternoon
around 5:45 p.m.?"

For the first time, Crane's composure failed him.  His mouth
dropped open and he stared at Mulder.  "What are you
implying?"

"It's a simple question, Crane.  Where were you at 5:45
p.m.?"

"I had an afternoon class at the university."

"I assume you can confirm that--you have witnesses who can
place you at the university at that time?"

Crane nodded, anger blazing behind his blue eyes.

"And how long were you at the university after that?"

"I left at 6:30--Dana and I were planning to have dinner
together.  But she wasn't waiting for me when I got here."

"Scully has a key to your apartment?"

"Yeah--I made a copy for her the last time she came to
visit." 

Mulder couldn't allow himself to think about the
implications of that.  "Did Scully mention any other leads
she wanted to follow?  Besides the restaurant?"

Crane shook his head.  "She didn't even mention the
restaurant.  She didn't tell me all that much---"

The rattle of keys outside the door stopped Crane in mid-
sentence.  He glanced at Mulder.  They heard the dead bolt
lock disengage, and Mulder pulled his gun from his hip
holster.  

The doorknob turned.  

The door swung open.

Mulder lowered the gun, a whoosh of air escaping his lungs.

There, in the open doorway, hair disheveled and a scrape on
her chin, stood Dana Scully.


*  *  *  *  *


Scully dragged through the front door of Benton's apartment,
a weary half-grin on her face.  "Hi, honey, I'm ho--"  She
stopped in mid-sentence as she looked beyond Benton's
worried gaze and met the stormcloud eyes of her partner.

Before she could say another word, Benton enfolded her in
his embrace.  She winced as his strong arms crushed her
bruised, scraped up body.  "Dana, my God, are you okay?  

"I'm fine, Benton."

She heard a soft huffing sound from Mulder's direction, and
she gently extricated herself from Benton's bear hug to get
a better look at her partner.  Mulder's teeth were bared in
a grimace of a smile, but his eyes were void of humor.  She
sighed.

"What happened to you?" Benton asked.

"Long story."  She looked back at Benton, reading the
tension in the lines of his face.  "I'll tell you in a
minute."  She forced herself to look back at Mulder,
quailing slightly at the fierce anger thinly veiled behind
his stony mask.  "Hi."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Mulder asked, his voice
tight and slightly hoarse.

"Explanations can wait, Mulder."  Benton put his arm around
Scully, drawing her protectively against him.  

Mulder's lips pressed into a thin line.  "Mind your own
business, Crane."

"This is my business."

Scully pulled away from Benton.  "I can handle this myself,
Benton.  But you can do me a favor."

He looked at her, his gaze warm and understanding. 
"Anything."

"I could use a nice, hot bath--will you run me one?  Please?
I need to talk to Mulder."

Benton's eyes narrowed slightly.  "You sure?"

She nodded.  

He shot another glare at Mulder and walked down the hall to
the bathroom.  Scully waited until she heard water running
before she looked up at Mulder.

"I'm sorry.  I guess you're probably up to speed on what's
going on by now."

He nodded slowly, his expression still taut.  "You should
have known better than to go off on your own like this.  I
expected better judgment from you."

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment she could only stare at
him.  Then she found her voice.  "You have the gall to talk
to ME about good judgment?"

"Scully--"

"Look, maybe I should have told you about Sarah Chandler,
but the fact is, you had enough to deal with this weekend. 
I didn't want to add to your worries."

"Like hearing you MUGGED over the phone didn't add to my
worries?  Damn it, Scully, once in a lifetime was enough!"
He pushed his fingers through his hair, spiking the dark
strands.  "I sure as hell didn't need to relive that
nightmare!"

She swallowed with difficulty.  Duane Barry, she realized.
She'd been leaving a message on Mulder's answering machine
the night Duane Barry--she closed her eyes, wondering why
she hadn't made the connection.  "Mulder--"

"And then to get here and find out that you also failed to
tell me about your new boyfriend--"

She pressed her lips together in annoyance.  "Mulder, I'm
too tired to get into this now.  And it's really none of
your business--"

"The hell it's not!  What do you know about this guy?"

