TITLE: Mindset
AUTHOR: Flynn
CLASSIFICATION: S, UST
KEYWORDS: None
E-MAIL ADDRESS: flyn121@yahoo.com 
Website: www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/
CATEGORY: Casefile, 'shipper- and Noromo-friendly
DATE: September 10, 2000
DISTRIBUTION: Whoever wants it, just ask. I share. Just keep my
headers, et al.
SPOILER WARNING: FTF; anything up through midpoint, S6. 
RATING: PG for language, violence. 
FEEDBACK: Please. I ask for so little.
SUMMARY: While working two different cases, each agent comes to the
conclusion that their partnership is the most important thing in their lives. 
DISCLAIMER: My last name is not Carter. 

Author's note: This was my outlet while waiting for S7 to air, so the time
frame is apropos to that. It was also written in reaction to a statement
made in a magazine, to wit: "They should do it and get it over with." I
found the concept repulsive. Stands to reason that sharing a kiss would not
necessarily lead to a romp in the sack. Hope someone agrees with me. 

**This was a first-attempt, and therefore has had limited editing.

Special thanks to my friend Christine, for not laughing at me when I asked
if she could read one of my pieces. That was about fifteen pieces ago. <g>



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 1
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday, September 26

The cafeteria was almost empty. That wasn't surprising for a Saturday.
Looking around at the dozen or so people around him, Fox Mulder
couldn't help but wonder whose toes they had stepped on to have pulled
weekend duty. It wasn't that he minded being there; truth be told, he could
oftentimes be found in his basement office in what should have been his
off-hours. But the faces around him were not immediately familiar, and that
meant they did not normally spend their Saturdays there. It couldn't be that
they had nothing better to do. The weather was fine out, though a little hot;
if nothing else, the football season was off to a promising start. No, these
good people had no doubt been caught by the same bureaucratic hand that
had brought his partner down: the gods of Establishment demanded their
pound of flesh, and that sacrifice was Paperwork.

"Here. One large ice-tea, with lemon, extra sweet." A tall white cup
appeared in front of his face and plunked itself down on the table before
him. Beside him, Dana Scully dropped into her chair with a soft grunt. Her
wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the top of her head, looking for all
the world like eyes peering outward from their nest of red hair. He nodded
thoughtfully as he took the Styrofoam cup. She followed his gaze
curiously, a wry smirk disfiguring her mouth. "Yeah, I see Pendergast over
there. We must not be the only ones to let the paper trail fall by the
wayside." She lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, trying to ease
the tension out of her stiff muscle, then carefully palmed her eyes. 

Mulder took a hefty swig of the tea and wiped his mouth with the back of a
hand. "How's the head?" he asked.

She squinted a moment, then sighed irritably. "It's all right. I just need
some coffee. Go on. You were telling me something about Oxford."

He settled back in his chair with a sheepish grin. "It wasn't all that
interesting." Some of his drink slopped over the lip of the cup and dribbled
down the front of his gray T-shirt. He quickly wiped it away. Her gaze was
unswerving, and he half-shrugged. "The Upper-classman air show, they
called it. We'd steal all the seniors' underwear and hang it on a line out the
class Chamberlain's office window." Scully's blue eyes narrowed almost
imperceptibly, and his grin widened. "Hey, it was boring. All those white
boxers hanging limp in the air. Sort of a cultural statement, now that I think
about it. I had to do something to break the monotony."

Scully took a careful sip of coffee, holding his gaze effortlessly over the rim
of her cup. "And what manner did you choose to demonstrate your Yankee
ingenuity? They don't have a Frederick's of Hollywood over there, do
they? Victoria's Secret, maybe?"

Mulder sat up a little straighter and gestured with a forefinger for
emphasis. "No, but that would have been good too."

She sighed patiently. "So instead you used . . . ?"

He hid his smile behind his cup. "Tie dye. None of that patriotic stuff. After
all, their national colors are the same as ours. Who'd get the joke? No, I
got really creative. Puke green and red, purple with orange the color of
life-savers . . . hey, do you know how hard it is to dissolve that stuff in tap
water? To say nothing of getting it off my hands. Stupid roommate lost the
spoon on the way back to the dorm."

At that Scully smiled. "Okay, so they figured out sooner or later who the
culprit was. What did they do to get back at you? Steal your own
underwear?" He shrugged and dropped his gaze in mock-humility. When
he didn't answer, she leaned closer and tried to catch his eye. "They didn't,
did they?"

He winced as he took another swig. "What the British lack in ingenuity,
they make up for in brutality. Besides swiping my shorts, they had the
laundry staff starch the pants of all the underclassmen. That went on for a
month. God, those long lectures were murder."

She struggled not to laugh. "I hope you learned your lesson."

He nodded quickly. "Damn straight. The next year I remembered to bring a
big wooden spoon, and I wore about six pairs of surgical gloves. My hands
were pristine. You woulda been proud of me."

At that, Scully couldn't help but laugh. "I doubt that," she quipped,
giggling. "I hope you don't ever get any ideas about Skinner. Something
tells me he'd make the Oxford upper-classmen look like the Mormon
Tabernacle Choir."

He waved her away. "Never touch the underwear of a Marine. That's
where I personally draw the line."

They looked up as a handful of people made a noisy entrance. Mulder
shifted in his chair and nodded a non-committal greeting. More unfamiliars. 

"Hey, Skullbone!" one of the newcomers shouted across the room. She
looked up, startled. A round, gray-haired agent waved as he approached
their table. "Happy birthday, punk. Seen any good livers lately? I'm looking
to replace mine soon, and I'm trolling for candidates."

Livers again. Would Mulder ever hear the end of that one? The joke had
been funny for about the first minute and a half, but after so many years the
humor was wearing thin. He grimaced as he looked to his partner. To his
surprise, she was pushing herself to her feet and reaching out to shake the
agent's hand. A definite smile had lit her face, and a moment of panic made
his gut tighten. <Happy birthday. You didn't forget it again, did you?
What month is this - September? Wait, isn't her birthday in February?> 

The agent laughed as he caught her up in a bearhug. He was taller than
Scully - who wasn't? - but shorter than Mulder by a few inches. Looked to
be about sixty. Couldn't be an old suitor, unless he was the kind who was
*too* old. No, that wasn't like her. Must be an instructor, or maybe a
friend of the family.

After a long hug Scully managed to disengage herself. Her face glowed
with pleasure as she turned back to Mulder, slowly rising beside her. "Jack,
this is my partner, Fox Mulder. This is Jack Larson, one of the forensics
guys from Quantico. One of my instructors."

Larson turned with a broad smile. "The best of her instructors, but she'll
never admit it." He caught his hand in a firm shake - maybe a little too firm.
Larson's eyes narrowed as he considered Mulder, trying not to wince as he
withdrew his hand. His brow furrowed a little. "Yeah, I've heard of you.
Made a splash in the BS unit a coupla years ago. Seems there was another
name for you, wasn't there? What was it? Something dumb. Well, I guess it
doesn't matter." He clapped Scully on the shoulder as he drew a chair up
between them, forcing Mulder to give way. "What's got you two chained
to the weekend oar? Don't tell me you've fallen behind on your work.
Mulder, have you polluted my ace student? Say the word, Skullbone, and
I'll have your assignments changed in a heartbeat. We can always use
someone good over in the labs. You give much thought to teaching? You'd
be good at it."

Scully smiled patiently. "Yes, I have. I did. I was. You must have been
reassigned yourself." She caught Mulder's eye. "I taught at the Academy a
while. An opening came up back here, so I took it. I'm not ready to be
sedentary just yet."

The older man scowled and made a sound like a growling cat. "Oh, that
stings! When did you develop this attitude, Scully? Is it the company you
keep?" He looked at Mulder in mock disapproval. "Watch it, young man. I
carry a gun, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Mulder allowed himself a wry smile. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied,
slouching back in his chair. 

Larson turned back to Scully and studied her intently. "You look good,
kid. Too bad you can't go out and play with the *good* children. Let this
be a lesson." He jerked his head at Mulder. "This the guy you spend all
your time with? Better watch it, you're gonna end up a spinster married to
your job. Better to get back to the Academy. At least you don't get shot at there."

Scully shrugged. "Wasn't it you who told me the best agents are single
anyway? Who has time for two lives?"

Larson drew his lip back in a sneer. "Hey, I know whereof I speak. Wife
left me, kids grew up and moved away, and what am I left with? My
partner. Fine with me, but his wife doesn't understand why I hang around
all the time."

"You won't be doing that for much longer," a new voice said. A younger
agent was approaching, carefully holding two brimming cups before him.
"Here, take these. My hands are burning."

Larson smirked as he reached for the coffee. "Wimp. Matt, this is Dana
Scully. Old friend. Not that she looks it. Matt Tripp, my partner of fifteen
years. Matt, this is her side-kick, Mulder. I didn't get the first name, sorry."

Scully caught his amused look. "Fox. Fox Mulder."

Tripp frowned as he sat down, evidently running the name through his
mind, searching for a match. "Mulder. Mulder. Rings a bell. Odd name,
Fox. I thought only my people had names like that."

Scully looked at him blankly, and Larson chuckled. "His family's Indian
going way back. So what do we call you, anyway? Foxy?"

Mulder grunted softly. "Not if you expect me to answer you."

"Okay, Mulder it is. Skullbone, you wanna step over here with me? Seeing
you has put me in a mood."

She shrugged and nodded. As she rose to follow him, Mulder leaned close
and whispered, "Don't be gone long, dear - we still have to finish paying
the bills." Her look was stern, and he smiled.

Tripp shrugged as he blew over his coffee to cool it. "I don't know how he
manages it," he muttered. "I hope he didn't offend you. He doesn't mean
to be an ass."

Mulder shook his head. "Takes a lot more than that to offend me, Agent
Tripp. That comment you made, though - am I to take it that you've
already planned the demise of your partner, or do you have something else
in mind?"

Tripp's smile became fixed. "No, nothing as overtly sinister as that. I can't
afford the prison time. Jack's retiring next month. Doesn't look it, does he?
We've been partners since I graduated. Guess I'm gonna be the one
breaking in a rookie this time."

Mulder swirled his tea thoughtfully. "It isn't so bad," he replied. "Just be
prepared to be second-guessed at every turn. What's your field - science?
At least it's concrete."

Tripp glanced across the room to his partner, who was spinning Scully
around as if the cafeteria had suddenly become a dance floor. Her auburn
hair was a red halo around her head, her laughter light and clear. "Yeah.
Jack's mentioned your partner from time to time. Isn't that her field, too?"

"What, concrete? Naw, Scully's a scientist through and through."

Tripp nodded contemplatively. "She's a scientist. That must make you the
behavioralist. Yeah, I have heard of you. Got some real unconventional
theories about what makes some people tick. I like that. Conventions get boring."

Mulder grunted as he pushed himself back up in his chair. "Yeah, especially
the ones thrown by the Republicans," he replied, setting aside his empty
cup. "Sorry to leave you here alone, but our ten minutes were up about half
an hour ago. I'd better go break up Fred and Ginger, or we're never going
to make it home tonight. Excuse me." 

Without waiting for a response, Mulder rose and turned away. Larson had
danced her around the room and was approaching the double exit doors.
An intercept course wasn't easy to navigate through all the empty chairs,
especially since with his eyes on the couple, Mulder wasn't exactly
watching where he was going. Larson seemed to know what he was doing,
at least the dancing part. They were talking, that much was clear, but what
was being said he could only guess. Scully was smiling, but it seemed to be
as much with embarrassment as anything else. The man was infatuated with
her, but it didn't seem to be reciprocated. Or was it? No, he'd known her
long enough, he should be able to tell if she was getting any thrill out of
being spun around like a top.

Shoving the last few chairs aside, Mulder made it to the couple and
gracefully caught Scully away. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked, pulling her
close for a dip. Larson bowed his head in consent as he stepped back.
"Sorry to break up the fun, but we have work to finish. Coming, dear?"

Scully shrugged apologetically. "Gotta go, Jack. Gimme a call some time."
She allowed Mulder to turn her away, then firmly pushed him away.

He eyed her playfully. "What kind of professor did you say he was?"

She scowled in mock disbelief. "Don't tell me you never heard of the
Dancing Doctor? Foxtrot and forensics? Mulder, I'm shocked. What you
saw in there - that was on the final."

His eyebrows rose at that. "I can believe that. Does make me wonder about
the extra credit assignment though." She said nothing, merely punched the
elevator call button and then folded her arms. He sidled up to her and
elbowed her gently. "C'mon, how come you never danced with me? I got
rhythm, sort of."

She shot him a stern look as the lift doors opened. "Shut up and get in the
elevator, Mulder."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 2 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully spent the evening catching up on domestic chores. Of late there had
been few assignments that required them to travel, and so those tasks were
neither numerous nor complicated. She watched the news, then switched
off the TV and prepared for bed. Maybe she would read for a while. Where
was that casefile Mulder had asked her to review? Hell, she'd left it in the
living room, on the desk beside her computer. With a little sigh she
stretched out on the bed. She would rest there for just a minute, then get
up and get the file. Some case about a kid who heard voices. One shrink
thought it was schizophrenia, another equivocated, and of course Mulder
thought it was communications from beyond the grave or some such thing.
Hey, they had seen stranger things. She had learned to give him the benefit
of the doubt.

The ringing phone jarred her out of a sound sleep. She sat up with a gasp,
for a moment lost in the darkness. The alarm clock beside her read 2:10
am. Dazed, she fumbled for the lamp, then reached for the phone. At this
hour it was never good news.

"Scully? You'd better get dressed."

Something in the tone told her not to doubt him. "Mulder, what is it?"

He hesitated for just an instant, but it might just as well have been an hour.
"Your friend, Jack. He's been killed." Stunned, she said nothing. "Scully,
get dressed. I'm on my way to get you."

Numb, she muttered a response and hung up the phone. For a moment she
just sat there, her mind whirling. They had just danced. He had made her
laugh. Then Mulder's words returned in a rush, and she reached for the
clothes thrown across the foot of the bed.

The expected knock came within minutes. He had evidently called from the
road, allowing her little time to think. She let him in, then returned to her
room for her wallet. Turning, she was surprised to find him standing in the
doorway. They were no stranger to nighttime crime scenes, and he almost
always waited for her in the kitchen. 

His eyes were full of concern as he studied her. "What is it?" she asked. 

He almost caught her arm but stopped himself. "Are you all right?" he
asked quietly.

She grunted as she brushed past him. "Of course. Listen, I appreciate your
concern, but I'm not about to fall apart. You should know that better than
anyone. What happened to Jack?"

He nodded as he fell back a step. "He and Tripp were on their way home
when they were broadsided. Hit and run, literally. The guy took off on
foot, so he must not be hurt too bad. There were two eye-witnesses, and
the local cops are working on gathering physical evidence." Taking her
keys, he locked the front door after them, then pocketed them and turned
with her down the hall. "Jack was driving. Killed on impact. Tripp's been
Lifeflighted to the trauma center here in Georgetown."

Nothing more was said. Nothing more was necessary. No one was put on a
helicopter unless they were in bad shape. Scully opened the car door and
slid in beside him. "How did you hear about it?" she asked as he gunned
the motor.

Mulder shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Had the scanner on. You know, just
keeping an ear to the ground. As soon as it came over, I was out the door."

She nodded silently. He didn't exactly live down the road from her.
Assuming it was reported soon after it occurred, that put the accident time
no later than 1:30.

Puzzled, she glanced at her partner. "Mulder, why are we going there? If
the local authorities have the investigation in hand, they aren't going to
appreciate the FBI running in and taking over." When he didn't answer, she
sighed impatiently. "What's the case? What's the X-File?"

He gave her a lingering glance. "We aren't going in any official capacity,"
he said quietly. "Tripp's wife collapsed at the news. They need someone to
ID the . . . to ID Larson."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The accident scene was sprawled out in the middle of a broad intersection.
Scully shuddered as she took in the sight. The mangled cars. A figure
slumped in the roadway, covered with a yellow tarp. Shattered glass
everywhere. Steeling herself, she approached one of the officers and drew
her ID. He shook his head, unimpressed. "Pardon me, ma'am," he said,
"but the FBI has no jurisdiction over this crime scene. You'll have to wait
back there with the press."

Scully shrugged off his clinging hand. "I'm here to identify the victim," she
replied in her best spare-me-the-bullshit voice. "He was a colleague. Now
excuse me." 

She spared him no more energy, but hurried to the tarp and crouched
down. Taking a latex glove out of a pocket, she slipped it on and carefully
drew back a corner of the plastic. She was prepared, of course, for what
she saw. She'd seen accident victims before, to say nothing of the mutilated
bodies of murder victims; she had done countless autopsies, and had herself
used lethal force in the course of her duties. Not so long ago she had
identified what was, in effect, a headless corpse in Mulder's apartment, and
then quietly declared it to be the body of her own partner and friend. In
truth, however, she could not remember seeing any friend quite like this.
This was no subterfuge intended to save their collective asses. This inert
form lying at her feet - she had danced with him just hours ago. He had
teased her for the company she kept. For working with a man who was
arguably a genius but who also bore the nickname of *Spooky*. 

He had liked her.

Her hands were steady as she replaced the tarp and pushed herself to her
feet. What blessings would her priest offer? Was Larson even Catholic?
She started to cross herself, but stopped with her hand suspended in mid-
air. Not with so much going on around her - so many prying eyes. Not with
Mulder watching. They could talk about almost anything, but not that. He
had his faith, but it was not in religion. Resolute, she lifted her chin and
stepped back, then turned on her heel.

He was watching her, of course, as he leaned against the car, his hands
shoved in his pockets. His expression was pensive. She slowed as she
approached the surly cop. Almost reluctantly he took her name and badge
number. Could she be reached at the main offices in DC? Yes, she replied;
she'd be there Monday morning.

Mulder lifted his chin at her approach. "Let's go," she said quietly as she
passed him. He turned without a word.

They drove back to her neighborhood in silence. He drew the car up before
her building and set it in neutral, then gave her a searching look. 

Scully shook her head before he could speak. "There's nothing wrong with
me, Mulder."

He stared blankly at her outstretched hand. "What?"

Her brows furrowed slightly. "You still have my keys. Can I have them back?"

Chagrined, he dug in a pocket and produced them. "Sorry," he murmured,
handing them over. 

She nodded as she started to get out, then stopped and looked back.
"You're so worried about me - are *you* all right?"

He half-smiled ruefully. "Yeah. Just thinking." He sighed and looked past
her to the darkness. "The crazy things we've seen, all the shots we've
taken and walked away from. Larson and Tripp must've seen their share of
crap. This just doesn't make any sense."

Scully nodded. "I know," she murmured. "All the things we think we have
control over, and then something like this happens. Makes you realize
you're hanging on for dear life just like everyone else." His focus shortened
to her face again and he nodded slowly. Clutching the keys in her hand, she
opened the car door and got out. "Good night, Mulder." She started to
swing the heavy door shut, then caught it. Without looking at him, she
quietly said, "Give me a call when you get home, okay?"

He smiled and nodded. <She's thinking it too,> he thought as he pulled
away. <Those guys were partners for fifteen years? Jesus, I don't want to
do this job without her.>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That stayed with him through the rest of the night, nagging at him through
the few hours he managed to sleep, lying like a sour film over his thoughts
when he woke. Inter-personal relationships had never been his strong suit.
That's what made his association with Scully so unique: she didn't seem to
care about his blind spots. To have to start over again with someone new,
setting the boundaries, all that bullshit that people did to each other - the
thought made him wince. 

He supposed at this point he took everything for granted. How many times
had they seen one another in a hospital bed? They had always made it back,
whole. They might have occasionally doubted themselves, but rarely each
other. The very essence of partners.

But now this. Something as mundane as a car accident might put an end to
what aliens or government conspiracies could not. You could wear kevlar
vests. You could arm yourself with a sub-machine gun cut down to fit in a
pack of playing cards, or deck yourself out like that Hannibal Lector guy,
wearing blades hidden all over your body. What good did it do when that
guy driving toward you was drunk out of his skull? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral was Wednesday. It was always difficult, attending the service
of a colleague, but someone from the Bureau made the loss all the more
real. No one liked to think of their own end, about the void left in the
office, in the lives of the agents around them. Especially in the lives of their
family.

Isn't it somehow worse if there was no family, Scully thought to herself.
Surrounded by dozens of federal officers, each of whom were dressed in
black, she wondered how many were like Larson, and how many had
decided as Tripp had. Marriage and a family - some agents did find it possible.

Word had reached them earlier that day: Tripp was still in serious condition
and semi-comatose, but he was breathing on his own now. His wife refused
to leave his side, even for the funeral of his best friend. Scully couldn't
blame her for that. She'd been there a few times herself, praying to God
and to the laws of science that *her* loved one would survive, would pull
through and be whole again. Sometimes her prayers were answered. *She*
had prevailed over illness and injury. So had Mulder. But sometimes her
prayers hadn't been answered. Her father. Her sister. Penny Northern. She
closed her eyes and shivered despite the heat.

The service was simple and straight-forward. When it was over, a handful
of cars trailed the hearse to the cemetery. Respect demanded Scully go too.
There was a carpool of sorts, but it was soon filled. She rode with Skinner. 