"He's an old friend--we've known each other for years."

"You've never told me about him."

"You don't exactly give me a catalog of your associates,
Mulder.  There are lots of things and people you don't think
I need to know about."

They glared at each other, tension buzzing between them. 
Scully's body ached from her ordeal already; standing here
facing off with her partner wasn't helping a bit.  She
looked away.  "Now if you'll excuse me--"  

He caught her arm as she tried to pass, pulling her hard
against him.  The heat of his body spread across her skin
everywhere their bodies touched.  "I don't excuse you,
Scully. You owe me more than disdain."

She stared at him, wishing she could deny his words.  But it
was true.  She DID owe him.  He'd saved her life, more that
once--and as recently as three weeks ago.  But she also knew
that she wasn't the only one in debt.  "What about what you
owe me, Mulder?  Like trust?"

He let go of her so suddenly that she almost lost her
balance.  "Trust is earned."

She went cold from head to toe.  "And I haven't earned your
trust?"

His lower lip trembled open, his hard, steady gaze
faltering.  "Scully--"

She was too tired to deal with him anymore.  Shutting her
eyes to the sight of him, she lurched toward the hallway.
She'd taken no more than a couple of steps when she bumped
into the library table behind the sofa.  The sharp corner
hit her half-healed bullet wound dead on, drawing a muffled
cry of pain from her throat.  "Damn it!"

Before she could draw a deep breath, Mulder's was by her
side, sweeping her off her injured leg and into his arms. 
Weakened by pain and the dizzying sensation of being cradled
in Mulder's embrace, Scully clung to him, pressing her face
against the hot skin of his throat, breathing in the warm,
masculine smell of him.  

He put her down on the sofa, crouching in front of her.  He
wore a stricken expression on his face, his eyes dark with
concern.  "Are you okay?"

"Just great, Mulder."  She winced slightly as his hand moved
over her injured leg.  

"You're bleeding."  Mulder stared down at the small patch of
red seeping through the dun-colored fabric of her pantsuit
trousers.  

"I guess it opened up the wound--it's not too bad." 

He looked up at her, his eyes haunted.  "It was too damned
soon, Scully."  His voice was hoarse and unsteady.  "I can't
take it."

She knew he was talking about the shooting.  She knew what
he'd gone through, trying to keep her alive with his own
hands, watching her drifting away.  She'd experienced the
same thing once in a tiny hospital in Alaska, when all that
stood between Mulder and death were two electro-shock
paddles and her dogged refusal to give up on him.

He reached up and gently brushed back a strand of hair that
had fallen forward into her eyes.  He tucked it behind her
ear, his fingers lingering there, tracing the curve of
delicate flesh and cartilage.  The power of even that light,
almost imperceptible touch stunned her--she felt utterly
aware of him, from head to toe, even though he touched only
the outer edge of her ear.  "Did they hurt you tonight? 
Should I take you to a hospital, let someone check you out?"

The tender concern in his voice washed over her, soothing
her.  Her earlier anger seemed to dissipate, leaving only a
fierce, sweet ache for him that never seemed to die, no
matter how angry he made her.  "I'm fine, Mulder."  

His lips curved in the faintest of smiles.  Like steel to a
magnet, she moved inexorably closer to him, unable to resist
his pull.  His eyes locked with hers, darkening, his lips
parting, expelling a warm breath that danced across her lips
like a kiss. 

Benton's voice sliced through the exquisite tension between
them.  "Your bath awaits."

Mulder drew back from her and rose.

Scully closed her eyes and drew a long, shaky breath,
pushing herself off the couch.  She took a step away from
the couch and almost fell as her injured leg buckled for a
moment.  But Mulder grabbed her immediately, steadying her
with a strong arm around her waist.  He gave her a look that
brooked no further argument and supported her down the
hallway to the bathroom.

A warm, fragrant cloud of sandalwood scent enveloped them in
the bathroom doorway.  Mulder released her and Scully
hobbled into the bathroom, delighting in the wonderful smell
of the bubble bath.  She crossed to the large tub and dipped
her fingers into the bubbles, testing the temperature of the
water.  It was nice and hot, and she almost shivered in
anticipation of stripping off her soiled clothes and
stepping into the bath.

"Need my help getting into the tub?"

She turned to look at Mulder.  He wore a sly grin that she
immediately recognized for what it really was--his tacit
apology for his earlier behavior.  She forgave him with her
own gesture, an arch of her eyebrow and a dry retort.  "In
your dreams."

His smile widened slightly as he correctly interpreted her
acceptance of his overture.   "More often than you know,
Scully."  He backed out of the bathroom, closing the door
behind him.

She allowed herself a little smile as she began stripping
off her clothing, knowing that she had probably let him off
way too easily but not really caring.  She knew Mulder was a
complicated, contradictory creature--it was part of what
made him the man she loved so dearly.  He could be an ass,
but he could also make her feel like the most cherished
woman in the world.  Maybe it was as simple as the fact that
of all the women in the world, SHE was the one to whom he'd
opened his guarded heart. 

After ascertaining that her reinjured leg had already
stopped bleeding, she sank into the tub and completely
immersed herself from head to toe before rising up and
slicking her wet hair back from her face.  The hot soap and
water stung her cuts and scrapes, but the pain faded
quickly, leaving her with a marvelous feeling of luxuriant
well-being.

She lazily scrubbed away the grime of the long, bizarre day.
She tried to mull over everything that had happened to her
since that morning, but her mind kept drawing her back to
Mulder and the effect his slightest touch had on her.

She knew his anger and tension hadn't been completely the
result of professional territorialism.  He was jealous of
Benton.  Jealous in a very human, male way.  She remembered
back to the hazy morning three weeks ago when she'd awakened
to find him at her bedside.  The fierce determination she'd
seen in his face had startled her--it was the same 
determination that he normally saved for his obsession with
their cases, only this time SHE was the object of his
attention.  She had sensed then that he'd come to some sort
of decision about their relationship, but after that one
morning he'd never really approached the subject, and she'd
begun to think she'd imagined things.

But after tonight, she knew that she and Mulder stood at a
crossroads, and it terrified her.  She was afraid of the
risks they would face if they took a step toward a deeper
relationship--but she was also very tempted by the potential
rewards.  

To be loved utterly, completely by Fox Mulder--she closed
her eyes, shivering despite the heat of the bath.  She could
imagine nothing more powerful, more significant in her life.
But there was always the risk that she could be sacrificing
the most satisfying relationship she'd ever had--or could
ever hope to have.

Besides, with everything facing them--the mystery of Sarah's
disappearance, all of Raven's hints about deep, dark secrets
and lies--now was not the time to explore the possibilities
that lay between her and Mulder.

But what if this was the ONLY chance they ever got?  What if
they solved all the mysteries in front of them, answered all
the questions, found the truth--only to discover that their
time had passed and what might have been could never be
again?  Could she really live with that?

She sank deeper into the tub, the answer eluding her.


*  *  *  *  *


Mulder took a deep breath and walked into the living room,
where Crane was pacing in a tight circle.  He stopped and
looked up at Mulder, his blue eyes dark with anger.  

Mulder held up his hands.  "Look, I know--"

"You are such an ass."

Mulder lowered his hands, his fists clenching by his side.

"I don't know why Dana lets you get away with the way you
treat her."

"You don't know anything about Scully and me--"

"Bullshit, Mulder.  I know all that I need to know.  I know
you ditch her and you dismiss her and you treat her like
shit and expect her to keep tagging along like a good little
partner."

Mulder swallowed convulsively.  "Scully told you that?"

"She didn't have to tell me that.  I can see what's right in
front of me."

"Scully's a big girl, Crane.  If she wanted out, she'd get
out.  I know she wouldn't appreciate her boyfriend meddling
in her job."

"You don't know anything about Dana and me, Mulder, so how
can you know what Dana would or wouldn't appreciate?" Crane
slowly closed the buffer zone between them. 

The hairs on the back of Mulder's neck rose in response to
his opponent's aggressive stance.  "Then enlighten me."

"How long have you known Dana, Mulder--six years?"