The late-afternoon sun made her black suit uncomfortably warm, and she
couldn't help but fidget in her seat. Mulder had asked if she wanted him to
accompany her, but she had declined and he hadn't questioned it. It wasn't
merely because he hadn't known Larson; deep down, she didn't want to
associate him with the very concept of funerals. As trying as he could be,
as unconventional and at times irritatingly spontaneous, he had come to
mean more to her than anyone else in her life. The possibility of losing that
friendship was not one she wanted to contemplate.

The final prayers were said and the service came to a close. Scully rose and
filed after the others back to the cars. In the distance she saw a familiar
figure leaning against a large tree, and she felt her spirits lift a little. He
tipped his head forward and regarded her over the tops of his sunglasses.
Pearls of sweat dotted his forehead, and a few strands of dark hair were
matted against his skin. Sunflower shells were scattered about his feet.

At her approach he held out his hand, palm up. "Seed?"

Smiling, she took one. "I thought you weren't coming."

He shrugged one shoulder. "I got bored. Besides, the party's over.
Everyone's going home." He nodded to a distant figure. "I see Skinner
made it, too."

She followed his gaze. "Yeah, I came out with him. I didn't realize he
knew Jack."

Mulder grunted softly. "I think there's a lot about Skinner we don't know."

Scully sighed and folded her arms. "I don't see many shells. You must not
have been waiting for long."

He shoved himself away from the tree. "Figured you might need a ride."

She frowned. "How would you know that?" He shrugged again, a little
smile pulling at his eyes. Realization was quick to dawn, and her brows
furrowed again. "Oh, Mulder. You didn't."

His smile broadened a little. "He was an agent. He was a friend of yours. It
made sense. Besides, I think everyone should contemplate their own
mortality once in a while. I knew you'd be doing it. Couldn't leave you
*all* alone."

As he spoke, they turned and headed for his car, parked in a distant puddle
of shade. "You hear about Tripp?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah." He glanced at her when she fell silent and for a while
left her to her thoughts. No, she was too silent, her eyes too sad. He had to
say something. "I, uh, I think I know how you feel, Scully. Listen, they
were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It could have been anyone."

No, that was the wrong damn thing to say. He saw her wince and silently
cursed himself for putting his foot in it. "You're right there," she replied
very softly. "It could've been anyone."

He stopped then and caught her by the hand. She looked at him expectantly
and didn't pull away. "That isn't how I meant it."

She smiled sadly. "I know."

He considered her for a minute, then touched a fingertip to the point of her
chin. "You look pretty damn miserable. C'mon, I know a place that sells
gourmet peanut butter pizza. My treat."

She grimaced. "Mulder, that's disgusting."

He laughed softly and shrugged. "All right, order whatever you want. I'll
still treat. You want to go like that, or would you rather go home for a
change of clothes?"

She scowled tenderly at him. "You aren't going to leave me alone to
contemplate my mortality, are you?"

He tugged on her hand. "No, I'm not. C'mon."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 3 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wednesday, September 29 5:35 pm

Walter Skinner rose and paced slowly around his office. "So you're saying
it was no accident."

The two men seated before him watched him move. One nodded solemnly;
the other remained still. The single figure standing in the shadows behind
them removed his glasses and slowly wiped them with a clean cloth.
Skinner glanced at him as he passed, but the man's eyes were hidden by shadows.

"Our theory," one of the seated men said, "is that the agents were tailed for
some time before the incident was staged. The assaulting auto had no
plates, the VINs were that of a Florida vehicle reported stolen six months
ago, and the absence of prints on the interior would indicate that gloves
were worn. Residue common to powdered latex surgical gloves was found
on the steering wheel. We're crossing it against what was found at each of
the different scenes. Also worth noting was the type of auto used. It's
consistently been a large model sub-utility vehicle. That would indicate that
the perpetrators fully intend to inflict heavy damage to the victims'
automobiles. Maximum destructive capability, while maintaining a
relatively safe zone for the assaulting driver."

Skinner stopped at his window and looked out at the afternoon traffic. For
a moment he just stood there, unmoving. He'd buried a friend that day. It
was something he never wanted to do again. Then he turned and sat down
again. The men stared at him fixedly. He nodded to the one who spoke
most frequently. "How many incidents have there been in all?"

"Four that we can be sure of. Three others offer similarities. They picked
up a couple men after the incident in Virginia, but nothing was clear
enough to make an arrest. The first victims were local deputies. The
Federal officers received the worst injuries by far, no question. Larson was
the first fatality."

The figure standing in the shadows took a long step forward, appearing
between the men as silently as a shark from deep water. "And it's now up
to us to see that he is the last," he said, turning to regard them. "Thank you
for the thoroughness of your report, gentlemen. That will be all."

The men exchanged glances, then rose and filed silently out of the room.
Skinner looked at the remaining figure with raised eyebrows. "Local police
are our first contact with the community, sir," he said, his voice flat and
even. "I've found it unwise to alienate them. I think the Attorney General
would concur with me on that."

The man smiled. "I'm sure she would. So do I. I need them too, don't
forget. Without their grunts to do the legwork, this case would be doubly
hard to prosecute." He folded his arms across his chest and thoughtfully
tapped a finger to his chin. "You have quite a collection of behaviorists
among your agents. Who would you suggest we assign to this?"

Skinner pursed his lips as he gave thought to the issue. "Collins just helped
bag that serial killer in Boston. Malkowsky and Briggman have been
working together on the New York bomber. They profiled the guy six
months into the investigation. So far their speculations have been right on."

The lean figure snorted softly. "Not that it's helped one iota in
apprehending the gentleman," he replied. "Not a ringing endorsement. Who
else? The AG's going to want several options."

Skinner shrugged a broad shoulder. "Chrisman's good. Has a problem with
authority, but the press like him. Then there's Mulder. He's the one who
did the work on the DC murders several years ago."

Again the man snorted. "Yes, we're familiar with Agent Mulder. He's been
quite an issue in the past. I'm afraid the Attorney General would resist
employing him. That dish he works with   what's her name?"

"Scully," the Assistant Director said very softly.

"Yes, Scully. She'd be useful, given her particular area of expertise.
Unfortunately, she was acquainted with the murder victim. We can't rely
on her objectivity on this. A shame. I should have enjoyed working with
her. As for Mulder, he tends to get himself worked up with conspiracy
theories, and he's exhibited a marked pattern of rebellion against authority.
I have no time to lock horns with him over anything."

Skinner was silent for a moment. Mulder often was a pain in the ass, and
Scully did indeed help keep him on track; but when he was on, he was
*dead* on. That case he'd had, the vacuum-cleaner salesman - he called
that one to a damned T. Whether or not the man killed Mulder's sister was
not part of the original case, and therefore had never been an issue in his
own book - but they got the last victim back alive. In Skinner's estimation,
that put him head and shoulders above anyone else in the division.

Still, the Special Prosecutor didn't want to hear his defenses of a
troublemaker. Too often Mulder had done a superior job of being just that.
"Collins is your man then," he said at last. "He's attached to the
Washington Heights incident at the moment, but a word from your office
will cut him loose. He won't be happy about changing priorities, but once
he settles in, he'll get the job done."

The man pocketed the cloth and donned his glasses. "I don't care if he's
happy or not. I want his nose to the grindstone, and I want it there soon."
He paused. "I trust you'll make the people under you aware of the
situation. I shouldn't want an official statement released just now. Too
much publicity might scare off the prey. We don't want that to happen."
He turned slowly and made for the outer door of the office. "Good day,
Mr. Skinner."

The AD said nothing, merely watched him go. He half-expected to see a
trail of slime on the carpet after him, so much did the man remind him of a
slug. With a sneer Skinner turned back to his window. "Good day," he
muttered. "It'll be a better one now that you're gone, you son of a bitch."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Mulder stepped off the elevator and dug in his pocket for his keys, he
couldn't help but smile a little. It had been a first, going out for some
reason completely unrelated to work. She was quiet for a while, her
thoughts no doubt still on the funeral, but eventually he was able to draw
her out. It was fun. They played darts and ate pizza - not peanut butter.
He'd called it a wake, though they were the only ones in the place that
drank no alcohol. 

He locked the door behind him, then turned on the TV and sprawled on the
couch. The news was just wrapping up. He paid little attention.

It wasn't exactly surprising that she had no idea how to throw a dart.
Coaching her was an adventure in itself. Holding her wrist and guiding its
path, standing so close he could feel her warmth through their clothes - he
had to admit, he'd enjoyed the intimacy. Her first few attempts went wild
of course, but she kept at it, determined to get it right. Her efforts amused
the college boys playing the next board. Mulder liked the way they had
admired her. A friend, he'd told one of them while she was in the
bathroom. Just a friend from work.

Work, they had scoffed. That's all you can think to do with someone like
that? You must really like your job.

It has its moments, he had replied, smiling.

Though he was careful not to mention it, he was a little curious about
Larson. She'd indicated they were professional acquaintances, and he had
no reason to doubt her. Mulder was a loner and always had been - but
Scully was different. Was there something lacking from her life, something
missed but never mentioned? They were as familiar with each other as
anyone could be, at least in passing; but he'd found himself wondering
lately just what that meant. How did it translate? He could order her
favorite Chinese dish. He knew that she preferred jazz at home but wanted
to work in silence; he knew that she liked her coffee light, no sugar. Did
that count for anything?

He didn't know her favorite color. Or why she had taken to wearing black
so much of the time. He didn't know what she had dreamed of being when
she was a kid, or where she hoped to be in a year. A decade.

At times they could look at each other and know precisely what the other
was thinking. It was tempting to take her for granted. He didn't like that thought.

Mulder rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Absently he rose and switched off the
TV. Then he threw back the bedspread, stripped off his clothes, and tossed
them at the hamper. His mind churned. It was a long time before he could sleep.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 4 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Thursday, September 30 4:24 pm

"Hey Scully, can I ask you a personal question?"

She glanced up from the report she was reading. "The kid told his therapist
he heard voices, but it says here he never told his father. They're supposed
to be close. If the kid's hearing things, don't you think he might mention it
to Dad?" She shook her head as she sat back and took off her glasses. "I
don't know, Mulder. I haven't read anything that makes me think this is
anything other than an over-indulged kid trying to wiggle his way out of a
criminal situation. These voices he claims to have heard - "

"Do you want to get married?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, sure. I'm not going to iron your shirts
though, I'd better not be the only one taking the garbage out, and I'm not
wearing white. These voices telling him to do these terrible things - it's a
little too convenient to me. He killed the neighbor's dog because he was
told to, but *didn't* kill the neighbor because it was wrong. Now, was it
wrong to stab the golden retriever twenty-seven times or wasn't it?" She
looked up when he didn't respond. "Mulder?"

He blinked and gave his head a shake. "Well, do you?" he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open. "I don't know
what I'm supposed to say."

He waved a hand at the report. "Leave that alone for a minute. The dog
isn't going to get any deader."

Abruptly she sat back and tossed her pen down on the stack of folders
before her. "Okay, let's get this over with."

"Get what over with?"

She didn't quite laugh, but it was close. "You've been acting odd since
before the funeral. What is going on in your head? Are you having some
sort of crisis?"

He shook his head fiercely. "No, I'm not. I'm just asking you a question.
We've never really talked about it. It isn't such an odd question, is it?"

She gave him her best blank look. "A marriage proposal isn't such an odd question?"

He waved a hand impatiently. "No, I don't mean to *me*. I mean in
general. Something Larson said, it's been sticking in my head. Where do
you see yourself in ten years?"

She stared at him, her exasperation growing. "Mulder, did you hear
anything I just said? Where are you going with this? How is this germane
to anything we've been talking about?"

He rose and rounded the desk, sitting back against it and folding his arms
before him. "That's just it, we haven't talked about it. Listen, I'll be
content to stay here in this room until someone torches it again or until my
social security checks start coming in, whichever comes first. If there's
some other place you want to be, whether you know about it right now or
not   I don't want you sticking around here out of some sense of loyalty
to me."

Her gaze was unwavering. "Is that your concern? You think I'm not
satisfied here? After what I've seen and done with you - the questions I still
have unanswered, the issues that haven't been resolved . . . do you honestly
think there's some other place I should be?"

"Have you answered my question?"

Impatience sparked in her eyes. "What am I supposed to say? That if Mr.
Right comes along, I'll pull my Sig and shoot him? I can't give you an
answer right now, I'm sorry." She likewise crossed her arms. "Let's look at
the situation from a different perspective. Do *you* ever want to get
married? No, don't just shake your head. Come on, it's a fair question."

He waved her away again and went back to his chair. "Getting a little
defensive, aren't you, Scully?"

She opened the file again. "Can we just get back to work, please?"

At that moment the phone between them gave a short, shrill ring. Mulder
plucked the handset off the cradle as she reached for it, and he smiled at
her fierce glare. "Yeah? Oh, yes sir. No, she's right here. When? All right,
we'll be there." He shrugged as he hung up. "Skinner wants us in his office
in ten. "

Scully shoved her chair back and stood with a jerk. "Fine. I think it's pretty
clear we're not getting anywhere here. I'm going up for coffee." He said
nothing, merely nodded as he examined his steepled fingers. She opened
the door, then stopped and glanced back. He looked up, and her gaze
dropped. "Mulder, I don't know if this answers your question . . . but I
can't think of any place I'd rather be than right here." With that she turned
and let the door close behind her.

The elevator was evidently held up somewhere, so she took the stairs. The
exertion helped take the edge off her temper. <What is it with him,> she
wondered sourly, shouldering aside the door to the ground level. The
cafeteria on that floor was just around the corner, within easy reach of
those new arrivals who needed a quick fix. The vending machine stood
silent, waiting. She hesitated an instant. Caffeine at this hour? She'd be up
all night -

"The hell with it," she muttered, feeding a dollar into the money slot.
Tomorrow was Friday - she could be a little late if she had to be. She
wanted the damn coffee.

His question preyed on her. Neither of them were getting any younger, and
with the funeral so fresh in their minds, she wasn't surprised that he would
ask such a fundamental question. She remember Jack's advice to stay
single and unattached, but then she also thought of Tripp lying there in the
intensive care unit with his wife at his side. They found a way to make it
work. It would be a long time before he returned to work, if he made it
back at all. At least he wouldn't be alone.

She took a tentative sip and winced at the bitterness. It was very strong.
Slowly she moved to a table and sat down. 

She caught herself thinking about Jack Larson and rebuked herself. Took
another sip, and glanced at her watch. Mulder would be waiting, and so
would Skinner. With a twinge of regret, she poured the coffee down the
drain in the drinking fountain, then hurried down the hall to the elevator
and pressed the call button. The car was ascending from the basement floor
- no doubt Mulder was on it. She sighed, mentally bracing herself for more questions.

He nodded when he saw her and stepped aside to allow her to pass. They
rode in silence for a moment. "Sorry," he said quietly.

She looked at him in surprise. "What for?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I've been doing some thinking since Saturday,
but I shouldn't have dumped it on you like that." He elbowed her gently.
"Still friends?"

Scully sighed. "Just don't mention marriage again, all right? God, for a
minute you sounded a little like Aunt Alva."

He glanced at her, a wry smile starting. "Alva? I thought her name was
Olive. God, Scully, how many aunts you got?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Skinner was at his desk, as he usually was, bent over a short stack of
reports. At their entrance he glanced up and gestured to the chairs before
him. "Please take a seat. There're several points we need to cover, and I
don't have much time, so I'll make this brief.

"This case you're working on now, the kid and the neighbor's dog. I'm
afraid you'll have to set it aside for now. I want you in Oregon as soon as
you can get there. A family's disappeared from their home. You two'll
prove invaluable to the investigation, for both forensic analysis and
profiling." He ran his finger down the paper before him. "Sheriff's a guy
named Salerno. My assistant is making the travel arrangements right now."

Scully nodded. "Good enough. Anything else?"

Skinner hesitated. In that brief pause Mulder heard enormous portent.
Something was going on, something the AD didn't relish discussing. Lying
was not his strongest suit - would he deny outright, or equivocate and pull
rank? He'd done both in the past.

She had caught it too, Mulder could see in her posture: a slight stiffening, a
narrowing of her eyes. He caught it in a glance. 

"This incident involving Agents Larson and Tripp," Skinner said at last. "It
isn't as cut and dried as you probably think. There's evidence now that it
wasn't an accident." Mulder exchanged quick glances with his partner.
Skinner quickly held up a hand. "I've been asked to submit a list of
behaviorists to the Office of the Attorney General on this matter. Mulder,
your name is on that list. But we must be realistic. The Attorney General - "

" - doesn't want me anywhere in sight," Mulder finished for him.

Skinner grunted softly. "That's the sentiment. Besides, Agent Scully's
neutrality would be called into question because she was acquainted with
the victim. At any rate, this situation in Oregon will keep you busy
enough." He sat back in his chair and leveled a hard look at them. "If there
aren't any questions   " They didn't even look at one another, but rose as
if they were connected by some invisible line. "I'll expect an initial report in
seventy-two hours. That'll be all."

They said nothing until they were alone in the elevator. Mulder scowled at
his partner. "Tell me you caught that."

She nodded. "Federal officers being assaulted, and we're flown out on a
case not exactly within our bailiwick. Did he mention an X-file, or did I
miss something?"

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "He's protecting us, and judging from his
reticence, I doubt it's with the section chief's blessing." He gave his head a
quick shake. "I can't leave now. Suppose you go on out alone and do your
slice'n dice thing. I want to do some investigating around here before -"

"No." The refusal was unequivocating, her eyes calm but resolute. "Skinner
doesn't want us involved, and for once I agree with him. Pack your bag,
Mulder - we're going to Oregon."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, October 1

The airport at Dos Lobos, Oregon had very little to offer. The terminal,
which wasn't much larger than Mulder's apartment, accommodated a total
of two carriers. A few vending machines stood in the corner, and from a
pair of half-empty Mr. Coffees wafted the unpleasant smell of stale coffee.
Scully tried not to grimace as she looked around. Turbulence had rocked
them non-stop from Washington to Texas, and the brief nap she'd managed
to get just before landing had done nothing to refresh her. It hadn't helped
when Mulder all but fell asleep on her shoulder. 

Pulling up beside her, he looked around and wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Jesus, what is that stench? Is that what passes for coffee around here?"

She glanced at him. "I think that's what passed for coffee around eight this
morning. Don't be alarmed. I'm sure we'll be able to find a coffee shop.
You won't have to go without your morning brew."

He grunted as he shouldered her carry-on. "Oh, like you don't have a little
caffeine problem too," he muttered.

A county deputy was waiting for them just outside the door. Scully sized
him up quickly. Thin and lanky, he looked too young to be an authority on
anything except Billboard's Top Ten. She dug in her purse and produced
her credentials. "Agents Scully and Mulder. I take it you're here to meet us?"

The deputy practically snapped to attention. "Yes, ma'am. Deputy Parnell.
Almost gave you up for lost. We heard about the storms back east. Sorry
you had such a bummer of a trip. Welcome to Dos Lobos."

Mulder nodded to the exit. "Where's Salerno? I thought he was going to
meet us."

The young officer turned on his heel. "LT's out at the crime scene. We
tried t'contact you through your people back east, but I guess they never
did get ahold of you. We, uh, we found the missing people this morning."

They exchanged quick looks. "When was this?" Scully asked.

Parnell glanced at her as he pushed the doors open wide. "About seven. I
guess you were on your way by then."

A pair of police cruisers waited in the shade of the pines not far from the
door. Parnell nodded to one of them, where another deputy stood waiting.
"Sargent Stark'll take you there. You two got more luggage, right? I can
get it and drop it at the motel for you."

Scully brushed past the second officer with a brusque nod, but Mulder
greeted him with a perfunctory handshake. "Agent Mulder. I gather we're late."

Stark nodded as he reached for Scully's bag. "The fat lady hasn't sung
much yet," he quipped, "and from the looks of things she won't be
warming up anytime soon." He quickly opened the car door for her. "Here,
miss. We're in here. Sir, you don't mind riding in the back, do you?"

Mulder gave his head a shake.

The town of Dos Lobos was small even by rural standards. The agents
looked around as Stark drove down what was evidently the main strip.
Bordered by a white-water river and thick forests, it was clearly a town
dependent upon tourists and the local sporting attractions for its livelihood.
Judging by the number of campers occupying the parking areas outside the
diners, the end of the tourist season was as yet nowhere in sight.

Mulder pursed his lips as he looked around. "Pretty forested here. You
have many bears?"

Stark grunted. "Yes, sir. Don't worry though, the town's safe enough. We
got men who patrol it most nights. Haven't had to shoot a bear yet this
year." He looked at Mulder's reflection in his mirror. "I assume you been
briefed on the situation?"

Scully shot him a hard look. "We were given the preliminary report," she
said before he could respond. "A family had disappeared from their home.
Very little else. Actually I'm at a loss as to why our superior even assigned
us to this case."

Stark glanced at her coolly. "We're right in the middle of O'Casey National
forest. Hugh Martin's a park ranger. That makes it your business as much
as ours." She sighed impatiently, but he ignored it. "You might just as well
know now: when the bodies turned up, LT went ahead and put a call in to
the field office down in Salem. Feds blew into town around noon. Don't
know what there is for you two t'do here now. I guess LT didn't like you
having to get right back on the plane, not after all the time it took for you
t'get here."

Scully clenched her teeth in frustration. <Great,> she thought sourly. <A
ten hour flight so we can watch the game from the damned sidelines.>

Mulder nodded calmly. "Not a problem. Maybe we can get in the way a little."

Stark glanced at him uncertainly. "Yeah, whatever." He gestured out the
side window with a tip of his head. "The Martins' house is down that way a
piece on this road. The bodies were found in the ditch back up this way.
LT's there now."

"Who found the bodies?" she asked.

"Some camper out for a run. Ruined his day, let me tell you. Oh, shit."
Startled by his vehemence as well as his choice of words, Scully quickly
followed his gaze. A mass of cars all but blocked the dirt road, and a crowd
of people were gathered around an area cordoned off by yellow crime
scene tape. "Dammit to Almighty hell, it's the press. Ain't that just a sweet
one. Bet the lieutenant's fit to shit."

Muttering under his breath, Stark aimed the patrol car between the vans
marked with TV station logos. At their approach, a handful of officers
hurried out and cut a clear swathe through the reporters. Cameras flashed
frantically as they passed. Scully held a hand up to protect her eyes from
the glare. 

This should be interesting," Mulder said quietly. Before the patrol car was
even stopped she was on her way out, tugging open the back door as she
went. He scrambled out after her. 

Voices rang around them, their echoes trapped by the giant trees. Ignoring
a microphone abruptly shoved in his face, Mulder caught a protective arm
around Scully's shoulders and swept her along with him, using his bulk to
keep the mob away from her. "This is absurd," she muttered, steadying
herself against him.

Ahead of them they saw a handful of plain-clothes already busy with the
crime scene. *FBI* was emblazoned on their heavy jackets. The late
afternoon sun was quickly losing its warmth, and Scully was already
wishing she had worn something more substantial than a thin windbreaker.
After the heat of the city, the forest was going to get downright chilly. 

Mulder surveyed the scene for a moment. "You got some protection,
Scully? I don't seem to have any."

She scowled as she passed him some gloves. "Do you ever?" she asked
quietly. He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Can I help you two?" a voice close behind them suddenly asked.

They whirled as one. "Are you Salerno?" Scully asked.

The officer frowned as he nodded. He was as tall as Mulder, though more
heavily-built. "You must be the feds from back east. Sorry to have made
you come all this way for nothing." His dark eyes studied Scully with what
seemed to be more than passing interest. "You the pathologist?" She
nodded. "I don't suppose you could be talked into handling the autopsies.
County doesn't have a medical examiner, and I'm not up to doing this
alone." Scully shrugged and nodded. He looked relieved. "Good. The
bodies've been taken to Shier's mortuary in town. I hope you're not
squeamish." 

Her gaze was even, her tone cool. "I'm in the wrong business if I am. Is
there a report to go with them? I'd like to know something about the
particulars surrounding the deaths."

Salerno nodded with a wry smile. "When your guys showed up, they took
over the shooting match. I've had plenty of time to push paper this
afternoon. Can you hang here? I'll just be a minute."

When he turned away, Mulder stepped close and whispered, "Does the
word *Hartwell* ring any bells with you?"

She eyed him cautiously, a half-smile starting. "You aren't going to start
pelting him with seeds, are you?"

He shrugged. "That depends on if he keeps staring at you. You know I
don't like competition."

She swatted his arm half-heartedly. "Don't go macho on me."

Salerno's reappearance prevented his response. "They're going to be busy
here most of the night. Stark's going to stay and ride herd. C'mon, I'll take
you to town." He looked at Mulder uncertainly. "You want a ride to the
motel? I can drop you on the way to the funeral home."

Mulder nodded to his partner. "No, I'll tag along with you two. I need to
see the victims."

Salerno grunted as he looked back at Scully. "Suit yourself. All right then,
let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shier's Mortuary was located on the other side of Dos Lobos, and like the
town itself, it was not a large place. The three bodies, stretched out atop
the embalming tables, were still encased in dull black body bags.

Always mindful of the possibility of contagion, Scully asked the attendant
for clean scrubs. Salerno gave his head a shake. "I don't think you'll find
that necessary," he said. She looked at him in surprise. "I've seen these
people, Agent. No disease did that to them."

She looked at Mulder as she donned a smock over her street clothes. "All
right, let's get this over with," she said quietly, unzipping the first bag.

What they saw and smelled reminded Mulder of the butcher shop his
mother used to frequent when he was a kid. The consummate professional,
Scully took the spectacle in stride, beginning to dictate even as she gave
the corpse a cursory exam. Salerno stood silently nearby, arms folded, gaze
locked on the etchings on his boots.

Mulder watched as his partner gingerly placed the severed head on the
autopsy table. Three victims, a woman and her two children, had each been
decapitated. The last family member, the husband, had not yet been found.
Was he the perpetrator - or an as-yet undiscovered victim? Mulder's mind
raced. The man could have been another target of such a crime - but it was
more likely that he was one who had committed the murders. Mulder
understood the make-up of such monsters, if only in principle. To save
them from some terrible fate, such a man would consign his family to death
itself, sometimes even taking their lives himself. But this went way beyond
overkill. The level of destruction here indicated a man not trying to save his
loved ones, but to obliterate them.

Lost in thought, he absently watched his partner. He'd seen her like this
countless times, but now as always he was struck by what he could only
call her tenderness. Her clinical detachment was obvious, but it was clear
she knew full well that the chunks of raw meat in her hands had once been
living, breathing people. And he realized, <That's why she's so good at
what she does. It's not an abstract to her. It's never just another case.>

To do all three of the autopsies was more work than she could do that
night, and to rush would be slip-shod. That wasn't her style. She completed
one full post-mortem, then drew fluids from the other two remains for labs
and toxicology analysis. At last with a weary sigh, she stripped off the
soiled smock, wadded it up and dropped it in the biohazard waste barrel,
then went to the sink and washed her hands three times.

"The results from the tox screens should be back tomorrow," she said,
blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "As for the two other
victims, I should be able to complete the exams by tomorrow afternoon."

Salerno rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Any conclusions you can make yet?"

Scully shook her head as she picked up the crime scene photographs.
Mulder knew she would never commit without much more information.
"Nothing beyond the obvious. Decapitation was performed with a very
sharp instrument. Judging from the lack of blood remaining in the corpses,
I'd say they were alive when it happened. The dirt on their knees would
indicate they were kneeling." She looked back at the photos, her
expression stony, then dropped them on the countertop. Mulder was
surprised to see her shudder as she turned away. "Like I said, I'll know
more in the morning."

He nodded as he moved to the door. "Lt. Salerno, we'd appreciate it if
someone could drop us off at the motel. I don't suppose there's a diner
nearby, is there? Neither of us have eaten very much today."

Salerno winced. "If you can even look at food right now, you're stronger
than I am. Twenty years on the force, I've never seen anything like this."

Mulder shrugged non-committally as he held the outer doors for his
partner. "We have. Pretty much another day's work."

Scully's eyes met his for an instant. He was lying, and they both knew it. 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 6 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, October 1

Salerno left them at the diner across the street from the Campfire Inn, with
a promise to meet them there the next morning. Exhausted, they sat down
at a table and looked at the menu with bleary eyes. The food was
uninteresting but necessary. They gave their orders to the waitress, and
when the meal arrived they ate in near-total silence. At such times
conversation was unnecessary. They knew full well how the autopsy had
affected one other.

Mulder signed for the bill, then led the way out to the street. When Scully
drew herself up again, he caught an arm about her shoulders and gently
pulled her into his side. "Sorry I don't have a coat for you to wear," he said.

She didn't resist the allure of his warmth. "Don't worry about it. I have
enough to get by."

He gave a soft laugh. "Funny how much of a shock this is. What was it
back in DC? Ninety? Ninety-five? I sure didn't plan on it feeling like winter
here."

She half-smiled wryly. "You mean you didn't bring your thermals? Mulder,
I'm disappointed in you."

The clerk at the inn smiled brightly when she saw them. "You'll be the
people from back east, I guess. Glad you finally made it. The suite's down
at the end of the hallway here, over by the pool."

Scully's expression hardened minutely. "Suite? I thought specifications
were for separate accommodations."

The clerk shrugged placidly. "Best we could do on such short notice.
Bookings are always tight this time of year. You could call around if you
want, but with the press here now, I doubt you'll find anything else."

They exchanged quick glances. "Whatever," Scully muttered, turning away.

Mulder quickly scrawled their names on the registration card. "One of the
deputies was supposed to bring our cases by. You wouldn't happen to
know where they are, would you?"

The clerk smiled cheerfully. "In your room. I guess you'll be wanting
separate keys."

Disgusted, Scully threw the door aside and disappeared outside. Mulder
hurried after her. "Lighten up, would you? It isn't like we haven't buddied
up before this."

She muttered something under her breath. "This day's gotten better and
better. I just want a shower and a bed."

He said nothing as he unlocked the door. She brushed past him and flicked
on the light.

The room was passable, though cold. The decor reflected the area:
woodsy, masculine, dull. Without a word she went to the single bedroom.
Mulder stood there for a moment and looked around. There was a sofa in
front of the empty fireplace, a stove with two hotplates, and one of those
diminutive refrigerators the size of an orange crate. Certainly not a room
designed with the self-sufficient in mind. 

There was a sharp, vulgar exclamation from the bedroom. Frowning,
Mulder hurried to the door. "What is it?"

Scully didn't turn, just stood staring at the single suitcase sitting at the foot
of the bed. "They lost my luggage," she said sullenly.

He looked behind the door. "Are you sure? Did you check the closet?"

She looked at him with something like disdain, and he immediately
regretted the question. "No, I guessed."

He prudently ignored the sarcasm. "Okay, I'll call the station. Maybe
Parnell just forgot to bring it in."

She didn't agree but didn't try to stop him. Salerno was apologetic; only
one suitcase was on the plane. They'd start the process of locating hers in
the morning. In the meantime he'd do his best to see that she was provided
with anything she might need.

Mulder hung up and looked at her contritely. "Don't shoot me, okay? Your
bag never reached DosLobos. But don't worry - he's going to get some
stuff you can borrow."

Her mouth twisted in a sneer. "Great. That's fine for in the morning, but
what about tonight?"

He glanced at her carry-on, sitting on the floor beside the bed. "Don't you
have anything in there?"

She looked at him blankly. "I'm supposed to wear my computer bag?"

To laugh would obviously be dangerous, but the temptation was great. He
bit his lip as he dug in his own suitcase, bringing out a T-shirt and a pair of
jogging shorts. "Here, I've got some stuff you can wear. Go take a shower
- I'll have a look around for the heater switch."

He found the thermostat in the bedroom and cranked it on full. Nothing
happened. He called the office, but the clerk could offer no help. What
about wood, he asked; at least they could have a fire. Yeah, she replied,
and rattled off directions. Grabbing his oft-used flashlight, he hurried to
find it. It had been a while since his scouting days, but he would manage.
This wasn't the most difficult thing he'd had to do. Besides, it was kind of
a challenge. City people could survive in the woods. They didn't have to
freeze to death in their motel rooms.

By the time the shower was silent again, he had a decent-sized fire going.
She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing the borrowed
clothing and clutching her arms to her chest. "No luck with the heater,
huh? What did you burn, a couple chairs?"

He gestured around the room with his eyes. "Would anyone notice if I did?
You can take the bed if you want. I'll stay out here."

He was almost surprised when she sat down on the couch. "In a minute."
She was silent for a few seconds as she gathered her thoughts. Her fatigue
was apparent in the dark streaks under her eyes, the roughness of her
voice. "Four people disappear, and three turn up looking like something
out of a John Carpenter film. Skinner may not have known what he had
when he gave us this case, but even I can see it's right up your alley. I'm
sure you have a theory."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Her head tipped to the side as she looked at him. "Mulder, sometimes you
surprise me. You 
haven't once mentioned the word 'paranormal.' What gives? Are you all right?"

He gave a short laugh. "If I'm not theorizing about aliens then something
must be wrong with me?" He added a small log to the fire. "No, this
doesn't have anything to do with the paranormal. That was clear from the beginning."

It was her turn to frown. "What makes you say that?"

He sat back against the couch and looked up at her. "I saw cases like this
when I worked Violent Crimes. I'm almost certain the murders were
committed by the husband. He killed them someplace they were certain to
be found. It wouldn't surprise me if it turned out he'd taken them camping
or fishing first, something that was supposed to be fun, like a family outing."

Scully leaned closer to the fire. "One for the road," she murmured, shivering.

He nodded. "It also wouldn't surprise me if the wife was pregnant, or if he
thought she might be. That could even be that one last thing that pushed
him over the edge. Maybe he thought, better not to be born at all than live
a life full of pain or anguish or whatever it was that was bothering him." He
rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "Trouble is, we may never find him now. He's
probably in a psychotic fugue. My guess is he'll suicide."

She sighed and gave her head a shake. "It could never happen to me," she
said quietly. He looked at her, frowning. She shrugged one shoulder. "Isn't
that what everyone thinks? That could never happen to me, I could never
marry a cold-blooded killer . . . I mean, how could that woman know what
sort of monster she was sleeping with?"

They were silent for a moment. Then with a last shake of her head, Scully
slowly rose and stood before the fire, unwilling to leave its comforting light
and heat. His shirt hung loose on her, making her look very small, and for
an instant he wanted to protect her from the madness around them. He
immediately caught himself. <Don't be absurd. She doesn't need that. You
don't want her to end up like Jack Larson, or worse, like that woman she
worked on tonight. She isn't going to. You gotta stop worrying.>

She turned to go. Her hand rose and hovered as if undecided, then gently
stroked his head once. He fought the impulse to lean into the touch.
"G'night," she said softly, and turned away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She lay for a long while in the dark and listened to the night sounds around
her. A breeze outside made a tree limb rub against the window, making a
noise that sounded for all the world like a human shriek. The sheets were
almost unbearably cold. How much time had gone by? She thought about
looking at her watch - it would glow enough to tell her the hour - but it
would mean moving, and that was something she was loathe to do. Science
dictated how fast her body heat would warm the sheets and blankets; but
science seemed to be taking its damn sweet time. She thought about going
back out to the fire, but by now Mulder must be asleep. She didn't want to
disturb him. 

She managed to doze, though with nightmarish images flitting through her
dreams, her rest was fitful. Jack Larson, covered with a yellow tarp, staring
in stunned surprise at his own mortality. Mulder shot through and writing
in agony, his blood crimson on a bone-white cross. Scully herself lost in an
immense house, unable to find a hiding place, unable to save herself.
Pfaster's voice saying he wouldn't hurt her, but his eyes telling her the
truth. Standing there in the bathroom, staring at the tub full of sweet-
smelling suds and ice-cold water, knowing that if she didn't do something,
she would end up like that beautiful blonde girl: eviscerated and then
mutilated, her hair and fingers taken for God only knew what purpose...

She woke with a start. <This won't work,> she told herself irritably. The
case was stirring up way too many unpleasant memories. Besides, the cold
was unrelenting. Disgusted, she threw back the covers and lurched to her
feet. Wait, she'd need a blanket at least, and a pillow. Slowly she crept to
the front room and peered out. 

Mulder was sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He frowned
when he saw her, and quickly drew his legs up to make room for her.
"What's the matter?" he asked.

She sat down opposite him and huddled in the blanket. "Couldn't sleep.
Too cold in there. The fire feels nice, doesn't it?"

He nodded silently. Illuminated by firelight, her hair glowed like molten
copper. It was tousled, and her face pale. Bad dreams, he thought to
himself. She won't admit it, but this case is bothering her. It isn't just the
cold - she doesn't want to be alone.

They sat there and stared at the fire. Each leaned against an armrest, their
legs drawn up close. When they spoke, it was of surprisingly mundane
things. Clearing that shelf in the office to allow for incoming cases. With
the heat wave in DC, there would almost certainly be a deluge of them.
Filing away those that had been solved, or at least resolved to Skinner's
satisfaction. Ejecting those that didn't meet the criteria of an X-file. Mulder
listened to her talk, studied her as she sat there in a corner of the couch,
and thanked whatever unseen powers that had brought them together.
Rational, obstinate, at times irritatingly rigid, she had become a focal point
in his life. For a while he didn't think it possible to ever have a decent
working relationship with her. Now he couldn't imagine even trying to do
the job without her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he woke, the sky was just beginning to lighten. Dawn on the west
coast; that would make it around nine in DC. Yawning, he sat up and
looked around. Scully was still there, lying in a ball in her nest of blankets,
her head pillowed on the armrest. The fall of her hair shrouded her face. 

He rose stiffly and palmed his eyes, yawning again as he stretched. Thought
about making coffee, then remembered where they were. The kitchenette
might do for hunters and tourists, but for federal employees it was
appallingly inadequate. The town might indeed have a Seven-Eleven, but
the diner was closer. He'd get two cups to go. Maybe ask for a sweetroll.
Hell, they might even deliver. It was worth a try, wasn't it?

But he found he didn't want to move. She looked so pretty lying there. For
an instant he felt an uncharacteristic sentiment, warm and pleasant, and
immediately rebuked himself. She was his partner. There was no room in
their relationship for close involvement. 

Still . . .

How many times in the past six years did he think about kissing her?
*Had* he even thought about it?

Lately he had.

He considered it here, now. How would she take it? He knew her as well
as he knew anyone - no, *better* than he knew anyone - but he couldn't
guess how she'd react. He liked to think she would kiss him back, but that
just might not be the case. Such an intrusion might not be especially
welcome. Women could be funny about such things. 

He knelt beside her, tempted. His hand rose and hovered, as hers had the
night before. <Do it,> a small voice said.

<She's asleep,> he admonished himself, quelling the impulse. <It wouldn't
be right.>

He touched her instead. <Let lips do what hands do,> he mused, sweeping
the hair back from her face. Warm. Soft. Resilient. He thought suddenly of
her illness, of the agony of seeing her in that hospital bed, a machine
breathing for her, keeping her alive. Skinner, strained and distracted, hating
himself for having to say it, hating that it was happening at all: <She's
dying.> And him so helpless, unable even to stay and mourn, but dragged
away by necessity and bitter circumstance. Which had been worse for him:
the very real possibility of life imprisonment - or leaving her there alone?

Scully drew a slow, deep breath. "What time is it?" she murmured.

His hand remained steady. Another stroke. "Almost daylight." 

She half-smiled though her eyes didn't open. "That feels nice. You're
staring at me. That isn't like you."

He couldn't help but smile. "Sorry."

She moved a little beneath his hand, enjoying the contact, then looked at
him. Her eyes were beautiful even without makeup. "Don't worry,
Mulder," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday, October 2


Salerno met them at the diner, but he was an hour late. Entering, he called
a greeting to the waitresses, then hurried to the agents' booth. "Sorry
about the wait," he said quickly, dragging a chair up to the table and
straddling it as one would a horse. "It's been a day and a half already, and
it isn't even nine yet."

Mulder raised his chin in a slow gesture that was less greeting than polite
acknowledgment. "Anything in particular, or just a bad day in general?"

Salerno waved to one of the waitresses. "Hey Dinah, can I get a cup of
coffee here? Thanks, doll." He looked at the agents in turn, and Mulder
caught his surprise at Scully's attire: jeans and a white shirt that, though
clean and presentable, obviously did not belong to her. His smile quickly
faded. "Same old stuff when we have to deal with the feds, playing second
fiddle in our own band." He shrugged in apology. "No offense, agents. I'll
just be glad when the job's done."

A waitress appeared at his elbow, slapped a coffee cup down between the
empty plates and filled it, then hurried back to the kitchen. Mulder could
hear distant voices - someone had a TV on. A talk-show. He listened for a
moment but couldn't make out what was being discussed. 

Across from him, Scully absently picked up a spoon and stirred the dregs
of her coffee. "Has anything new come up in the investigation?" she asked.

Salerno shrugged as he took a cautious sip. "They're searching the
Martins' house right now. The lakes are slated for dragging this afternoon.
That's going to take some time - there're only about a dozen around here."
He studied her over the rim of his cup. "We've got you down to finish up
the post-mortems. You up for that?"

She half-smiled wryly. "That's what I do." She glanced at Mulder. "I'd like
to get started on that now. What are you going to do?"

Mulder shoved away his empty cup and dug in his pants pocket, bringing
out a handful of change and a few bills. "You do what you're best at - I'll
do the same."

Nodding, Scully rose and brushed past Salerno. "Excuse me, gentlemen.
I'll meet you outside."

Salerno followed her with his eyes, unaware of Mulder's stony gaze. "Not
a woman of many words, is she?" he mused.

Mulder shrugged non-committally. "Small talk isn't her strong suit. A real
head for business though."

"How long you been together?"

He felt a stir of something like resentment, and reproved himself. It wasn't
the first time he'd seen someone show an interest in Scully, but this
jealousy was something new. "That question has a lot of different
implications, lieutenant. We've been partners for six years. That is about all
we do together. What Agent Scully does on her own time is not my business."