"About."

"I've known her twenty-four.  So don't try to out do me,
Mulder.  You want to compare Dana stories?  I've got a
million of them.  I gave her her first kiss.  I was the one
who held her hand and let her cry on my shoulder when her
puppy came down with Parvo and had to be put to sleep." 
Crane took another step closer to Mulder, closing the
distance to less than a foot.  "When you blew off her
theories in that stigmata case a couple of years ago, I was
the one she called to talk it through, to work through her
doubts and beliefs because YOU couldn't handle it."

Mulder felt the world shift just a bit beneath his feet, and
he grabbed the back of a nearby chair to steady himself. 
"Scully told you about that case?"

A slight smile spread over Crane's face.  "Dana tells me a
lot of things.  Like her fears about that implant she found
in the back of her neck.  Of course, she couldn't come to
you about it--you told her not to freak out about it, and
she was too afraid of appearing like a fool in your eyes to
tell you how her fears kept her awake at night until her
test results turned up negative."

Mulder felt a rumble of nausea building in his gut.  Scully
had told Crane about her fears because she was too ashamed
to come to him?  He looked away, horrified at the thought.  

"God forbid, Dana might get in the way of you and a UFO!
You'd run her down so fast, she wouldn't know what hit her. 
You take from her constantly.  When are you going to be
there for her?  Maybe it's time you took a long, hard look
at yourself, Mulder, and figure out why somebody as great as
Dana bothers to put up with your crazy, psychotic ass--"

The rattle of keys outside the door stopped Crane in mid-
sentence.  He took a step toward the door, while Mulder
found himself instinctively reaching for his holster.

The door swung open and a small, pretty woman walked into
the apartment, her chin-length, sun-streaked hair bouncing
gently with each energetic step.  Her face lit up when her
eyes fell on Crane.  "Sweetheart, if I had to sit through
ONE MORE dry tax law lecture, I think I'd have slit my
wrists!"  She wrapped her arms around him.  "Did you miss
me?"  She kissed him hard and long.

Mulder's mouth fell open, at first with indignation at
Crane's blatant infidelity to Scully, then with dawning
realization that he'd made a bigger fool of himself than
he'd originally thought.

The woman gave Crane one more long, thorough kiss, then 
looked over at Mulder as if she'd just that moment realized 
there was a stranger in her living room.  

She cocked her head  and gave him a look that reminded 
him for all the world of Scully in her most skeptical mode. 

"And you are?"

Mulder blinked at the woman in Crane's arms, surprised by
both her sudden arrival and her query.  When he didn't
answer right away, her other eyebrow arched.  "Well?" 

Crane turned to look at Mulder, sliding his arm possessively
around the woman's shoulders.  The look on his face left
Mulder with no doubt that Scully's "old friend" had
purposefully led Mulder astray about the nature of the
relationship between them.  "Mulder, this is my fiance,
Lorna Youngs.  Lorna, that's Fox Mulder."

Lorna smiled, although there was a little gleam in her eyes
that looked less than friendly.  "Dana's Mulder?"  Her blue
eyes swept over him, head to foot.  "Funny, I always got the
impression you were bigger and better looking."

She continued to smile, so he wasn't sure if she was joking
or not.  He ventured a half smile of his own.  "How kind of
you to say so."

"Doone?"  

Mulder turned at the sound of his partner's voice behind
him, and his breath caught in his throat.  Scully wore a
pale lavender silk robe that emphasized every dip and curve
of her body, and her hair lay in dark red tangles around her
pale face.  Her eyes were bright with happiness and a huge
smile lit up her face as she limped across the room toward
them.  Mulder felt a keen twinge of disappointment when she
walked past him to fling herself in the outstretched arms of
Lorna Youngs. 

Just once, he thought, I want to make her smile like that.  

"Doone, I thought you were in Boston!"  

Lorna gave Scully a playful shove.  "Look at you, coming to 
town to put the moves on my man while I was away!  Starbuck,
you ignorant slut!"

Scully chuckled.  "Unh-unh, Doone--Huck's all yours.  Big
guy like that's too expensive to clothe and feed!"