Salerno shrugged and nodded. "Just thought I'd ask. Suppose I'm not
really her type." He shrugged as he pushed himself to his feet and took a
last sip of coffee. "Not many women like her around here. Town's kind of
provincial, but then you probably noticed that." He nodded to the door.
"Shall we?"

Mulder said nothing, merely nodded thoughtfully. <Her type,> he mused.
Quiet, polite, efficient without being unfriendly. Yeah, he could see her
with someone like Salerno.

He just hoped he never would.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They left Scully at the mortuary, and drove to the home of the victims. It
was a simple one-story dwelling, not much larger than the cottages rented
out to tourists and sportsmen. The press had thinned considerably, and
those that were left were held at bay a block from the house by a pair of
cops and more yellow tape. Mulder glanced at his watch as he followed
Salerno up the cobblestone walkway to the open front door. Ten-fifteen. A
man wearing a familiar FBI windbreaker stood in the hallway. He glanced
at Mulder's ID badge and nodded them past.

Mulder brushed past Salerno and went to the living room. Everything was
impeccably clean. The decor was standard issue for a forest community:
heavy oaken furniture, and photos of the family man standing over dead
animals, beaming in pride. <Whatever,> he thought to himself, turning
slowly in place and taking in the details. <To each his own. I hope I'm
never reduced to killing just to prove . . . something.>

A collection of framed photos adorned the mantle. He studied them at
length. Some were from a camping trip, and judging from the age of the
kids, not long ago. The happy family, he mused. There was one of the
woman he'd watched Scully autopsy. She was laughing. Her husband was
standing behind her, arms extended, as if he were a bear coming in for the
attack. Mulder remembered what Scully had said about sleeping with a
killer, and shuddered. <Don't get carried away. It's too easy to look back
now and see the dangers. Give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Something
made him snap.>

There was a computer on a table in the corner. He frowned as he studied it.
"Anyone look in that for a suicide note?" he asked no one in particular.

One of the agents glanced up from what appeared to be an address book.
"Not yet. We're still cataloging the hard evidence. Forensics is sending
someone up to tear it apart and see what's the what." He shot Mulder a
hard look. "It's tempting to think Hugh did it, but I don't think we can
make that assumption just yet. You must be the headshrink from back east."

Mulder winced. "So to speak."

For an hour he poked about the residence, then procured a car and drove
to the local hospital. It was a small facility, and so he had no difficulty
finding the office in question. Hyram Wickersham, MD. The good doctor
was understandably shaken by the news. The warrants had just arrived over
the fax; the records were already being prepped. Anything he could do to
assist in the investigations, yadda yadda yadda. Mulder tucked the box
under one arm, shook his hand politely, and drove away.

It was just past noon when he arrived back at the motel. Housekeeping had
already been; the bed was neatly made, and more firewood was stacked in
the box beside the hearth. Scully's suitcase had also made a somewhat
miraculous reappearance. He grunted as he dug in her briefcase for a tablet
and pen. Still no heater, but at least she would have her own stuff now.

He kicked off his shoes and opened a fresh bag of sunflower seeds, then
spread the medical charts out on the rickety kitchen table and settled down
to work. 

Hours passed, unnoticed.

The scrape of a key in the lock caught his attention. Scully shouldered the
door aside, looking tired and a little disheveled.

"You were right, Mulder," she said without preamble, dropping the key on
the table beside the door. "Blood tests confirmed it. Holly Martin was
pregnant at the time of her death, though just."

He smiled as he stretched. "Music to my ears, but it's just the beginning."
He indicated the stack of folders with a turn of his head. "Medical records
aren't what I would call an exciting read, but they are enlightening. I did a
little checking on some prescriptions I found in the Martins' bathroom.
Heavy duty antibiotics, and a hefty dose of prednisone. Two months ago
Hugh Martin was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic anemia." Scully's eyes
widened noticeably. "Yeah, no kidding. I called and spoke with his
supervisor. Seems he missed a lot of work since being diagnosed, and not
always because of his illness. Judging from the amount of alcohol stashed
around the house, I'd say he was on quite a bender there toward the end."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she sat down across from him. "Talk
about a double whammy. ALA's not necessarily fatal though. I wonder
why he didn't get treatment for it."

Mulder folded his arms. "I think I can explain that. Hugh Martin was into
the strong male thing in a serious way. Quite the hunter. Besides, medical
care is costly. It could be he was too tapped out to get treatment for
himself, especially with another kid on the way."

She frowned. "And thus the family annihilator," she murmured, giving her
head a shake. "The prednisone could have contributed to his crackup as
well. What about the house search? Was there any sign of a murder weapon?"

He grunted softly. "I haven't seen it, but yes. An eighteenth-century
katana. There were traces of blood on the hand guard. It's being sent with
the other forensic stuff to the field office in Salem. A description of Martin
himself is being circulated around the state, and especially at the Oregon-
California state line, in the off-chance that he tries to flee. I doubt
anything'll come of that." He picked up his pen and tapped it thoughtfully
on the table, then jerked his head toward the open bedroom door. "Not to
change the subject, but your suitcase showed up while we were out."

Scully rose with a weary sigh. "Good. I'm going to take a shower, then
walk across the street for dinner. God, I wish they delivered."

He frowned. "Dinner? Jesus, what time is it?"

She didn't even stop. "It's past seven. Which means, for you and I, it's past
ten. Get a move on if you're coming - I'm starved."

Salerno found them at the restaurant. In a gesture that was becoming
familiar, he asked the waitresses for coffee and then sat down in a chair,
backwards. "Sorry to disturb you," he said, flashing a smile at Scully.
"Thought you should hear - Hugh Martin turned up an hour ago in
Coleman reservoir. He was in his car at the bottom of one of the launch
ramps, still strapped in his seat." He gave his head a shake. "That Fed from
Salem, Higgins - he says the investigation's still ongoing, but it's pretty
clear how it's gonna turn out. Middle-aged man fights a losing battle with
illness and depression, and decides to take his family out with him." He
gave his head a shake. "He picked an unusual way to kill them. I did hear it
said once that decapitation is about as painless a way there is to go. The
victim's dead as soon as the spinal cord's cut, before the brain can register
any pain." He turned to Scully for confirmation, but she just looked away.

Mulder didn't miss the revulsion in her eyes. "So what you're saying is
we're no longer needed here," he said.

Salerno rolled one shoulder up in a half-shrug. "Local feds say they'll finish
up. I didn't think you two'd mind missing out on the action. So yeah,
unless you're interested in fishing, there's nothing to keep you in this
corner of Heaven."

Scully didn't give Mulder the chance to argue. "Fine with me. I'll go make
the arrangements." 

Salerno took a sip of his coffee as he watched her go. "Tell you the truth,
I'm glad this whole business is about over with. Not good for business,
headless corpses turning up. I don't see how anyone can be so nonchalant
about it." He looked back at Mulder, chagrined. "No offense."

Mulder smiled politely. "None taken. We actually don't get them every
week in Washington either. We do see a lot of strange things though.
That's our specialty."

Salerno hid a smile with his cup. "Yeah, I heard some of the field guys
talking about you."

Mulder sighed. <Here it comes. Spooky. Even in the middle of Nowhere I
can't get away from it.>

But the officer didn't say it. He drank a little more coffee, then set the cup
down with a thud. "Well, I got to be getting back. Press conference in an
hour. Not my favorite part of the job, but it's gotta be done. I'd best go
find Agent Higgins." He nodded to the motel across the way. "Thank your
partner for her help. Saved me a lot of headaches. In the morning I'll have
one of my men take you back to the airstrip." He tipped his head politely -
if he'd been wearing a hat, he would have doffed it. "Good night, Agent Mulder."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 7 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sunday, October 3

The flight back to Washington was uneventful. Scully spent the first half of
the flight working on the field report she would submit. Mulder sat quietly
in the seat beside her, staring at the seat in front of him and calmly splitting
sunflower shells.

With a satisfied grunt she closed the computer. The incident was far more
cut-and-dried than the majority of their cases, and for once she felt she was
able to paint an accurate portrayal of the situation. Not at all like a giant
internal parasite, or a town full of vampires.

As if reading her mind, he looked at her with a wry half-smile. "Salerno
was sweet on you, you know. At least he wanted to be."

Scully glanced at him. "I know the look. I don't have the time or patience
to be patronized. It slows the work."

He looked at her in surprise. "I didn't see him patronizing you. Stark, sure.
He didn't even talk to you. Salerno seemed pretty sincere. You didn't even
give him a second look."

She gave him one of her blank stares. "You want me to go back and ask
him out after gym? Forget it. Cases aren't personal. You know that as well
as I do."

He forced a casual shrug. "Just thought you might be missing out on
something. Maybe I was wrong."

She grunted softly as she looked away. "Yes, you were."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing more was said on the subject. They conferred briefly on the case,
then set about drawing up their separate notes. These would be filed, along
with a copy of the final report, with AD Skinner. Satisfied that something
had been accomplished on the trip, Scully settled back in her almost
comfortable seat and tried to compose herself for sleep. 

She recalled the feel his hand stroking her face, not in a touch meant to
seduce, but one that conveyed a deeper attachment. The memory made her smile.

Occasionally over the years she had tried to define their relationship, either
to herself or an acquaintance, and always she had found herself stymied.
Sometimes it seemed that they had been put together not so much to
influence him with her level-headed rationalism, but to test the limits of her
own patience. And what a test that could be. Other times, however, it was
clear that their individual biases and talents simply would never have been
sufficient to meet whatever task they had been assigned. The partnership
was, in a very real sense, a perfect marriage of two radically different
minds. 

She found this new preoccupation of his disquieting. First his inordinate
concern for her after Jack's funeral; then asking her those strange personal
questions, and now his musings regarding Salerno - it was as though he
was trying in some way to affirm himself, to validate his standing with her,
without openly broaching the subject.

A gentle nudge drew her attention back to the here and now. "You
awake?" he asked.

She sighed. "What is it?"

There was a gentleness in his tone, and even without looking she knew he
was smiling. "You ever wonder where we'd be if we hadn't been assigned together?"

A shiver brushed up her spine. That he could be thinking about the same
things she herself was  . well, it was spooky. She drew her arms up closer
around her, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "I don't give it much thought.
Why? Are you going somewhere?"

It was a lie, and she wondered if he realized it. He shrugged. "Just thinking.
I guess I'm just getting older. Physically, at any rate."

She murmured in agreement. "We don't often see the better side of human
nature. The accident with Jack, and now this - small wonder you're feeling
a little . . . "

"Gloomy?" He grunted very softly. "It doesn't help when all we see is the
aftermath of sorrow and madness." He was silent for a few seconds. "I
thought about it last night. I don't know where I would be, but I'm pretty
sure I wouldn't be with the Bureau." She looked at him in surprise.
"Seriously. Can't you just see me, working with a bunch of people who
think I'm as crazy as any of the nuts they're after. How long would it be
before they took away my badge? What fun would this job be without . . .
without my gun?"

That wasn't what he almost said, and she knew it. She smiled. "I think
you're selling yourself short. You do good work, even if no one
understands what makes you tick."

He nodded, though his expression was still pensive. "Sometimes I think it
was a mistake to accept this assignment. From your standpoint, I mean.
No, really - where might you be if you hadn't been consigned to the
basement with old Spooky? Head of your own section, maybe. Director of
Forensics at Quantico."

She shook her head. "Or just another agent working out of the field office
in Iowa." She looked at him curiously and with no little concern. If only
she could divine what thoughts were racing behind those quick eyes.

As she studied him a suspicion rose, vague and wispy, and so bitter that it
made her wince. Ever since the funeral he had spoken of the path her
choices had put her on. Wasn't there something she would rather be doing.
Would she have been happier going the hearth-and-home route. If he
wasn't questioning her priorities, then perhaps was he doubting his own.
She looked away, disquieted. There had been a time when she was ready to
quit the Bureau. Was he trying to tell her now that he was quitting? Why
now, of all times? The X-files had re-opened, the section chief had
approved their reassignments, albeit grudgingly; and there were always
fresh cases that needed Mulder's particular brand of genius.

What the hell was he thinking? Was he distancing himself from her one step
at a time, as it certainly appeared? Or was she imagining things? Had his
paranoia begun to rub off on her?

No one knew him better than she did. She should be able to understand his
musings, whether spoken or not. But wasn't it possible for her to see more
into his remarks than he meant by them? The events of the past week had
left her drained. Leaping to a wrong conclusion at this point would be understandable.

Or would it? <Dammit, you should be able to settle this without all this
bullshit.> Distressed, she found sleep elusive, though it was well past
midnight when the plane finally touched down in Washington. She'd
watched him sleep, of course; watched and thought, and prayed she was wrong.

He stirred and woke as the plane was on its final approach. Scully was on
her feet even before it reached the terminal, gathering what she had,
anxious to get home and, with any luck, wash the unsettling thoughts down
the drain along with the Oregon grime.

Circumstances, it seemed, were simply not going to work in her favor.
Upon reaching the long-term parking, they found one of the tires on his car
had gone flat. Scully swore roundly. With a shrug, Mulder stashed the
luggage in the back seat, then handed her his flashlight and dug around in
the trunk. He scowled at her when she sighed impatiently. "What's wrong
with you? This isn't that big a deal. Hold that still, I need to find the lug wrench."

Anxious and distracted, she helped him search. "Nothing's wrong with me
that a shower and a few hours of sleep won't cure," she said sullenly.
"There it is, under the carpet." She brushed her hair back impatiently as she
straightened. Sweat was beading on her skin, gluing her hair unpleasantly
to her forehead. "I think we should just call a cab."

He glanced at her. "Because of a flat tire? No way. We do that tonight and
I'll have to come out tomorrow and deal with this anyway. I don't want to
waste a day farting around with a car. C'mon, this won't take long." He
shook his head doubtfully. "Who are you, anyway? My Scully's not a whiner."

She gave him a withering look. "I'm not whining. *Your* Scully, huh? I
guess that means you've decided not to farm me out to Joe Sheriff out west."

He gave her an incredulous look, and she immediately regretted her words.
He shook his head as he bent back to the task. "Jesus, you're cranky. You
keep acting like this, I'm not sharing my toys with you at recess."

Scully couldn't help but smile at that. The poignancy of his jest, however,
only made her that much more apprehensive. He knew just what it took to
cajole her out of an ill humor. How could she *not* have that in her life?
She swallowed back the threatening tears and set her chin firmly. "C'mon,
hurry up, would you? Jesus, it's hot here."

He grunted as he struggled with the last of the lugs. "Take it easy, I almost
got it. There. Gimme the jack."

It only took a few minutes to exchange the tires. "All right," he said,
swatting debris off his pant legs as he stood up. "All better. Here, hand me
that. Look out, you're gonna trip on the wrench."

She scooped it up and dropped it in the trunk. "All right, let's get the hell
out of here."

He unlocked the doors and slid in, and she dropped in beside him. He
started the engine and turned on the a/c, then turned and gave her a
searching look. She held his gaze firmly, not allowing her anguish to show.
His brow furrowed a little as he studied her. "Scully, is there something wrong?"

Her first impulse was to deny. Blame it on the trip, or the bloody murders.
It wasn't like this was the first time she'd been rattled by something she'd
seen. But as his eyes held hers, she felt herself relent. He knew her too,
well enough to recognize inner conflict when he saw it, and well enough to
know when she was bullshitting him. Her eyes sagged shut. For a minute
she didn't speak, fearful that her voice would break. He waited silently if
not patiently. "Mulder," she asked at last, "are you going somewhere? Anywhere?"

He frowned, confused. "Yeah, I'm going home. Where should I be going at
one in the morning?"

She looked at him again. "That isn't what I meant." She bit her lower lip.
"Are you planning on transferring? Are you breaking us up?"

He stared at her for a few long seconds. "What?"

She sighed impatiently. "Some of the things you've been saying. And that
bit about Salerno. I-I just want to know if you're planning on making a
change. I need to know."

The corner of his mouth drew back in a familiar gesture, and his eyes didn't
waver as he slowly shook his head. "I'm shocked you'd even think that."
His hand touched hers, and to his surprise her fingers laced tenaciously
with his. He looked down at them, then back at her. "Scully - I don't know
what to say. I've been examining some of my own decisions, yes, but not
for the reasons you think, and certainly not with anything like that in
mind." He paused. "I wouldn't like it if something I did caused you to miss
out on what you wanted, even if you aren't aware right now of wanting it."

Relief swelled in her, and she found herself close to tears again. Impulsively
she caught him in a hug. "God, I'm so glad," she mumbled against his
shoulder. "I thought you'd made a decision and didn't know how to break
it to me."

He smiled as he held her. "C'mon, you know me better than that. I
wouldn't change anything. Really I wouldn't."

She drew herself away. The kiss was intended for his cheek, but at the last
instant he turned and it caught him at the corner of the mouth. It was an
impulse, and little more than a peck - but at the same time it was much
more than either of them were expecting. They stared at each other,
astonished. "Scully," he breathed, "what's gotten into you?"

Embarrassed, she started to pull away from him. "I don't know. I don't
know, maybe I'm losing my mind."

His eyes were still wide. "You make that sound like a bad thing." 

She looked at him uncertainly. Slowly, tentatively, he leaned toward her
again. This time the kiss was slow and soft. His hands didn't go anywhere
they shouldn't have - but they didn't let go of her either. For an instant they
were back in the hall outside his apartment, saying good-bye the only way
they could, giving as well as getting - until that God-damned bee stung her
. . .

With a shiver she turned her face away, breaking the contact. He let her go,
and they sat for a moment in silence. Then without a word he put the car in
gear and backed out. Neither of them spoke, but as he turned onto the
freeway and headed for the city, his hand found hers in the darkness and
held it. Just held it.

The blow came without warning, slamming into the rear of the car with
crushing force and sending it into a spin. Mulder swore as he battled
physics, fighting the vehicle out of a wild skid, trying to keep it on the
road. The second impact was more than he could handle - the car began to
veer wildly. The third caught it in the middle of the rear passenger door and
sent the car careening off the road. Shattered glass exploded in on them.
He heard one startled cry from Scully . . . and then the darkness took him.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 8 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Monday, October 4 (early hours)

Pain was his first awareness. Sounds, then lights. Piercing strobes of red
and blue. The metallic taste of blood. He tried to call out her name, but his
head was trapped in a neck brace, his mouth swathed with gauze.
Desperately he tried to sit up, but hands caught him and held him immobile.
Stark fear rose in him like bile. Somehow he managed to wrench an arm
loose and tear the bandages away from his mouth. "Scully!"

"Steady there," a woman's voice said. Hands caught his arm back and
secured it with tape back to the backboard. "You're going to be all right.
Your girlfriend's being tended to. Do you remember what happened? Do
you know your name?"

He stared, wild-eyed, at the face suspended over his. "Where's Scully?" He
struggled to turn his head, but all he could make out was a vague blur from
the corner of his eye. Frustration swelled in him. "Where is she? Dammit,
where's Scully!"

The hands squeezed his shoulders in a gesture of reassurance. "She's
unconscious, sir. They're getting her ready for transport now."

A new terror clutched at his innards. "They're not putting her in a
helicopter, are they? They don't take them in a God-damned helicopter
when they're going to be okay. I want to go with her. Dammit, now!"

The paramedic turned to someone with a beleaguered sigh. "This guy's
really agitated. Have you got room on that ambulance? He's pretty
adamant about staying with her."

There was an answering grunt. "It'll be tight - yeah, I guess so. Come on
with him if you're coming - she needs to get to a trauma center."

The nauseating sensation of being carried. He clenched his teeth to keep
from vomiting. Concussion? It didn't matter. He took deep breaths, and the
feeling subsided. "Listen to me," he said slowly and, he hoped, clearly
enough to be understood. "I'm an FBI agent. That's my partner. Look, my
ID's in my front pocket."

Hands dug carefully in the indicated area and came away with the leather
wallet that held his credentials. "Here it is. Agent Mulder, Federal Bureau
of Investigation. Shit, he's got a gun, too."

He glared at the speaker, who seemed unimpressed despite the evidence
before her. "That's right, Agent Fox Mulder. That's my partner. Now I
need someone to call Assistant Director Skinner. Tell him what's happened
and where we're going." His eyes focused on the hands which were filling
a syringe. "Get that away from me. What's going on with Scully? Jesus, get
this crap off me!" He strained against the stiff tape, trying to free his arms. 

The paramedic busy with Scully gave him a hard look. "Okay, we're going
to have to do something here. You got that IV going? Give him 2 mgs of
ativan. That'll simmer him down."

Mulder willed the needle away, but to no avail. "Just tell me how Scully
is," he snarled.

An unseen speaker chirped up. "Jesus, just talk to the guy! She's got a
probable concussion, with blood in one of the orbits. Not pretty, but not
too awful. It doesn't look like she was wearing a belt. Wait, I think she's
coming around. Miss, can you hear me? Do you know your name?"

Mulder strained his ears and was rewarded with a familiar voice, weak but
disdainful. "Of course I do. Special Agent Dana Scully. Where's my
partner? Where's Mulder?"

Relief made him weak - or was it the drug they were feeding into his vein?
"Scully," he breathed, closing his eyes against the roller-coaster sensation
pressing down on him. He tried to fight the spinning darkness, and lost again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                        
He hated hospitals. Not that he was afraid of them, because he wasn't; but
rarely had anything good transpired in those bright, bustling, rank-smelling halls.

He hated emergency rooms as well. Against his mumbled protests, they
whisked Scully away to another room. From there he lost all track of time.
More drugs. The indignity of a catheter. Pressure on his head, his chest.
Voices rising out of the darkness. 

Someone said his name, and he woke with a jerk. Skinner. The AD's dark
eyes were blood-shot, the glass frames askew, as if he'd jammed them on in
a hurry. No coat and tie; just a T-shirt. "Mulder," he said again softly.
"You're going to be okay. You hear me? Some bruised ribs. Cuts and a lot
of bruises."

He tried to talk, but his mouth felt full of cotton wool. "Shkull?" he whispered.

The bald head bobbed up and down a few times. "She's in the next room.
They're stitching her up even as we speak." 

"Sh'okay?"

"Bruises, like you. Put her hand through the windshield and cut it pretty
good. And they're worried about concussion."

Mulder's eyes refused to focus. "Who hit us? Was it the guy?"

Skinner hesitated before nodding again. "It looks like it. We have a forensic
team working the scene. Don't worry, they'll find something."

Mulder tried to shake his head, but the collar wouldn't allow it. "Don't
placate me. And don't divert me with another case. I'm gonna figure out
who those bastards are and I'm gonna tear them apart."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brave words, and he meant them. First he had to heal. For twelve hours he
languished in a small private room, restrained by pain as much as by
monitors and intravenous drips. To breathe was to draw fire into his lungs.
To move was an agony he had rarely ever known. 

His nurses quickly came to tire of him. At first his demands to be moved
into Scully's room were met with polite smiles. <Only married couples can
be roommates, sir. FBI partners don't qualify.> He persisted though, and
Skinner even put in an argument. <Less bother. Mulder won't give up -
believe me, it's easier to give him what he wants.> At last the assistant
administrator was called in to decide. She allowed the move. 

Skinner was right: it was less bother. Within hours Mulder was up, sitting
beside his still-unconscious partner. Her preliminary CT scans revealed a
troubling shadow: blood on the brain. Concussion. She must have taken a
real blow, the radiologist concluded. Not a great sign that she's still in and
out. Gotta give her time.

Mulder did that, and more. Upon being discharged two days later, he went
home and showered, then packed a bag. Two hours later he was back at
the hospital. 

He watched her throughout that day and into the night, at last dozing off in
the chair beside her bed. Awoke from a fitful sleep to find her looking at
him. Immediately he lurched forward, grimacing in pain as his ribs
protested the sudden movement, and switched on the small light over the
bed. Her left eye was a little swollen, but the right, filled with fresh blood
from a ruptured vessel, looked horrible. She blinked slowly at him, and the
faintest of smiles drew at the corner of her mouth. "Hey," he murmured.

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Breathe, Mulder. I'm okay." She
winced. "Head hurts. Must have a concussion."

He leaned closer, wanting to touch her, needing that affirmation but fearful
he would hurt her. "Smart girl." 

She was still for a moment, summoning her strength. Slowly she raised an
arm and beckoned with a hand. "Help me turn over. I can't seem to
manage it."

Carefully, mindful of her injuries as well as his own, he caught her arm
around his neck and helped her roll onto her side, then wedged a pillow
against her back. The right side of her face was heavily bruised, the bloody
eye ringed with a smear of black. It looked even worse up close, and he
couldn't help wincing. 

She noticed, of course. "I don't s'pose you have a mirror on you," she
murmured, settling her head back on the pillow.

He smiled apologetically. "No, and if I did, I wouldn't let you use it."

Her eyes closed briefly. "What day is it?"

Mulder glanced at his watch. "Technically it's Thursday. Barely. Quite a
week we've had."

She carefully felt the side of her head with her bandaged hand. "There's
broken glass in my hair."

He nodded as he perched himself on the edge of the chair. "Yeah, we each
took out a window. My car will never be the same again. I guess I
should've let you call that cab. Do you remember what happened?"

It was her turn to wince. "I think so." Her eyes were calm as they held his.
"They must have followed us from the airport. How would they know who
we were?"

He touched her hand, smoothing the bruise from a failed IV site. "Tags on
the car, maybe. Or someone with inside connections."

A frown drew her brows together. "You're awfully calm about it."

He slowly shook his head. "I'm faking it. I've already worked it out with
Skinner. The hell with what the Attorney General says - as soon as we're
back on our feet, we're on the case."

She nodded silently as she studied his hand. After a moment she met his
eyes again. "How badly were you hurt?"

He smiled. "I've had worse falling off a bike. They cut me loose yesterday."

"And you've been sitting in that chair ever since?"

His smile slowly faded, but his voice held a tone of resolve. "I couldn't
leave you here by yourself. Not this time."

She understood his meaning at once. "We got through it," she murmured.

His hand tightened on hers. "You were alone too much."

She shook her head firmly. "That couldn't be helped. I knew it then."

"This is different." His quiet certainty silenced her. "Where should I be if
not here?"

She found she had nothing to say. He leaned over the bed and gently kissed
her temple, then settled back in the chair again. "Try to sleep. You need
anything, I'm here."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 9 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, October 8 10:54 am.

Assistant Director Skinner was halfway through Scully's field report when
his desk phone rang. His assistant had not announced the call - it was the
private line. Only a scant handful of men had that number, and he disliked
them all. He glared at it as it rang a second time. It wasn't hard to guess
who it was. Immediately cautious, he snapped the receiver up and stabbed
the blinking line. "Yes?"

For a second he thought he could actually smell cigarette smoke oozing out
of the speaker. "Good morning, Mr. Skinner. How're our patients feeling today?"

Skinner resisted the impulse to hang up. "I haven't spoken with them yet.
I'm sure you could enlighten me, though."

The voice was characteristically light, its tone smug. "I could. Yes, your
two favorite agents are just about ready to go home. Personally, I'm
pleased. Tell me something, Mr. Skinner - I've heard you agreed to include
Mulder in the Larson investigation. Unilaterally, I might add."

Skinner bridled at the patronizing tone. "In an unofficial capacity, yes."

To his surprise, the caller didn't protest. "Good, good. We couldn't have
arranged a better scenario, not without making the good people at the
Justice Department curious. You should have consulted us. We actually
don't mind if he lends a hand, or even if he were to help settle this situation
once and for all."

Skinner stared at the wooden pen set on his desk, his eyes narrowing.
"That's generous of you. I can't help but wonder, though, why you could
possibly want him busting his hump on this case."

"Yours isn't to wonder, Mr. Skinner. Suffice it to say, if he's expending his
seemingly limitless energies on this, he *won't* be involved in other
possibly more delicate cases. Give him what information you have at your
disposal. We wouldn't want this one settled any too soon, would we?"

The implication was not lost on Skinner. As always, the bastard would
filter what information he himself received, no doubt compromising the
safety of other agents for some purpose that would never be explained to
his satisfaction. Frustration goaded him. "It wouldn't surprise me, sir, if he
were to disregard your preference for, shall we say, thoroughness over
speed on this. It isn't just another case to him. Now he's involved. He's
going to be after blood."

There was a soft chuckle. "Yes, he'll no doubt take it personally. Then
again, he does that so often, doesn't he? Oh, and Mr. Skinner, touching on
that subject - you should be aware of something else. From their
conversation just prior to the accident, it seems one or both of our intrepid
agents are growing dissatisfied with the parameters of their working
relationship. I suppose that comes as no surprise, really. So many years of
working so closely - well, they're bound to start feeling certain . . . I don't
know. Yearnings?" 

Skinner bunched his free hand in a fist. "What are you talking about?"

The voice sounded even more smug than usual. "Just thought you should
be aware." There was a soft click as the phone went dead.

With an effort, Skinner calmly replaced the receiver and sat back in his
chair. Rage made his gut tight, and for an instant he wanted to lash out at
something. He quelled that impulse, forced himself to turn back to the field
report. The mocking tone continued to play in his head though and made
concentrating on Scully's narrative difficult. After a few minutes, when he
realized he was reading the same passage for the third time, he sat back and
stared at the ceiling. It came as no surprise that the bastard had a bug in
Mulder's car. So they were fond of each other. They were supposed to be -
trust between partners could hardly be sustained without a certain amount
of affection. But too much could be a hindrance, a liability if not a danger.
Too much might make Mulder a tool to someone's designs - more than he
already was. 

Now as always, Skinner found he almost envied the agents. Their
relationship was unique, and strangely satisfying. Not that he necessarily
wanted what they had. As it was, too often he was a victim of his own
conscience. His heart was his own. He wanted no other complications.

But something was up, and he didn't like it. The chain-smoking bastard had
made that perfectly clear. He needed to talk to Mulder, and he needed to
do it soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday, October 10


It was early afternoon when Margaret Scully drew her car up in front of the
hospital. The heat spell had abated a few days before. Traffic would be a
bother, but it always was in the afternoon. She set the car in park and got
out. The nurse attending her daughter had helped her to her feet, and the
tall, slim man standing behind them helpfully pushed the wheelchair out of
the way. Margaret - Maggie - gave him a polite smile as she brushed past
him and took her daughter's arm. "Excuse me, Fox. Let me get Dana
settled and I'll get the door for you."

He quickly shook his head. "That isn't necessary, Mrs. Scully. I've made
other arrangements."

Her daughter glanced at him with what could only be called disdain. "Other
arrangements? You haven't even called for a cab yet. I don't want you
sitting around here for an hour. Get in the car."

She bit back a soft groan as she settled in the front seat. The bruises on her
face, which were bad enough under the flourescent lighting inside, seemed
even worse in the bright sun. Maggie hid her revulsion behind a cheerful
smile. "All right, are you in? Watch your robe, dear." She shaded her eyes
as she looked at Mulder. "What about it, Fox? You don't look any too well
yourself. C'mon, get in."

He acquiesced. They drove in silence for the most part, a silence broken by
the occasional horn or inordinately loud stereo from a passing car. Maggie
studied him from behind her sunglasses in the rear-view mirror. He was not
unscathed himself. In the days since the accident his black eye had faded
some, and the growth of beard largely covered the abrasions on the side of
his face. He squinted in the bright sunlight, staring absently out the front,
either unaware of her scrutiny or pointedly ignoring it. One could never be
sure with him.

Beside her, Dana shielded her eyes from the glare off someone's rear
window. "It's isn't as hot as it's been."

Maggie glanced at her. <Another damned stay in the hospital, and she
makes a comment on the weather?> Quickly she bit her lip to restrain what
could only be construed as a criticism. Silence rather than shooting off at
the mouth, that was what her husband had advocated. Not that he always
succeeded in it.

<Don't blame Fox for this,> she told herself half-angrily. <That wouldn't
be fair. It was an accident. So what that he happened to be driving. For all
you know, it would have been worse if Dana had been behind the wheel.> 

It was always interesting, watching them interact. She didn't have the
opportunity very often; but as it had often been with her husband, what the
man left unsaid was always much more revealing than anything he would
admit to. Dana's disappearance several years ago had taken a terrible toll,
and her near-fatal illness had very nearly broken him. He clearly cherished
her. Those carefully blank expressions he wore, the cautious stillness of
those gray eyes, could not hide that fact.

The quiet that he and Dana wore so easily soon began to grate on her
nerves. Evidently they were accustomed to spending long periods together
in silence. She was in no such habit. "You'll be okay alone, Fox?" she
asked, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at him.

He nodded. "Yeah, thanks. Actually it'll be a nice change from the hospital.
Too many people doing too many crazy things. You know how doctors are."

Dana hid a smile behind her hand. Evidently the dig had not been lost on
her. "Never can trust them, can you."

Maggie caught his quick smile in the mirror. She didn't like the fact that
her daughter had chosen such a high-risk profession, but she had from
necessity found a way to live with it. Resenting her partner would do no
good at all. And it wasn't so very bad, having someone like Fox Mulder as
a son-in-law. Sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They left him at the curb outside his building. Scully wanted to see him in,
of course, but he wouldn't allow it. He'd thanked Maggie, then patted
Scully on the shoulder with a quick *I'll call you*. She held his gaze for a
second before nodding. As always, few words were exchanged.

Alone in the front walk, Mulder carefully mounted the steps and
shouldered aside the heavy foyer door. Checked the mailbox and found
several bills. Joy. Punched the elevator call button.

The movement of a shadow caught his eye and he whirled, startled. Skinner
stepped slowly toward him, nodded a greeting, and gestured with a casual
turn of his head to the side door, as if he always followed his agents home.
"Sorry to bother you at home. This won't take very long."

Immediately wary, Mulder followed him back outside. "This couldn't wait
until I'm back in the office?" he asked. "That doesn't sound good."

Skinner glanced at him uncertainly. "It's hard to know just where ears can
be found," he said quietly. "Anyone interested in what we're saying can't
catch it out here."

<Unless you're sporting a wire,> Mulder thought. Prudently he kept it to
himself. "Of course. What's so important?"

Skinner didn't answer immediately, but came to a stop and turned to study
Mulder. His dark eyes were unreadable. Almost. "I don't know just how to
say this," he said very softly. "Something's been brought to my attention. It
needs to be addressed."

Mulder raised his eyebrows in something like surprise. "Out here? Must be
a hell of an accusation. Don't I need a lawyer or something?"

Skinner waved him impatiently to silence. "Not an accusation." He pressed
his lips thin as he considered his words. "No, not an accusation. A warning.
Look, I understand your attachment to Scully. What you two have is
precisely what Blevins *didn't* want to see develop. But Mulder - watch
yourself. There are those who'd pervert it if they're given the chance."

Rising anger made Mulder's face hot. "What are you saying? What are we
supposed to have done?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Skinner gave a harried sigh. "I got a call today. I
don't know what happened between you two the other night, and quite
frankly I don't want to know. But someone already does. If this becomes
an issue in the future, I'll have to consider all my options very carefully.
That includes reassignment. You and I both know how quickly a distracted
agent can become a dead agent. I'll split you up rather than see that
happen." 

Mulder stared at him, his eyes carefully neutral. "That bastard had an
eavesdropper put in my car, didn't he?"

Skinner pursed his lips, neither affirming nor denying. Frustration swelled
in him, and he looked away helplessly. "Times like this, your paranoia
really gets on my nerves. Always a conspiracy. Always someone up to no
good, with nothing but you standing in their way. Textbook Mulder. Then
something like this happens, and you're so dead on that I almost find
myself believing you."

A wry smile pulled Mulder's mouth into something like a sneer. "Dead on,
sir? Rather a poor choice of words."

Skinner held up a hand. "Watch yourself. I don't have to tell you what
precautions to take when you talk to Scully. She's a good agent. She'll
figure it out." He jerked his chin at Mulder then. "You look like hell. Get
your ass inside and rest. That isn't a request."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully stared dismally at herself in the bathroom mirror. She'd seen her CT
scans and the reports of the radiologist. Though it was startling to see, the
blood in her eye looked worse than it actually was. The ophthalmologist
had taken great pains to reassure her of that. Gingerly she combed the glass
out of her hair. Her right hand was neatly bandaged, covering the jagged
laceration. Couldn't get the stitches wet, but if she was careful she could
bathe away the sour hospital odor still clinging to her. 

Maggie had offered to stay, of course, but Scully politely declined. Now
she was regretting that. The bruised ribs made doing anything difficult.
Moving slowly and deliberately, she stopped the tub drain and ran water
for a bath.

The phone rang as she lay soaking. The phone machine was blinking when
she checked it later. Reluctantly she played back the messages. Most were
inconsequential, having come in during her absence. Phone carriers
soliciting her business. Her college alumni association asking for donations.
The last was Mulder. She sighed, irritated. If he was calling to check on her
already  

No, there was a timbre in his voice that she recognized at once. Something
was wrong. She called him back on his cell phone. It had been switched
off. Irritated and alarmed in equal measures, she tried his home number. No
answer. Not even the machine.

To her relief he called back a moment later. He sounded rushed and
anxious. <Have you eaten? Something we have to discuss. Get dressed -
I'm on my way.>

Weary, she did as he asked. He arrived a few minutes later, at once pale
and flushed. Scully frowned as he hurried her out of the house. His car
bore rental-agency plates. "What's up with you? And what's with the car?
Mine's right outside."

He shook his head vehemently. "Therein lies the tale. C'mon. We got some
things to talk about."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 10 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sunday, October 10 7:34 pm.

He took her to a diner down by the river. It was quiet and well-lit, its few
patrons scattered haphazardly about the long, narrow room. No one was
within ear-shot.

"Skinner paid me a visit this afternoon," he said almost under his breath.
"Seems someone had an ear in on our conversation the other night." Her
eyes widened. "He didn't say who. Probably figured he didn't have to. He
didn't take us off the case - in fact, he didn't even mention it. That means
either he's running defense for us against our detractors, or - "

"Or someone specifically wants us working on it." Scully carefully pinched
the bridge of her nose, then looked at him wearily. The bloody eye looked
gruesome in the harsh light. "That's why you didn't want to take my car.
You think it's wired too."

He nodded. "Call me paranoid. I'm none too sure about our apartments either."

She dropped her face in her hands and regarded him through the lattice of
her fingers. "Jesus, this is such crap." A look of wounded pride flared in his
eyes, and she quickly shook her head. "Not you. This whole . . . " She
made a vague, searching gesture with her hand. "We're not working on
anything all that special. A kid stabs the neighbor's dog. A man goes
samurai and whacks his family. What the hell is there for them to want to
catch on tape?"

He shrugged, placated. "Maybe it isn't details they want."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Maybe they're just keeping tabs on us. I use a police
scanner. Maybe that's too low-tech for them. That butt-puffing bastard
might just be listening in, monitoring us. Our work, our cases."

Scully shook her head as quickly as her sore muscles would permit.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to bug the office then?"

His gaze was unwavering. "Maybe they have. They certainly aren't going
to give Skinner a run-down of *everything* they hear." He stopped when
she frowned deeply. "What?"

She leaned forward intently. "Precisely. They want work-related, they go
to work. How much have we done in the car lately?" She paused, her eyes
growing distant as her mind worked. "And why tell Skinner at all? If they
wanted to pervert it, as he phrased it, they certainly wouldn't inform him
about it first, knowing he'd turn right around and tell us."

Mulder bit his lower lip thoughtfully. "They'd use it to hamstring us, then
go in for the kill. Jesus, Scully, do you think . . . "

She nodded slowly. "It's possible. Someone's protecting us." She tipped
her head to the side and grimaced. "Why now? After so many years of
thwarting and scheming, and the attempts to close us down . . ?"

Mulder scowled into his coffee cup. "I sincerely doubt it's an act of
generosity on their part," he replied. "If they are protecting us, then it's for
a reason." His eyes narrowed. "They want us on the case. They want us
together, not out of some warm, fuzzy sentiment, but because we're better
as a team than as individuals." He slowly smiled. "They don't know who's
orchestrating these attacks, and that has them worried. They don't share
the Attorney General's views about us, and they don't accept her choice of
agents working the case." His smile broadened minutely. "They need us to
do this for them."

Scully said nothing for a moment as she digested those theories. Followed
them backwards, step-by-step, and found them viable if not exactly
probable. It did make a certain amount of sense. She knew full well who
"that butt-puffing bastard" was, and she was sure altruism had never been
one of his motivations. He needed their brain power now. "Okay, so
assuming all these theories are correct - what do we do now?"

Mulder finished his coffee and set the empty cup down with a smack.
"We're gonna start with the guys. Frohike's got something I need. A bug
sweeper. It's a proto-type, but he's had good results with it."

With a soft grunt Scully pushed aside her untouched mug. "If you don't
mind, I'll leave that to you. I'm not up to dealing with the Marx brothers
tonight." She cut him off before he could speak. "What's there to hear,
Mulder? Me watching CNN? Making love to my pillow? I'm tired, I hurt
like hell, and I want to sleep. Don't look at me like that. I'll be fine. I'm
armed, right? I should be more concerned about you."

He sighed. Leaving her alone and, in his estimation, unprotected did not sit
well with him, but he didn't push it. "Yeah, okay. You're right. C'mon, I'll
take you home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wouldn't let him see her in. He sat in the car, unmoving, and watched
until she disappeared through the main doors. Distantly he thought about
their kiss, and it made him smile a little. By being so out of character, it
paradoxically fit her like a glove. She wasn't the detached professional she
liked to believe she was. Not completely. She could surprise herself. She
could surprise him. He liked that.

A light came on in her apartment and he knew, all kissing aside, that she
might well fling something out the window at him if he didn't get out and
fast. His smile broadened as he put the car in gear and pulled back out into
traffic. Like she had said, she was armed. She'd be okay.

It was well past nine when he reached the fortress of the Lone Gunmen.
None of them were exactly morning birds; they'd be hours away from
turning in. As far as he knew, Byers was the only one with what could be
considered a legitimate day-job. Just what that job was, though, he wasn't sure.

He parked the car halfway around the block and walked. The bulk of the
holster on his hip was strangely comforting. The dweebs didn't have the
most impressive address, and he himself had heard of more than one dead
body turning up somewhere in the neighborhood. He didn't want to be a
casualty of gang turf wars, or a drug deal gone bad.