Lorna tipped Scully's chin up, frowning at the little scrape
she saw there.  "What happened to you?"

"Zigged when I should've zagged."

"Knowing Dana, this is probably a long story," Crane said.

"Which we can hear later," Lorna wrapped her arm around 
Crane's waist as if she couldn't bear to be separated from
him for a moment.  "Since your place is occupado for the
night--what say we go to my apartment and...catch up?"  She
looked up at her fiance, an almost predatory gleam in her
eyes.

Crane dragged his eyes away from his fiance long enough to 
pin Mulder with a meaningful glare.  "I don't know, Lorna--
Mulder here's been acting like a real ass."

Lorna shrugged.  "Like that's something new?"

Mulder pressed his lips together in annoyance, feeling like
the butt of a joke.  Just how much HAD Scully told these
people about him?  He shot his partner a glare, which she
returned with a placid Mona Lisa half-smile, obviously amused 
by his discomfort.

Crane looked uncertain.  "I don't know--"

"Dana can whip his ass," Lorna murmured, just loud enough to
be certain that Mulder could hear her.  She looked over her
shoulder, her deep blue eyes bright with wicked amusement.  
"Lovely meeting you...Fox."

"It's been real for me, too."  Mulder waggled his fingers at
her. 

Lorna chuckled and stood on tiptoes to whisper something in
Crane's ear.  His eyes widened slightly, and he grabbed his
keys from the table by the door.  "There's food in the
fridge, videos in the cabinet, and you know where the
bathroom is.  See you around."  

Lorna laughed and opened the door for him.  Seconds later,
the door closed behind them, and silence swallowed the
apartment.

Mulder broke the quiet with a long sigh.  "Hurricane Lorna,"
he murmured.

"She IS a little larger than life," Scully agreed.  

He looked at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and
the tender bruising that was beginning to show around her
mouth, and his earlier irritation melted away.  He crossed to
her, touching the corner of her mouth with the tip of his 
finger.  "Gag?"

Her eyes glowed like sapphires as she looked up at him.  She
nodded.

He put one finger beneath her chin and lifted her face so he
could get a better look at the scrape on her chin.  "When
you fell the first time?"

"Yes."

Sliding his hands over her shoulders, he gently turned her
around so that her back was to him.  He felt a little shiver
run through her, and his body tightened in response.  He
forced himself to breathe deeply and evenly as he lifted her
hair and ran his fingertips over the back of her skull,
tracing the lump he found there.  "Blackjack?"

"That's my guess."

He closed his eyes, his whole being protesting the treatment
she'd suffered.  "Are you sure they didn't hurt you
otherwise, Scully?  They didn't--?"

The unspoken question hung between them for a second.  Then
Scully turned around quickly, her body close to his.  He
opened his eyes to meet her reasuring gaze.  "They didn't
touch me that way."

He took a ragged breath.  "How did you get away?"

"They let me go."

He arched one eyebrow, surprised.  

She stepped away from him, nodding slightly toward the sofa.
He followed and sat next to her, close enough that their
legs and shoulders touched. She shifted, leaning against
him, and instinctively he lifted his arm around her
shoulder, drawing her into a comforting embrace.  She rested
her head against his cheek.  "I'm pretty sure that two
different groups with two different agendas were involved."

"Two?"

She told him what had happened to her, from the initial blow
to the back of her skull to the bizarre ride in the van with
the mysterious Raven to the moment when the van stopped and
she was left at the side of the road to free herself of her
bindings.  To her surprise, she'd found her car parked
nearby--her captors had apparently brought it along with
them to make sure she had a way home after her ordeal. 

When she was through, Mulder sat in stunned silence for a
moment, letting all that she'd told him sink in.  Then he
said, "Did she give you any indication how Sarah Chandler
might be able to lead us to the truth about Samantha?"

Scully shook her head, her damp hair tickling his chin.  "We
don't know that any of it is true, Mulder."  She drew away
from him, leaning forward to pick up the file folder that
lay on the coffee table.  It was the information she'd
obtained from the New Haven police concerning Sarah
Chandler's disappearance. "I guess you've been through this
file?"