Frohike himself answered the insistent buzzing at the entry. "Yo, Mulder.
We were just talkin' about you, man. C'mon in." He held the door wide for
him, then slammed it shut and relatched all the deadbolts - at last count
Mulder had seen nine. "We heard about your little accident. Bummer."

Across the crowded room, which did double duty as a cramped livingroom
and computer workshop, Langley looked up from the guts of the new PCU
he was hooking up and jerked his chin in a greeting. "Hey. Where's the missus?"

Mulder smiled patiently. It was an old joke. "Sorry, fellas. Scully's not up
to playing tonight. She's spending the night with CNN - a real Barnard
Shaw fan." At his elbow, Frohike snorted softly. Mulder looked at him.
"You are the man I want to see. You still have that bug-zapper thing you
knocked together?" Frohike nodded quickly. "Good. I need to borrow it.
Got a little insect problem in my apartment. I'm fairly sure Scully does too."

The shorter man nodded as he turned away. "No problem. Got it here. Just
swept up the place this morning, and I'm pleased to say I didn't find a
thing. It can't disable the bugs you have, you know - it just pinpoints 'em
for you. It zeroes in on the - "

"I don't need a physics lesson, Melvin. Just show me how to use it."

Frohike immediately shook his head. "No can do. I'll come along and do
the exterminator thing for you, no problem, but no employee of the federal
government is going to get his hands on this beauty."

Mulder smiled again wryly. "Afraid we'll pirate it?"

"No, I'm afraid you'll break it. Took a helluva long time and sweat to build
it. You G-men lose fifty IQ points just in the first week of your training.
You been in the field how long now? It's a wonder to me you can still
dress yourself."

Mulder grimaced. "Careful with the compliments, you'll make me blush.
Fine, you do it. That suits me. How much you gotta take? I don't know
how big my trunk is."

Without a word, Frohike went to a cluttered worktable and picked up a
tangle of cables and what looked like a palm-sized CD player. He jammed
them into a small satchel. "This is all. Take me to your bug-infested abode."

At that moment John Byers appeared in the kitchen doorway. Short and
bewhiskered, swathed in a bathrobe and reeking of Vapo-Rub, he was
uncharacteristically disheveled. "Mulder. I thought I heard you." 

Frohike waved him away impatiently. "Go back to bed, Byers. No one
wants your germs. Sorry ass bastard - who the hell heard of a guy catching
a cold during Indian summer?"

Byers ignored him, but his eyes widened when he saw the tangle of cables
peering out of the satchel in Frohike's hand. "Bug blaster? What d'ya need
that for?"

Mulder stared at him, deadpan. "Scully thinks I'm seeing someone. I'm just
covering my ass."

Byers' jaw dropped. "You're kidding!"

"Of course I am. Someone put a bug in our car the other day. I need to
make sure my apartment's clear. Don't want to give anything away if I
happen to talk in my sleep. Not that I do sleep."

Langley peered at them over the top of the tower. "Embarrassing. They
didn't hear anything too incriminating, did they?"

Mulder shrugged. "Just Scully professing her undying devotion to me."

Again Byers stared at him. "She *said* that?"

Frohike eyed him with something like disgust. "You been taking cough
medicine again, haven't you? Jesus, Byers, bring it up to speed. They were
in a friggin' car accident. Scully's home in bed. That, by the way, is where
you belong. In bed."

"But not Scully's," Mulder added, repressing a smile with the ease of long
practice. "C'mon, Melvin. Let's get this done. They don't have you on a
curfew here, do they?"

Frohike brushed past him. "Curfews are for young punks like you," he
replied. "Gimme the keys, Langely. Watch Byers and make sure he doesn't
wander away in his bathrobe. I'll be back with I'm done." He looked at
Mulder. "Shall we?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

10:54 pm.

Melvin Frohike was, in the truest sense of the word, a geek. That was
something Mulder could appreciate. He listened to the steady stream of
undirected prattling interspersed with gutter expletives, and all the while
wondered what his graduate professors at Oxford would have made of this
man. Paranoid, without a doubt; anti-social to an extreme, yet in a
paradoxical twist a subject who craved attention. A man with no
substantive relationship with a woman, who therefore had no realistic
perception of that sex. 

Yet he carried a torch for a certain auburn-haired federal investigator, one
that he rarely took pains to conceal. Mulder always found that a little amusing.

Still, classic education only went so far. How had Frohike himself phrased
it? "Is it still paranoia if They really are after your nuts?" Okay, so it wasn't
the height of eloquence - Mulder still held with the sentiment. Few people
had proven themselves trustworthy to any degree at all. This man was one
who had.

It took two hours to sweep the small apartment. For a while Mulder stayed
with him, peering over his shoulder at the minute screen on the palm-player
and doing his best to make sense of the data. When it became obvious that
there would not be an immediate pay-off, he sprawled gracelessly on the
couch and watched the procedure without a word. Had not the man
retraced his steps and triple-checked his results, Mulder was sure it would
have been done in half the time. However, when the verdict came in, he
knew he could at least be sure of the thoroughness of the inspection.

"You got nada here, kid," Frohike declared as he shut down his apparatus
and set about packing it away. "You sure about that car thing? I didn't get
so much as a squeak here."

Mulder laced his fingers across his belly and frowned thoughtfully. "This
doesn't make any sense," he muttered.

Frohike gave his head a shake. "Since when does that count for squat? Too
bad your car's trashed. We could find out for sure. What about Scully's?
When'dya wanna do her place?"

Mulder pursed his lips as he consulted his watch. It was well past midnight.
"That'll have to wait now." He stifled a yawn, and winced when the bruises
around his eyes and mouth protested. He touched them carefully. Mirror
images of Scully's injuries, minus the eye. With time that would return to
normal, but shit, in the meantime it was hideous to look at.

With a start he realized his companion was studying him. "What?"

Frohike snorted softly. "I thought you nodded off there for a minute. Now
that I have your attention, tell me: who'd go through the trouble to bug
your car but not your house? How'dya even figure it was there in the first place?"

Mulder pushed himself slowly to his feet, trying not to grimace when pain
shot through his chest. Was it his imagination, or did his ribs actually creak
when he moved? "Word got back to me about something Scully said. It's
never come up before, so there's only one place they could have heard it."

Frohike leaned forward intently. "Ooo, I'm intrigued. What did the lovely
lady say that could be so bad?"

Mulder waved him away impatiently. At time the dirty old man routine got
old. "It doesn't matter what she said. What matters is that it was overheard."

Frohike shrugged. "Well, you gotta have some idea who's responsible.
You do, don't you?" He frowned when Mulder merely shrugged. "C'mon,
quit stallin'. Was it old Scratch?" He scowled when satisfaction was not
forthcoming. "Mulder, you don't understand. Byers and Langley and me -
we live through you. We want to *be* you. You dance with the devil,
we're the orchestra. You work with a babe, we all work with her. You
can't play Fed on me now and keep your little secrets - you'll be a dead Fed."

Mulder gave him an impish grin. "Babe, huh? Let me tell you, the package
you so obviously lust after conceals a mind that borders on the pathological
in its obsession with detail. You envy me? You like being second-guessed
at every turn? For every brilliant point I make, she's there with a perfectly
logical and infuriatingly mundane counterpoint. That sound like your idea
of fun?"

Frohike's eyes narrowed. "Oh, yeah."

Mulder turned away. "You're hopeless."

"And you're being evasive. More so than usual. You also happen to be
bullshitting me. She's as much a pain in the ass as you make out, how come
you still work with her?"

Mulder looked back, his eyes neutral but his shoulders tense. Derogating
Scully wasn't something he relished, but discussing what had happened
between them just was not in the cards. "I'm not saying we don't benefit
from our association. You just don't realize what you're missing. Trust me."

Frohike snorted. "In all other things, maybe so. Not this. C'mon, I've
watched you two for years. It was just a matter of time, I've always known
that. You're only human, after all. This - " He paused, searching for the
word. "This resistance only makes me suspect the end really is near."

Mulder ducked down behind the refrigerator door. "What're you talking
about?" he quipped sourly. "The end of what? Are you *trying* to sound
like someone out of a Dean Koontz novel? Good night. I'll catch up with
you tomorrow and we'll do Scully's place."

Feet appeared beneath the door. The older man peered over the barrier, his
face lined and careworn. "Face it, buddy. You love her like the rest of us.
You just won't admit it."

Irritated, Mulder heaved a sigh. "Partners, yes. Friends, yes." He slammed
the refrigerator and caught Frohike by a shoulder, hustling him out of the
kitchen. "You're looking for something that isn't there. I don't want any
more than what I already have. Don't mess with what isn't broken." He
held up a hand to prevent what would no doubt be another sappy
comment, and snapped the front door open for emphasis. "Here's your
bug-blaster. Spare me your cliches. And scram. I got some stuff to do, and
it won't get done any faster with an audience."

Frohike went without another word, but his half-smile showed he was
unconvinced. Mulder locked the door and stood for a moment, hands on
his hips. Too intuitive. That was the trouble with having conspiracy
theorists as friends. They were too good at sniffing out the truth, even
when it concerned him. Especially when it concerned him.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 11 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Early morning, Monday, October 11

Sometimes life was not fair.

After a restless night and poor sleep, Scully woke to the cacophony of
trash day in the neighborhood. Along with the screaming hydraulics of the
DC Waste removal truck came the wail of dogs all up and down the
normally quiet street. Such times did a fair job of reminding her why she
kept houseplants.

She lay there for a while before giving up any hope of sleep. Carefully she
rolled to her feet and reached for her robe. She noted the time absently as
she made coffee. Just past seven.

She was well into her first cup when there came a sharp rap at the door.
Carefully she peered through the peephole; what she saw made her swear
under her breath. Grumbling sourly, she set the cup down and tied her robe
up hard around her before opening the door. "Frohike. I think I can guess
why you're here, can't I?"

The man's eyes lit up when he saw her attire. "Morning, beautiful. Oh, the
eye looks very cool."

She locked the door and gestured him into the kitchen. "Yeah, I figured
you'd like it. You a solo act this morning? Good - I don't think I could
handle all three of you. No offense. Help yourself to coffee. I'll be right
back." 

She dressed as quickly as she could manage, then tried to phone Mulder.
There was no answer at his apartment, and his cell phone had been
switched off again. Annoyed but not surprised, she tossed the blankets up
over the bed and peered out at Frohike. He had assembled a bird's nest of
cables and was moving at a snail's pace around the bookcase in the front room.

"Have you heard from him?" she asked, pouring herself more coffee.

He glanced up from the tiny screen. "Who?"

She grunted softly. "Carl Sagan. Who do you think?"

He gave his head a shake as he looked back at the device he held. "Haven't
seen him. Went by on the way here, but he wasn't home." He glanced at
her over his shoulder. "He seem okay to you? He struck me as being a little
weirder than usual."

She slowly sat down and regarded him over her cup. The steam felt good
on her face. "Yeah, he's okay. A little rattled by everything, especially that
bug thing. You know how he gets sometimes."

Frohike snorted indelicately. "He's got nothing to worry about there. His
place is so clean it's disappointing. So was he, by the way. All he'd give me
was that someone had overheard something you said. Nothing more."

She hid a smile behind her hand. "I'm not telling if he's doesn't." He
scowled at her, though she wasn't sure if it was defiance or a silent appeal
she saw in his eyes.

Obviously miffed, he turned back to the task at hand. "Whatever. I'll just
have to plant my own bug somewhere."

The sudden pounding on the door startled them both. Scully shot him a
dark look as she brushed past him. "Careful with the threats, Frohike. A
wiretap would be illegal, even for you."

A second rap at the door. Irritated, she snapped it open, this time without
looking. How did she know who it was? It didn't matter how - she just did.
"Hi, we were just talking about you."

Mulder followed her in and locked the door behind him. "Yo, Melvin. Glad
you could make it. Hey, girlfriend. Got enough coffee for me? Good,
you're dressed. You're going to need shoes. Go on, I'll wait for you."

She stared at him, her gaze unwavering. "You'll be waiting a long time if
you don't tell me where you're taking me."

He plucked the cup out of her hand and took a swig, and immediately made
a sour face. "Yuck, how can you drink this without sugar?" She stood
before him, unmoving. He winked playfully. "We're gonna go check out
the car that hit us. They're holding it down at Impound. I pulled a few
strings. It might be fun."

She shook her head doubtfully. "You're telling me no one's gone over it
since the accident?" she asked, brushing past him and returning to the
bedroom. 

He leaned in the doorway and stood sipping her coffee. "Sure, a team's
look at it. That's never stopped us before. C'mon, I want to get a feel for it."

She glanced at him as she pulled on a pair of sneakers. "That's fine for you.
Why exactly am I going?"

He smiled. "Beats spending a whole lot of time here with Dr. Seuss,
doesn't it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DC Impound was busy at any hour on any day. The only difference that
morning was the collection of faces that stopped them and asked for their
ID. The strings Mulder mentioned evidently didn't include a promise of
anything resembling speed; they spent almost an hour in plastic,
uncomfortable chairs waiting for the bureaucratic dragon to remember
them. Scully passed the time reading the forensic reports Mulder had
expediently borrowed from the desk of the investigating officer. It was not
standard procedure for any agent to investigate a crime committed against
themselves, but this case was different. Skinner had put his stamp of
approval on it.

She bit her lower lip as she read. "They might have something to go on
here. The vehicle was abandoned, like the others, but this time there's a
nice twist. Says here it rained a little last Saturday. Not much, just enough
to dampen the dirt at the roadside and in effect groom it. The team picked
up a nice set of tracks running away from the scene. Have you seen these?"

He grunted as he looked down at the photos. "Yeah. They got part of a
plaster cast. There's residue on the steering wheel as well. Something
Skinner didn't mention to us: that same residue was found in the assaulting
vehicle in Larson's case." She looked at him, her eyes wide. He gave an
answering nod. "Surgical gloves, treated with special hypo-allergenic
powder. You know more about those things than I do. They come regular
and extra dry, don't they?"

Her eyes grew distant as she nodded. "Yeah. Some people have developed
sensitivities to the powder, and even to the latex itself. That's helpful, I
suppose. At least we won't have to check with each and every company
who markets latex."

A half-smile twisted his mouth. "Well, there's latex, and then there's latex."

She didn't even look at him. "I don't think we're going to have to go so far
as to investigate manufacturers of condoms. Not unless this case takes a
very bizarre turn. I'll call the lab this afternoon and see what the status is
on that."

Engrossed as she was in the report, she didn't hear the clerk call out to
them. Mulder touched her hand and gestured with a turn on his head.
"C'mon, we're up."

A tech handed them each a pair of gloves, then directed them down a series
of twisting hallways to the heart of the warehouse itself. The car was just
one in a graveyard of similar hulks. It was a steel-gray Suburban, one of the
largest models available from the manufacturer. The front end was little
more than a crumpled mass, but what remained was reasonably intact.

Almost at once she noticed something odd. Slowly she knelt and ran a
finger around one of the crumpled headlight sockets. Mulder crouched
down beside her.

"Look here," she murmured. "That's why we didn't notice anyone
following us that night."

He scowled as he leaned closer. "There's no glass. Not so much as a shard.
It looks like the lamps were removed before the collision." He grunted.
"Kind of risky, driving that stretch of highway with no lights."

She glanced at him. "Well, it was probably moved there before nightfall. It
isn't legal to drive like this, but cops can't be everywhere at once."

He shook his head doubtfully. "No, they were taken out after it was parked."

It was her turn to frown. "How do you know that?"

"It just makes sense. How could anyone count on not being pulled over for
something so noticeable? A clean, obviously well-kept car with no
headlights?" He leaned even closer. "Yeah, look at this. Oh man, check the
file. Have the guys from Latents been over this thing yet?"

Rocking back on her heels, Scully quickly thumbed through the file. "Yeah,
three days ago they were out and did the interior." She followed his gaze.
"What have you found?"

He caught her hand. "Don't touch anything. I see what might be a partial
there on that bit of flashing. Look, can you see it?"

Squinting, she peered at the area before his extended finger. A faint
smudge marred the otherwise pristine surface. "Yeah, that could be a print.
Or a smear of oil from a mechanic's hand. The car's listed as a '93. That's
a lot of tune-ups."

He grunted as he pushed himself to his feet. "Worth a try."

She moved with him to the passenger-side door. He opened it and leaned
in, looking around.

The airbags had deployed. One slumped, spent, from the steering column.
They exchanged quick glances. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" he murmured.

Scully half-smiled. "I'll see if someone at Quantico's up to speed on the software."

He grunted as he looked past the steering wheel to the shattered
windshield. "No blood. No hair. Hmm." He looked at her again. "The field
where we ended up - it was searched, right? There were the footprints at
the roadside. What do you think the chances would be that someone
jogging that road at one in the morning *and* wearing a crash helmet
wouldn't be seen?"

She nodded, frowning. "No witnesses have come forward - maybe no one's
asked the right questions."

Mulder bit his lips as he nodded. His eyes were unfocused, his gaze distant.
"A car that was probably stolen. Headlamps removed before the fact.
Footprints running . . . to where?" He looked at her again, the flesh
between his brows crimping in a confused scowl. He dragged his hand
through his hair as he turned away. "Details, but no pattern. Not yet."

She drew him away with a hand on his arm. "We've got some things to
start with. Come on. Let's get something to eat, and then I'll get going on
that airbag."

He slowly followed her. "Yeah, okay. See if you can find out what
happened to the car that hit Jack Larson. Maybe we'll get lucky with that
one, too."

"What are you going to do?"

His glance was quick, his expression pensive. "I'm going to find my car and
get Frohike to check it out. Among other things."

They didn't speak until they had reached the rented car. "I know that
look," Scully said. "What're you thinking?"

He looked at her over the roof of the car, frowning. "Call me sentimental,
but we got lucky. I don't know why - maybe just because the attack
happened out in the open." His eyes were shadowed, troubled. "I hope no
one else has to die before we catch this guy."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 12 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Monday, October 11 12:05 pm

He dropped her at her apartment. Frohike was just wrapping up his own
investigation, and fairly leapt at the chance to show off the extent of his
brainchild's abilities. Scully watched them go with a wry smile. It didn't
take much effort to imagine Mulder following the same twisted path,
becoming even more isolated, more lonely, and more driven by fears and
convictions that no one would ever understand.

No one but herself.

She spent the afternoon at Quantico. There would be little trouble in
setting up the digital program, despite the fact that it was so rarely utilized.
When she was sure the operation was well under way, she turned her
attention to the second of her tasks. It took some persistence, but she
finally located the cars at a holding yard by the DC railyards. Another
phone call, this one to Mulder, still busy at his own task. The digitizing was
progressing, she told him, but it would be at least a day until they would
have anything to work with. In the meantime she was returning home. He
agreed to meet her there when he was finished.

It was well past four when she arrived back at the apartment. The
throbbing in her head and neck had increased steadily throughout the day,
adding to her aches. She took some aspirin, then stretched out on her bed
and closed her eyes.

She woke to darkness, and the sound of a soft footfall. With a gasp she
grabbed the gun off her night table.

"It's okay," a voice called softly from the darkness. "It's okay, it's me."

Light spilled into the bedroom from the lamp in the living room,
silhouetting a familiar figure. He stepped slowly into the room and stood
there as though undecided. "I'm sorry I scared you. You didn't answer the door."

A relieved sigh. He had her spare key, just as she had his. She dropped the
gun beside her and cradled her head in her hand. "Sorry, I must have dozed
off. What time is it?"

He stepped closer and slowly sat down in the chair at the foot of the bed.
"After nine."

She looked at him, stunned. "You're kidding me. I've been sleeping for hours."

He smiled a little. "You must have needed it. I'm sorry I had to wake you."

She pushed the hair out of her face as she sat up straighter. "What kept
you? I'd have thought you'd be finished up hours ago."

He grunted softly. "We were. At least Frohike was. I went for a walk. You
know, just to chew over some things."

Scully knew precisely what he meant. What was for other people restful
was, for him, requisite. "What did you find? Was your car bugged?"

For answer he drew something out of his shirt pocket and dropped it into
her outstretched hand. A minute black square. She turned it over,
examining it curiously. "Hidden in plain view," he said quietly. "At first I
couldn't figure out how the power source was rigged. After all, the car just
sat there for days. Then when Frohike found that where he did, it all fell
into place."

She frowned at him. "What is this?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at her intently. "It's
the A/C power switch. Instant on recording device. As soon as I turned on
the fan, it was doing its thing."

She said nothing as she studied him. She'd seen this intensity before. He
was angered by the unwarranted invasion, as anyone would be - but there
was something more. Slowly she moved to the foot of the bed and sat
down facing him. "What else?"

He didn't move for a moment. Then he slowly reached around to his back
pocket and drew out a clear plastic bag. An evidence bag. It was
unmarked. "This."

She reached for it, frowning. "Is it from your car? What is it? I don't see anything."

He nodded slowly. "Look closer," he murmured.

Curious, she held it up to the light. Long filaments. Paper-thin strands of
copper. She looked at him, confused. "I don't get it. Is this from the
eavesdropper? Fiberoptics? Did Frohike find it?"