He nodded.  "How much do you know about the missing years of
your friend's life?"

"Not much.  Sarah herself didn't really remember much, only
bits and pieces--snippets of conversation, fragments of
memories--"  Scully flipped open the folder, absently
pushing back a tangle of hair that fell into her face.  "She
didn't tell me much--Anne Milliken let me look at a
scrapbook she kept, but even that was more about her
impressions than what she actually remembered--or thought
she remembered."

Mulder shook his head slightly, amazed at Scully's endless
capacity for skepticism, even in the face of overwhelming
evidence.  "You think her recovered memories may be nothing
more than confabulation?"

"It's a possibility, Mulder.  Research has shown--"

He held up his hand.  "I know."

She glanced at him.  "I think we're asking the wrong
questions here, anyway."

"And what would the right question be?"

"Why did Sarah Chandler meet with our British friend?"


*  *  *  *  *


After almost an hour of going rounds with all the evidence
they had to date, Scully's head was beginning to hurt.  She
lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers against
the burgeoning ache.

Mulder sat back from his hunched position over the file
folder and looked at her, concern in his hazel gray eyes. 
"Headache?"

She nodded.  "Long day."

"Why don't you go to bed--get some sleep.  I'm going to go
over this file one more time--"

"No, I'm okay.  I'm too wired to sleep right now.  I'll see
if Benton has some aspirin."  She went into the kitchen and
searched the cabinets until she found a bottle of
acetaminophen.  She downed a couple of tablets with a glass
of water, then crossed to the refrigerator, realizing that
her stomach was growling.  "Did you have any supper?" she
called to Mulder.

"No--I was too busy trying to find you." 

She took some sliced turkey and a jar of brown mustard and
started making a couple of sandwiches for her and Mulder. 
While she was spreading mustard on the bread, Mulder
shuffled into the kitchen.  He'd kicked off his shoes and
was down to a plain white t-shirt and jeans--a good look for
him, she thought, watching him surreptitiously while he
poured them a couple of glasses of tea.  

"So, you and this guy Crane go way back?" he asked.

"Lorna, too.  We're all Navy brats."

He nodded as if that explained everything.  She held back a
smile, reading his body language and the vaguely mortified
expression on his face.  He was embarrassed by his actions
tonight--as well he should be.  He'd assumed things about
her and Benton that he now knew to be utterly false--but not
before he'd made a fool of himself.

But she didn't really have room to judge.  She had wrestled
with her own demons concerning Mulder and his catnip
effect on women, and more than once she'd come out looking
like an idiot, too.  

The bottom line was, no matter how you tried to define it,
their relationship was intense and exclusive.  There was no
room for other women or other men.  Unfortunately, the
situation also spawned an incredible amount of sexual
frustration.

She sighed and slapped the second sandwich together with a
little more force than necessary.  Mulder's head turned and
he pinned her with a questioning gaze.

She squirmed slightly under his scrutiny.  "Lorna, Benton
and I met when I was ten and they were both twelve.  We were
in San Diego then, and both Benton and Lorna were new to the
base. I met Benton first--fishing.  He was the only one
catching any fish that day.  I was SO jealous."  She smiled
at the memory.  "Benton showed me his secret--it was all in
how you hooked the worm."

Mulder's eyebrows rose slightly.  "I could've told you
that."

She shot him a look that made him chuckle.  "Benton started
taking me fishing whenever possible.  He didn't seem to mind
doing boy things with me like my brothers and the other boys
seemed to.  He didn't make fun of me or call me 'Freckles'
or anything that used to give the other brats such joy."  

She glanced at Mulder, realizing something for the first
time.  One of the reasons she'd grown so attached to Mulder
so quickly was that he, like Benton, had never treated her
as if she didn't have a right to be there by his side.  He'd
treated her like an equal partner, even during his bout with
over-protectiveness right after she'd returned to the X-
Files after Duane Barry had abducted her.  

"When Lorna's family moved on base, she was subjected to the
same teasing I had gone through--only it was maybe worse for
her, because believe me, red hair and freckles don't have a
THING on looking like Patty Duke!"