Mulder shook his head very slowly, then to her surprise reached for her
bandaged hand and held it. "No. I did." His eyes were hidden by shadows,
but his tone conveyed much. "It's hair. Your hair."

She stared at him, unsettled. "Where was it, embedded in the windshield?"

He didn't move. "Yes." His hand held hers, undemanding but unrelenting.
She heard rather than saw him smile, though she sensed it conveyed no
humor. "It hit me when I saw that. Something I'd always known, but lately
I haven't wanted to think about." He paused as if searching for words, then
abruptly pushed himself to his feet, releasing her. "It doesn't matter. Don't
listen to me, I'm wiped out. We'll go check out Larson's car in the morning."

She caught his arm as he turned away. "Mulder, wait. Come on, if
something's bothering you  ."

He looked back at her with weary eyes. "Just thoughts." He hesitated,
hands on his hips, and stared down at the floor. Then he sighed. "You
could have been killed," he said very softly. "All this time together - all the
bullshit we've seen. I know we've come close to it. Both of us have." He
slowly shook his head. "But not like this. You said it yourself - something
as simple as a car accident." 

She tipped her head to one side as she regarded his averted face. "Mulder,
what could you have done that you didn't? Don't do this to yourself."

He was silent a moment, then forced a wan smile. "I told you I'm tired. I
get introspective. Don't worry, I'm okay."

She trailed him out to the living room, and in the light from the kitchen saw
the fatigue that the shadows had so effectively concealed. Dark smudges
underscored his eyes, and he was almost ashen. "Yes, you do need rest.
Desperately, I'd say. How much sleep did you get last night?" When he
gave a non-committal shrug, she shook her head and reached for his arm.
"You're in no condition to drive, especially in nighttime traffic. Come on,
camp out here for tonight. Take the spare bedroom, or the couch if you'd rather."

His smile broadened noticeably as he evaded her. "I'll be fine, Mom. Come
on, let me go. I'm not up to wrestling tonight."

He was taller and stronger, and she was not surprised when he succeeded
in wresting himself free. Determined, she stepped in front of him and barred
the door. He regarded her patiently, his expression a mixture of exhaustion
and amusement. "Come on, Scully, get out of the way."

She folded her arms. "Nothing doing. Don't fight me on this. Neither of us
are up to it."

His jaw set, and for an instant she thought he might lift her bodily out of
the way and escape. They considered each other for a tense moment. Then
to her surprise he relented, nodding as he fell back a step. "Yeah, all right.
I'm too tired to fight." An amused gleam brightened his eyes. "I'll take the
bed. I think I've had it with couches for a while."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 13 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Tuesday, October 12

They slept later than they'd wanted to. Upon waking, Scully disappeared
into the bathroom for a shower, something she had somehow missed the
previous day. Mulder rose soon after, and was finishing his coffee when she
made her reappearance. He appraised her silently from behind his mug. She
was still pale, but the eye was a shade less gory. The bruises about her face
were beginning to fade. An extra large Band-Aid had replaced the dressing
on her hand.

They began at the holding yard. Like any other wreckers', this one had a
weary, run-down look about it. A pair of dogs, securely chained to steel
doghouses, barked hysterically at them, hackles raised, teeth bared.
Ignoring them, Mulder pushed the shop door open and looked around
impassively. The interior was likewise unimpressive. Cluttered shelves and
posters of half-naked women covered the walls. He flashed his badge to the
attendant seated beneath two impossibly buxom models. The man belched
in response, then took a deep draught from the plastic soda cup clutched in
his hand. "G'wan through - dogs won't hurt you."

Scully gave her head a shake as they passed. "What do you want to bet that
isn't Coke he's drinking?" she muttered.

Mulder opened the yard door for her and waved a threatening hand to the
dogs. They immediately slunk back to their shelters. "Certainly not *just*
Coke," he said sourly, side-stepping a lopsided pile of hubcaps all but
rusted together. "Watch where you put your hands out here. Not all black
widows are up on their union rules - like the part that says they're
supposed to be black."

Scully squinted in the bright sunlight, irritated that she had misplaced her
sunglasses. "Jack's car is supposed to be in the section here, closest to the
entrance. I don't see it. I might have to go ask the mechanic."

Mulder snorted. "While you're at it, why don't you ask Prince Charming
where he attended finishing school."

She said nothing, merely stood surveying the graveyard around them.
Scores - no, hundreds of ruined vehicles were scattered about almost as far
as she could see. Some had simply broken down and been brought here to
decay, but others had obviously suffered from brushes with the laws of
physics. Two bodies had tried to occupy the same space. Crunch. Twisted
metal, shattered glass. And the lives within the cars? What had happened to
the men and women driving them? A stab of melancholia lanced through
her and she swallowed hard, hoping he wouldn't hear the raw emotion in
her tone. "Poor Jack. A month away from retiring and he ends up out here.
It isn't fair."

Mulder looked at her, frowning. Shading her eyes with a hand, she scanned
the yard again. "There. I think that's it." 

They weaved their way through the crushed hulks. She remembered full
well the extent of the damage done to the sedan. Looking at it now, she
couldn't contain an involuntary shudder. <Jesus, there's nothing left. Even
if he'd seen it coming, he wouldn't have had time to react. Salerno didn't
know how right he was - it takes the brain a full half-second to register
pain. Jack was dead before he knew it.>

Mulder grunted as he tried the passenger side door. "This is really wedged.
Maybe if we both tug on it  ."

Without a word she caught her good hand around the bent window frame.
At his count they gave a single, collective heave, and the door popped open
with a resounding screech. She leaned in past him. "God, it's close in
here." Carefully she looked around, mindful to avoid the dark stains on the
upholstery. A quick glance to the rear seat revealed nothing useful. She
slowly straightened. "We're looking at the wrong car," she quietly
declared. "We should take a look at the one that hit him."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe so. Come on, we're here." Crouching down, he
peered under Tripp's seat. "A lot of blood here. Are we sure it all came
from the same source? With this much damage, the other driver could have
been thrown this far, easy."

Scully shook her head doubtfully. "Not and have the strength to run away
from the crime scene. I suppose some of it could be Jack's. He was all but
decapitated by the impact."

Mulder looked up at her quickly. "He was? I didn't know that." He
couldn't help but wince. An acquaintance capped like this - and then
working on that family in Oregon? Jesus, no wonder she had been on edge.

Suddenly that kiss made a lot more sense.

The search proved fruitless. Mulder shook his head in disgust as he shoved
the bent, useless door back into position. His ribs were killing him, and
though she wouldn't admit it, he knew she couldn't be feeling much better.
"Where's the perp's car? Is it around here anywhere?"

She brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "According to what I was told,
it should be in that section against the fence. C'mon."

He frowned as he hurried after her. "You sure you know what it looks like?"

She grunted softly. "I remember."

They found it almost immediately, standing out as it did with the familiar
front-end damage. A cursory exam revealed little. As with the other, there
was no evidence of broken glass in the headlamps. The driver's side door
was sprung, the frame buckled from the force of the impact. The
windshield was a spiderweb of fractures. Scully peered at it closely but saw
no evidence of the driver. No blood, no hair. Whoever it was driving had
obviously taken precautions. She bit her lip thoughtfully.

Mulder leaned in through the open door and looked around. What he saw
made him swear. Curious, she squeezed in beside him. "What's the matter?"

He gestured to the steering column. "Airbag's gone." He straightened
slowly, trying not to wince. "Someone got to it first. Either that, or the
driver had the time and presence of mind to do a little slicing before he put
on his running shoes."

Scully knelt and peered at the floorboards. "Look. There's something
down here. Fine sand, and what looks like a blood drop."

He peered over her shoulder. "Good catch. You have any evidence bags on
you?"

She shook her head. "Not one this big. The whole mat needs to be taken
in." She sighed as she straightened again. "I doubt the mechanic will be of
any help. Someone'll have to come back." She grimaced and touched a
hand to her side. He noticed but said nothing. "Come on, let's go check
that digitizing. I'll have someone from Forensics come out to collect this."

He touched her shoulder, turning her away. "Are you okay?"

She shrugged his hand away. "I don't feel any worse than you do. Don't
look at me like that. Come on, let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quantico served as much more than the FBI training grounds; the
sprawling complex also housed the most up-to-date computers there were
in the nation, along with forensic labs of every conceivable discipline.
Scully herself had done her stint at teaching there. It had not been wasted
time, by any means - but looking back, she now realized how unhappy she
had been. The few opportunities she'd had to work with her then former
partner - those were the memories she'd taken away. Nothing else had left
much of an impression.

You can't ever go back, someone had said.

Bullshit, she thought. I am back, and I'm not going anywhere.

A soft sound caught her attention. "Did you say something?"

He shook his head slowly. "I didn't realize that about Larson." He spared
her a quick glance. "The extent of his injuries, I mean. I guess I should
have done a better job of reading the casefile."

She allowed herself the barest of smiles. "Don't worry about it."

He glanced at her again, playfully this time. "That's the best platitude you
can come up with? I think if our roles were reversed I could come up with
something better. Maybe, You're a wonderful guy for saying that, but
feelings can't change facts."

She looked at him, amused. "You're a wonderful guy for saying that,
Mulder, but feelings can't change facts. He was dead before he knew what
hit him." She looked out the window at the familiar city-scape. "It was
tough to deal with, but I got past it. Okay?"

He didn't respond except to shrug. <Tired today,> she thought to herself.
<Haven't had a chance to recover our breath since it happened. We can't
slack off on this one. What's to keep the bastards from doing it again. We
have to get to them first, and right now we haven't enough to go
anywhere.> 

"You look like hell," he said suddenly. She wondered how it was he could
drive and study her at the same time. "How about I take care of things for
a while? I can take you home."

She shook her head. "How about you just get us there? Don't give me that
look, and don't even think about offering up the weakened female
argument. We don't have time to sit on our duffs on this one. You know
that as well as I do."

He shrugged and nodded. "Okay. You know, I don't think you should
spend any more time with Frohike. He's turning you into a guttermouth."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The digitizing, it turned out, was taking much longer than they had
anticipated. They waited for several interminable hours, during which they
sat in even more uncomfortable chairs and drank even more coffee. Aspirin
and caffeine soon took the edge of Scully's aches, but they did little for her
mood. She called Forensics and told the supervising agent about the
floormat; when the woman started to equivocate, saying something about
being short-handed that shift, Scully angrily reminded her that she was
investigating the death of a fellow agent, one with whom they had both
worked. After a brief hesitation, the woman agreed to go out herself if
necessary and collect the evidence. 

Mulder was having difficulties himself. The comptech was dour and
unapologetic: his brainchild simply could not be rushed. When asked for
the sixth time how the picture was shaping up, he firmly told them to leave
their fax number and go elsewhere to wait. With superhuman calm, Mulder
produced one of his cards and wrote the number to the machine in the
basement office.

It was decided they should go home to wait. Scully started to put up an
argument, though inwardly she was relieved. It didn't take much to
persuade her. He left her at the curb outside her building. She closed the
car door between them, then looked back in through the half-opened
window. "Don't pick me up - I'll meet you at the office in a few hours."

He nodded and pulled slowly away. As he drove he ran through the steps
they had taken, though long before he pulled up in his own neighborhood
he came to the conclusion that they couldn't catch a cold with what they
had, let alone a full-blooded murderer. That digital imaging was critical.

He parked and locked the car, set the alarm, and rode the elevator up. The
actions were automatic, almost ritual; he gave no thought to them. Once
inside, he stripped and showered. The fridge held nothing of interest, as
indeed it usually didn't - a city-dweller through and through, he almost
always ate out. He swore softly as he padded back to the bedroom and
dragged on a fresh change of clothes. Yeah, he wanted to sleep at least a
while, but shit, he was hungry. It had been a long time since breakfast.

Back down the elevator to the car, then to a place a few miles from the
apartment. Dinner rush hour. He looked at his watch as he pulled out.
Almost an hour had passed already. Hardly worth trying to sleep now. He
mused thoughtfully for a moment as he waited for a light, then with a soft
grunt turned away from home and followed the highway downtown.

D.C. was a funny place. People just didn't seem to know when to leave at
night. He remembered his father coming home in the evenings, usually long
after dinnertime, always silent and withdrawn, and always returning
without comment or complaint to the city the very next day. What had that
comedian said about winning the rat race - that the winner was still a rat?
He looked up at the downtown buildings and gave his head a shake. A city
full of rodents. His father was one. He was one.

Security stopped him at the garage entrance, of course, and almost politely
asked him for some i.d. He looked at his watch again as he punched the
elevator call button. It was past six. She'd chastise him, of course, in her
own subdued way. He shrugged. Couldn't be helped now. Like she said,
they couldn't afford to let this one get away from them.

He unlocked the office door and shrugged it aside, and almost hopefully
looked at the fax. The green light was on, and a single sheet of paper had
been ejected into the cradle. He grabbed it, and his hopes promptly
plummeted. It was a note from the complab: some problem with the
system. Priority cases were being handled first. Priority his case was not,
having been ranked second on a scale of five. With a snarl he wadded the
paper up and threw it aside, then snapped up the phone and started to
punch up numbers. Secondary importance? How many people had to die
before they made it to the top of someone's God-damned list?

He stopped himself before the call went through. <Don't shoot yourself in
the foot,> he admonished himself. With steady hands he replaced the
receiver and then rolled his shoulders, forcing the anger in abeyance. Wait a
while. Scully was better at things like this. She'd find out what was going
on - hell, she'd probably even schmooze the techs into reevaluating their status.

He looked at his watch again, then rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he sat
down behind the desk. Wearily he leaned back in the chair and palmed his
eyes, then looked up at the ceiling. A forest of pencils hung, suspended,
from the acoustic tiles over his head. Rarely did one ever fall anymore;
they'd been there long enough, the unstable ones had long since weeded
themselves out. He counted them absently. God, he was tired. With a
drawn-out sigh he leaned forward in the chair, folded his arms on the
blotter and cradled his head in them. 

Within seconds he was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door opened, but the sound was lost in his dreams. Vaguely he heard
the soft footfall, a familiar voice gently say his name. The syllables rolled
like rings on a pond, changing his sleep but not quite disrupting it. Not his
first name. She never used that one, or at least used it so rarely that Never
was almost the case. Something touched his shoulder, the side of his face.
He tried to say her name, but it came out as little more than a sigh. Another
touch - the warmth of a hand squeezing his arm. 

"Mulder? Can you hear me?"

He managed to open his right eye a slit, and groaned very softly as he
looked at her through the fringe of his lashes. "Mmm."

Her brows were knitting in a familiar scowl. She bent closer and touched
his face again. "Are you all right? You feel a little warm."

He blinked. "Quit playing doctor, Scully. I'm just resting. I thought you'd
approve." Slowly he sat up. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven-thirty." She straightened beside him, her quick glance
missing little. "You've changed clothes, so you obviously made it home.
How long were you there? Not long enough to rest, evidently."

He shrugged one shoulder as he swept a hand across his face and through
his hair. "Long enough to realize I didn't do any grocery shopping this
week." He yawned behind his hand, then rolled back in the chair and
looked at her. "They faxed us a note from the complab. Some problem with
the mainframe or something. They're getting to us as fast as they can."

Scully looked around curiously. "Where's the note?"

He gestured to the other side of the office. "Over there somewhere." She
looked at him stoically. He didn't have the energy to feel particularly
chagrined. "I was hoping you could call them up and put our case to them."

She nodded as she reached for the phone. "I'll do that now. Here, this was
in our mailbox upstairs." She dropped an envelope on the desk before him.
"Skinner caught me in the hall on the way down. He's called a meeting in
his office tomorrow at seven."

Mulder scowled as he picked up the envelope. "Skinner's still here? Jesus,
does the guy ever go home?"

She held up a hand to silence him. "He has even less of a life than we do.
Yes, this is Agent Scully. I'd like to speak to the shift supervisor, please."

He feigned a wounded pout. "I don't know about you, but my life is just
fine. A little *unusual* maybe, but - "

"*You're* a little unusual. Don't stick your lip out like that, I can't afford
to laugh right now. Yes, I'm still holding. I'm sorry, I didn't get your
name. Klein? This is Dana Scully. Listen, I got this fax  ."

Mulder listened, smiling, as she plied her talents. Her SAC was already all
over her for something substantive - a subordinate priority would not fly.
Yes, she was aware that there were other pressing cases, but the digitizing
was crucial to her investigation into the death of an FBI agent. Anything he
could do to speed the process would be greatly appreciated. Yes, she'd be
available all night if she had to be. Her cellphone number? 561-  .

The conversation lasted less than two minutes. She couldn't resist a playful
wink as she hung up. "We're back on top."

He smiled. "One of my favorite positions."

She humored him with a pained expression as she took the envelope back
and opened it. She quickly scanned the contents, and her brows almost met
in a deep frown.

Alerted, Mulder sat up a little straighter in his chair. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "The chemical analysis on the airbag from the car that
hit us. It's dated the sixth." She paused. "Listen to this - titanium dioxide,
traces of ferrous oxide, mineral oil, 
*talc - *?"

Mulder scowled. "English, Scully."

She looked at him, her eyes wide. "It's cosmetic make-up. Foundation." 

He grimaced as he tried to read the paper from where he sat. "Come again?
We were hit by a 
woman?"

She shrugged expressively. "Yeah, it's possible. In light of this report, I'd
have to say it's even likely."

He studied her with narrowed eyes. "Wait a minute, there's something
wrong with this picture. The specimen was tested on the sixth, and we
don't get it until the *eleventh?* Someone took their sweet time getting it
to us, didn't they?"

Something she read made her frown. "Where's the original police report
from our own accident? I want to check something." He produced it from
a leaning stack of files. She plopped it down atop the lab report and quickly
leafed through it. "Right here. The footprints leaving the crime scene - a
small size, and judging from the length of the stride, the perp was running.
Measurements of the gait make it a short individual, somewhere between 4
foot 10 to 5 foot 2. When Jack was killed, the perpetrator was described by
one eyewitness as short and slightly-built." She lifted her eyes to his again,
and he saw her growing alarm. "She killed Larson, then came after us.
Mulder, what if he wasn't the first?"



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 14 
~~~~~~~~~~~


She immediately placed a call to Skinner's office. Terribly sorry, the
assistant told her; the AD had just left for the night. Scully hung up without
reply. "C'mon - maybe we can catch him before he gets out of the
building." She sprinted for the stairs.

He caught up with her at the first-floor landing. "You think he knows
something he's not telling?"

She glanced at him, her jaw set. "I think there's always something he isn't
telling us." She flung aside the heavy door with a surprising burst of energy.

They caught up with him in the stairwell of the garage. Startled by their
urgent calls, he turned and met them. His eyes were guarded and gave
away nothing.

Scully came to a stop less than an arm's length from him. "Sir, may we
have a moment of your time?"

He looked at them in turn. "Is there a problem, agents?"

"You might say that, yes," she replied, her voice soft but her tone brittle.
"In regards to the case we're working on- I'm wondering if we have all the
information necessary to resolve the situation completely."

His flinty eyes held hers, unwavering. "Are you making accusations, Agent Scully?"

She didn't back down. "Of course not, sir. It simply occurred to us that the
incident involving Agent Larson might not be the first of its kind. For a
novice to reach such perfection of implementation, to carry out such a
violent crime and leave no damning evidence, would be extremely rare. I'm
sure Agent Mulder concurs with me on this. If our suspicions are correct,
there should be other casefiles." 

He glanced uneasily at Mulder. "I wasn't aware that you hadn't been
informed. There are other crimes which, at least on the surface, bear a
striking resemblance to the incident you two were involved in, and the one
in which Larson was killed. At the request of the Attorney General, Agent
Collins was placed in charge of the task-force. I assume you are aware of
that. The day after your accident I asked him to include you two as
provisional members of his team."

Mulder held out the analysis. "Apparently he didn't get the message. This
report - it's almost a week old." He forced a smile, though his eyes were
far from amused. "Kind of makes us wonder what else we haven't been told."

Skinner sighed and nodded. "Agent Collins is in New York right now
looking into one of those earlier incidents. He has the files in his
possession. However, I have copies up in my office."

Scully folded her arms. "We would like very much to have the chance to
see them."

"That can be arranged. Do either of you have your phone?"

Mulder tossed him his. Skinner caught it one-handed and quickly dialed.
"It's me. Yes, they caught me. One last thing before you go home for the
night  ."

They exchanged lingering glances. Skinner handed back the phone with a
perfunctory nod. "They'll be copied and delivered to your office tonight.
Anything else?"

Scully eyed him sharply. "The meeting in the morning - will Collins be
there? I don't know about Agent Mulder, but I have a few questions I'd
like answered."

Skinner nodded again as he turned away. "Unless there's a major
disruption of airline service on the Eastern seaboard, he'll be there. I'm
sorry, but whatever issues you have about him will have to wait. I'm on my
way to an appointment, and I'm already late. Good night, Agents."

Scully stood looking after him, and turned only when Mulder took her arm.
"Come on. We got what we need."

She followed him, though he could see in her expression that she was not
satisfied. "Just when I think I get a handle on understanding him, he does
something like this."

Mulder looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"

She glanced at him sharply. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. There are
times I'm sure he's looking out for our best interests, and for the benefit of
the justice system - but  ."

"But there are other times when it appears he's being manipulated, and as a
consequence manipulates us. Like tonight." He glanced over his shoulder.
"We have to watch our asses even around here. Interdepartmental back-
stabbing, office politics, all the God-damned bureaucratic dancing . . ."

They reached the elevators, and she snorted very softly as she thumbed the
call button. "Trust no one," she murmured. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he
looked at her. "How the hell can we do our jobs if we can't trust our own people?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

The files soon arrived, as promised: eight in all including their own. The
courier asked for a signature and turned away with an indifferent grunt.
Scully swore as she stared dismally at the full carton. "Jesus but Collins has
a lot to answer for."

Mulder squeezed her shoulder as he brushed past her. "Just don't shoot
him. I don't want to have to break in a new partner at this stage of my career."

She spared him a quick look. "Ever the altruist, aren't you?"

"Selfish to the bone. No one knows that better than you." He found a
second box in a rarely-used corner of the office and split the work between
the two. "All right, I'm taking my share and I'm going home. Come on, I'll
walk you to your car."

She groaned softly as she palmed her eyes. "It hardly seems worth it, what
with having to be back at the crack of dawn." She carefully rubbed a bruise
on her cheekbone and winced ever-so-slightly. 

He noticed. "It's plenty worth it. Still sore, aren't you?"

She shook her head. "You go ahead. I'll just go get some coffee and come
back. I'm anxious for that digital report."

He caught her hand as she reached for one of the boxes. "No," he said
quietly. She looked at him, irritation and amusement lighting her eyes. A
gentle smile softened his expression, but not his resolve. "Spare me any of
your icy gazes, Miss Scully. We've both been pushing hard. Go home.
Familiarize, don't memorize. No way you could do a good job of it tonight
anyway." He stacked one box atop the other and picked them both up.
"Now come on. I'll walk you to your car."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 15 
~~~~~~~~~~~


Wed. Oct 13

They gathered at the appointed hour the following morning. Back in a
business suit for the first time in almost a week, Mulder fiddled with his tie
as he took the chair beside Scully. Bill Collins had taken the seat directly
across from them, and was busy fussing with his casenotes and pointedly
ignoring them. His partner nodded a polite greeting to everyone as he sat
down. <All he needs,> Mulder mused silently, <is a T-shirt that says I'm
with Stupid.>

There were several others with them, men that he did not know. One of
them, a tall, gray-haired character, stood across the room, surveying the
party with a distant expression. No one in the room was exactly dressed in
rags, but this one's business suit put the best of them to shame. He caught
Mulder looking at him, and a sardonic sort of smile twisted his mouth.