Mulder chuckled softly.  "She does sort of look like Patty
Duke, doesn't she?"

Scully nodded.  "Some of the kids followed her around,
singing that awful song from the Patty Duke Show--you know,
'Cousins...identical cousins...'"

Mulder laughed aloud.  "Oh, God, poor Lorna!"

"She never let them get to her, though."  Scully smiled,
remembering how her tough-as-nails friend had always found a
way to turn the table on her tormenters.  "She made a point
of memorizing the whole theme song, and the next time they
did that, she sang the rest for them until they realized
they'd been trumped and slinked away like the little rats
they were."

"So, she and Crane have been sweethearts since childhood?"

Scully shook her head.  "No, they were always just friends,
although I always thought they were made for each other. 
They stayed friends even after their families were
transferred away from each other.  They kept in touch
through college, through starting their careers--Lorna saw
Benton through a bad bout with depression after his mother
died, and Benton helped Lorna when her fiance jilted her the
day before her wedding.  But always just as friends."

"So what happened--one day they woke up and realized they
were in love?"  Mulder took the sandwich she handed him and
passed her a glass of tea in return.  

She took her sandwich and tea to the kitchen table and sat. 
"A year ago, Lorna was involved in a horrible car accident. 
She had a massive skull fracture and the doctors weren't
sure she'd live."

"So that was the friend you were so worried about."  Mulder
sat across from her and took a bite of his sandwich.

Scully nodded.  "She was in a coma for almost a week, and
Benton never left her side.  He said he realized then, when
he was so close to losing her, that all those years they had
been looking past each other for the perfect soul mate who
was actually right in front of them.  When she came out of
her coma, he didn't waste any more time."  She smiled. 
"They're getting married in August."

She waited for Mulder to make the expectable smart-alecky
remark.  But he just took a sip of tea and looked at her
over the rim of his glass.  "Friends make the best lovers,
they say."

She stared back at him, well aware of the implications of
the words he'd just uttered.  Tension coiled between them,
hot and sweet.  Seconds passed into moments as their eyes
locked, dared, pleaded....

Aching with regret, Scully broke their gaze, looking down at
the half eaten sandwich in front of her.  No matter how
delicious the temptation to explore the possibilities of
loving Fox Mulder, she knew that finding Sarah and
uncovering a lifetime of lies and secrets had to come first.

"Maybe we should go over the casefile one more time--there
could be something we missed, some connection to the man
Sarah met at Garnem's."

"I've been thinking about that."  Mulder washed down the
last bite of sandwich with his tea and carried his plate to
the sink.  He turned on the water and rinsed the plate.  "We
know that Mr. Manners is tied in with Cancerman and his
cronies.  And they were all involved with my father during
his days at the State Department."

"Mulder, we still don't really know how much of a
connection--"

"I know, Scully."  Mulder put the plate in the drain rack
and turned to look at her.  "I think that maybe my mother
knows more than she's ever told me.  I think you and I
should go see my mother tomorrow."

Scully frowned.  "Are you sure you want her involved?  She's
been through so much."

"I know, but I think this would be something that would give
her a chance to atone for some of her past mistakes." 
Mulder smiled slightly.  "Mom and I had a good talk today. 
I think she's ready to face the past."

Scully carried her own plate to the sink.  Mulder shifted
slightly to let her dump the remains of her dinner down the
garbage disposal and rinse her plate.  

He leaned in slightly, his breath disturbing the hair that
curled at her temple.  "Are YOU ready to face the past,
Scully?"

She looked up, met his intense gaze.

"You told me that Raven said you have to unlock your
memories of the time you were away.  Can you do that?  Can
you face it?"

She felt the overwhelming urge to fling herself into his
arms and let him hold her, shield her from her fears and her
doubts.  But instead, she lifted her chin a fraction and let
the gentle strength of his gaze bolster her.  "I can face
anything if it means we can find the answers we're looking
for, Mulder."

He smiled slightly, cupping her cheek for a moment before he
dropped his hand to his side and stepped away.  "Let's take
one more look at the file," he suggested.

She followed him back into the living room.

End of #4.