Scully leaned close. "Did you get any rest?" she whispered.

He nodded. "Yeah, of course. Who is that guy?"

In typical fashion, she didn't have to look to know exactly who he meant.
"That's Paul Carpenter, from Justice. No doubt he's the one who called
this meeting." Her tone was cold, her expression something approaching a
sneer. Mulder didn't think anyone else could see it, but it was bad form and
out of character for her. "*Carpenter* is right - the man thinks he's the
right hand of God."

The office door swept open then and Skinner entered. Carpenter stepped
forward as if in greeting, a smile starting. "At last. So glad you could join
the party, Mr. Skinner."

The AD looked at him with thinly-veiled contempt. "My apologies," he
said, pulling out a chair. "I wasn't aware I was holding up the show. Shall
we get started?"

Carpenter glided across the room and took the chair at the head of the
table. Without prompting, Collins closed his notebook and laced his fingers
over it. He was on a par with Mulder in age and appearance, though unlike
him Collins had a definite Southern drawl. He looked directly at Carpenter
as he clearly and succinctly detailed the case. A total of eight incidents,
with ten people injured in all. One fatality. Forensics could not definitively
tie two of the cases together, but the M.O. was too similar to ignore the
possibilities. There were vague eye-witness accounts at one scene,
references to a suspect who appeared to be female. Four days after the
Mulder-Scully incident, a hitchhiker came forward claiming he had been on
that highway at eleven that night and had seen two cars, one of which
matched the description of the assaulting vehicle. The other was a non-
descript import, silver-blue in color. He could not provide a description of
the drivers.

Mulder looked at Scully. She read his expression and quickly nudged his
ankle to silence him.

Carpenter followed his gaze. "Have you something to add, Agent Scully?"

She started as though guilty. "Sir?"

The smile that drew at his mouth did not reach his eyes. "You seemed
about to say something. I'm giving you the opportunity."

She exchanged quick glances with Mulder before shaking her head. "Not at
this time, sir. I'm actually not as familiar with the particulars as the other
agents, so it would be best simply to let Agent Collins continue."

Carpenter's smile became fixed. "Indeed."

She flushed uneasily, and Mulder saw a muscle clench in her jaw.
Carpenter looked away. "You may continue, Agent Collins."

"A trace amount of saliva was found on the deployed airbag from the
vehicle that struck Agent Larson," Collins said with a scant glance in their
direction. "We are at this time awaiting genetic detailing from the computer
lab at Quantico. The work has been slowed due to a partial shutdown of
the mainframe."

Mulder absently picked up his pen and tapped it on the tablet before him.
Collins' report was rote and uninspired. Had he no theories? How could he
find the answers if he never got around to asking the right questions?
Where had the *profiling* gone? With a quiet sigh he looked around the
table. Skinner was taking notes. Collins' partner was flipping through a
police file. Carpenter -

Carpenter was watching Scully.

Mulder kept his expression carefully blank. Stared at his hand for the count
of five, then looked back. He was still looking at her. His own expression
was carefully devoid of overt interest, but the subtler signs were all there: a
smear of color around his throat and jaw, the frequent swallowing, the
almost casual touch of the finger to the collar, as if the necktie was slowly
tightening and choking him.

Scully sat motionless, oblivious.

Casually Mulder swung his chair around so that both were in his line of
sight. She too was wearing the full business regalia. The shirt she wore was
discreet, with just a little skin visible at her throat. That little bit had
Carpenter's full attention.

Disgusted, Mulder looked away.

Collins was wrapping up. Carpenter's questions were stock, the voice flat
and bored. What evidence were they developing? What more would they
need for an arrest, should the suspect be apprehended? A few inquiries
reflected a cheap Bureaucratic mentality: how many people were pulling
overtime on this? Compensation could not be made without the proper
paper trail. Twice Mulder started to speak, to pursue what were clearly
valid points, and twice he stopped himself. To alienate others, to
compromise his own standing in pursuit of the truth, did not worry him.
The concern was Scully. Carpenter was in the position to squash them
badly, and that seemed reason enough for discretion. There was something,
some connection between his partner and the man-sized ego sitting at the
head of the table. History, and judging from her demeanor, unpleasant
history. Should he ask her? Would she even tell him? How many times had
he told her just so much but no more? How could he expect anything more
from her?

At long last the assembly broke up. Few conclusions had been drawn.
Skinner nodded curtly to the group and dismissed them, then turned away
with Carpenter, his spine as stiff as a ramrod. Mulder exchanged glances
with Scully, then turned to the agent across the table. "Agent Collins, we
were hoping to have a word with you." 

Collins looked up with a smirk. "As I anticipated. Of course, agents - we'll
just step outside."

Scully caught Mulder's wrist, a silent caution in her eyes. He nodded once.

They trailed out to the assistant's office, where Collins rounded on them
with hard eyes. "What can I do for the two of you?" he asked. His words
were polite, the tone with which they were delivered edged.

Mulder half-smiled wryly. "Well, for starters you can let us in on our case.
I don't - "

"*My* case, Agent Mulder. Not yours. The Attorney General never
wanted you involved in the first place. If I'm not mistaken, you were sent
to Oregon the very day I was handed this. You are *provisional* members
of the investigating team. What that means is, I come to you when I need
something from you - and since I don't believe this affair is going to
involve anything resembling ghosts or Martians, the chance of that
happening is about as likely as the two of you sprouting wings and flying a
mambo around this room."

Scully bridled. "Might I remind *you,* Agent Collins, that our assignment
was sanctioned by A.D. Skinner, who is, incidentally, your superior as well
as our own."

Collin's mouth twisted unpleasantly. "Your assignment only came about
because your partner twisted Skinner's arm. Golden boy you aren't, Mr.
Mulder, but you do manage to get what you want from the man. There
may not be a thing I can do to get you out of my hair, but I can make sure
you don't go off on some demented tangent and cost me my case."

Mulder rocked back on one leg and eyed him coolly. "At the risk of
puncturing your self-assurance, I would like to ask a few basic questions -
like when you're going to start actually profiling this suspect. You didn't
address anything speculative. Where are the stolen cars coming from? How
is the suspect gaining access to them? And perhaps more importantly, why
the choice of targets?"

Collins shook his head as he spoke. "Unlike you, Agent Mulder, I only
present facts I can verify. I don't present cases of *if-thens.* In short, I
work by the book, as is. I don't rewrite it to fit my own agenda." He
looked at Scully. "You may have been an asset, Miss Scully, once upon a
time. You do fair work, but your reputation has suffered for the company
you keep. I don't see you doing anything to change that." He looked at
Mulder for emphasis. "If you'll excuse me now, I have work to do." He
brushed past them and walked away.

They stood there for a few seconds, unmoving. Contained rage was evident
in Scully's expression, in her very bearing. He looked at her uneasily. "That
was fun," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. Tight-lipped, she stared silently at
Collins' retreating back. He nudged her with an elbow, but she was as
unyielding as a post. "Scully, breathe. Come on, don't listen to his bullshit."

She took a deep breath and opened her clenched hands. "Yeah, whatever,"
she replied, turning on her heel and heading for the elevator. "Lend me a
dollar, would you? I didn't bring any money."

He frowned as he searched his pockets. "You'll never hire a hitman for a
buck, if that's what you're thinking."

She shot him a hard look. "I'm going for coffee. You want any?"

He shook his head with a careful smile. "No thanks, I've had too much
already today."

She took the proffered bill and brushed past him. "Today there's no such thing."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 16 
~~~~~~~~~~~

Wed. Oct 13

He returned to the office. "A God-damned waste of time," he muttered
sourly as he unlocked the door. A fleeting hope made him look to the fax
but it was inert, the light a taunting green eye, promising but never
fulfilling. Disgusted, he took off his jacket and tossed it across the desk.
Disturbed by the breeze, a small blizzard of papers billowed onto the floor.
He swore as he picked them up.

"Jackasses," he muttered, restoring them to some order. "Two grinning
jackasses." He moved to the smaller desk that housed the computer and
with a soft grunt dropped into the chair. He palmed his eyes, then glanced
at his watch. Ten-thirty. He'd get down to work in a while. Absently he
flicked on the monitor and promptly succumbed to a self-indulgent whim.

By the time Scully returned, he was calm again.

She closed the door behind her and frowned at him over the rim of her cup.
"Not tendering your resignation, are you?" she asked. Her tone was almost
light. He mimed a silent laugh. She took a sip of coffee as she approached.
"I'm sure you checked the fax."

He grunted. "I've about given up on that damn thing."

She nodded as she rounded the desk. "I suppose a phone call wouldn't be
well received, would it." She stopped, a gentle scowl marring her
expression when she saw what he was doing. "Mulder - you're playing a game?"

He grunted. "It seemed wiser than beating the shit out of Collins. You
gotta match the little tiles-"

"Yeah, I know. I'm just surprised to find you doing it now." She set the
cup down, then leaned over his shoulder and peered at the display. "It's
more of a challenge if you remove the colors."

He half-smiled wryly. "No kidding."

She nodded, engrossed. "No, go back. You'll stalemate with those moves."

Obediently he replayed the sequence. "You okay now?" he asked without turning.

She grunted. "Yeah, sure. You?"

He gave his head a shake. "Can't let s.o.b.'s like him get to you. I mean,
get to me." He was silent for a few seconds, and though he hadn't planned
on asking, his curiosity would not be contained. "Who's Paul Carpenter?"

She leaned closer to the screen until her face hovered near his. Her eyes
flicked from square to square, seeking matches, finding patterns in the
chaos. "Here, work on this area. Clear those tiles and you'll have a straight
shot at the rest. Otherwise you'll hit a wall."

He glanced at her. "It's a game, Scully, not brain surgery. Was that your
way of telling me to mind my own business?"

She snorted softly. "Carpenter was assigned to a case of mine when I was
at Quantico. The police work was sloppy. Nothing I could do was going to
change that."

He played a few more tiles - to her splashes of color, to him shades of gray.
"And I take it you two disagreed about it?"

He heard rather than saw her smile. "You could say that, yeah. He found
fault with everything, and I mean everything." He glanced at her - she was
staring at the screen as though mesmerized. When she spoke, her voice was
soft and distracted. "He tore the case apart. I had to work like a dog just to
defend myself." She looked at him, curious. "Why do you ask?"

It was Mulder's turn to grunt. "Oh, nothing. He - he was watching you. It
didn't strike me as a particularly avuncular sort of gaze."

She scowled. "Watching me? Why?" 

He didn't reply, merely looked at her. Realization dawned in her eyes, and
she flushed as she looked away. "You must be mistaken," she murmured.

He shook his head as he sat back, the game momentarily forgotten. "There
were signs," he said. "They were subtle, but I recognized them. He was
pretty clearly fixated on you."

She straightened beside him and folded her arms self-consciously. "No, I
don't think so."

"He won't make an issue of it. That would end the fun for him. The
comment he made to you, the subtle way he put you down - hell, even
attacking your work - I think it's how he expresses something. Some baser
feeling, maybe. Don't just shake your head, think about it. He can't have
any sort of relationship with you - *any* sort. He's probably decided to
settle for the most he can get. If that means making your life difficult, that's
okay with him." He shrugged as he turned back to the game. "It's no
reflection on you. I was watching. You didn't have the faintest idea what
he was doing."

She sighed uneasily as she bent over his shoulder again. "Jesus, I thought
he was offensive before." She followed his movements and shook her head.
"Wait, go back. You're going to deadlock."

He swore when the computer finalized it, then turned to her and gestured
to the mouse. "Here, you play."

She quickly shook her head. "No, thank you. If you're finished, I would
like to get some work done."

He gestured to the monitor as he rose. "Come on. Collins has all but given
us the day off. Five dollars says my score will beat yours. I won't even
make you drop the colors."

She looked at him patiently. "Mulder, be serious. We have things we could
be doing. Regardless of what anyone thinks, we're still on this case.
Besides, this game doesn't have a score. That's the beauty of it."

He raised his left hand and tapped his watch. "Got a second hand right
here. C'mon. Five bucks."

It was easier to give in than fight the imp in him. She relented with a long-
suffering sigh. "All right. But make it a dollar."

He said nothing more, but leaned back against the table that abutted the
computer desk and folded his arms. She set herself to the task. His gaze
shifted from the screen to her bandaged hand, then to the fall of auburn
hair. He liked her anyway, but especially when she was like this: oblivious
to her not-inconsiderable charms, her keen mind busy, concentrating on
something even as insignificant as this game, finding a way through what
often seemed the impossible. Collins had no idea what his team was
missing. How many cases had they solved in large part because of her
tenacity? Exploding heads, alien viruses, a family of inbred monsters - he
couldn't even count them.

His gaze fell on the scar on the back of her neck. Only a few millimeters in
length, it was barely visible against her pale skin. The sight of it was
sobering. A little frightening. It diminished their daily problems, rendered
headaches like Carpenter a mere inconvenience. What was the implant?
Why was it so significant? What purpose did it serve, other than to keep
her free of ills no one should ever have to bear? And just how did it do
that? By what mechanism did it work?

He gave his head a shake. As always, one question led to a dozen others.
Questions without answers. Why had she been taken in the first place? Was
it just to get at him, to turn him from the path he'd once been on? Had she
stumbled onto a piece of the puzzle? Or was it to goad him into acting for
the benefit of an agenda he would never know about? 

Almost without thinking he reached out and touched the mark with a
fingertip. The chip was too small to be perceived; all he felt was her warmth.

She reacted with the barest of flinches: a quick inhalation, a slight lifting of
a shoulder. "That's not fair," she murmured. "You're distracting me."

He didn't withdraw his hand. "Sue me."

She looked at him quizzically, but he silenced the anticipated question with
a shake of his head. His hand hung in the air between them for a beat
before falling to his side. Had he ever apologized to her? He didn't think he
had, and frankly didn't know why he would, except for bringing chaos and
danger into her neat, orderly life. The heartache of losing his sister, the
risks inherent in his quest of the Truth come ruin or rapture - in this person,
his partner - his *friend* - he had someone to whom he could voice them.
Share them. For an instant he almost pitied Collins the lack.

Her eyes were steady as they held his, and he smiled. For someone so
skeptical about the paranormal, when it came to reading him she was
remarkably intuitive. Powers of observation, she would say - familiarity
with the subject. Be that as it may. He was the profiler, but she could read
him in a heartbeat.

"I know that look," she said at last, as if proving the point. "Get a grip,
Mulder. That's just not what we are."

Her words didn't dishearten him, in part because he had expected them.
They reflected a code of honor he found rigid and confining, but one that
he adhered to nonetheless. All his life he had been out of step with the rest
of the crowd. The Yank at Oxford. A thinker in a profession crammed with
doers. Why deal with the cards after they've fallen, he'd asked her once.
Don't take what comes - do your damnedest to see that they fall in a way
you can use.

Her words made sense. Friendship was fine to a point, but anything
approaching a deep emotional attachment was a serious encumbrance. A
distraction. A danger. He recalled Skinner's veiled warning and recognized
the wisdom in it. 

But that was easy to dismiss when she looked at him like that. The bruises
were barely visible now, the eye still bloody but better. He thought back on
that night a week ago, when she had opened those eyes and looked at him -
how his relief had eclipsed anything else, even the anger that someone had
done this to them. Without giving himself time to think, or her to react, he
leaned down and brushed a kiss across her cheek. 

<Maybe this time she's wrong. Maybe what we are is changing.>

She didn't retreat, didn't react at all except to lean into the contact. He
drew back a little, his hands still on the arm of the chair. There was no
impatience in her eyes - nothing but tender affection. "What was that for?"
she whispered.

He slowly shook his head, smiling. "Call it an impulse."

Her eyes dropped, and he realized she was looking at his mouth. Was she
thinking what he was, he wondered. If it had been a temptation to kiss her
in Oregon, it was now almost a physical imperative. A full, unabashed,
premeditated kiss. The thought was strange. They were partners, after all.
Friends. It was dangerous. A kiss could be a prelude to so many things. It
could change so many things. But there *was* affection between them, and
with it a deep and abiding attraction, no matter how they tried to act
otherwise. 

Still he hesitated. Would she respond in kind, or push him away? Did he
dare find out?

"Mulder," she said very quietly, her face so close his vision was blurring,
"this is crazy."

He shook his head. No words came.

She didn't retreat. His heart skipped a beat when her hand rose and framed
his face in the V of her thumb and palm.

*Contact.* He kissed her softly, drew back a little, then kissed her again.
She didn't rebuff him. He smelled the coffee she had been drinking, then
tasted it. Her hand slipped around his neck, compelling the kiss to deepen.
Her mouth was warm as it moved beneath his. Cautious. Intriguing. Inviting.

How long were they there? He didn't know. They drew apart almost as
slowly as they had come together.

She smiled as she dropped her gaze self-consciously. "That's getting to be
something of a habit."

He shrugged one shoulder. "You don't tell your folks," he whispered, "and
I won't tell mine."

She almost giggled as she pushed him away. "Go. Back off. Go sit over there."

He leaned close again and whispered, "I love it when you tell me what to do."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, reluctant to face him. "Oh,
shut up."

At that instant the fax on the other side of the office chirped.

For a moment neither of them moved. Slowly Mulder straightened, hope
and doubt competing for space in his thoughts. The machine, silent for so
long, seemed unwilling to impart its message any too quickly, but hummed
and grumbled to itself as though locked in some strange internal
monologue. He drummed his fingers impatiently in time to the pulse
throbbing in his temples, and wondered distantly if anyone had ever died of
a stroke while awaiting a fax.

At last the paper emerged and fell into the cradle. He picked it up and read it.

And smiled.

Scully immediately moved to his side and read the message aloud.
<"Project complete. Final product currently being printed. Pick up at
your convenience. Klein."> Her shoulders slumped a little. "Jesus, it's
about time. Do you want to drive or shall I?" 

He looked at her playfully. "What Collins said up there - was I hearing
things, or did he say he wouldn't be including us in this case?"

She stared at him, deadpan. "It doesn't matter what he said. We are
obligated to provide any and all information to the team leader. That's
protocol." She paused, and one corner of her mouth lifted just a little.
"Something tells me you don't see it that way."

He grinned as he wadded the note. "Schoolyard rules. The man said we had
nothing to offer him on this. I'm only taking him at his word." He reached
across the desk and swept up his jacket, this time not disturbing any
papers, and turned back to her with a grin. "I hope you bought enough
coffee for both of us. Bring it along - I'm driving."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 17
~~~~~~~~~~~


Wed. Oct 13

A fine day, all in all. Carpenter allowed himself a self-satisfied smile as he
unlocked his office door and shoved it aside. The meeting had not been as
informative as he had hoped, but if he had learned anything from working
with the FBI, it was that they always had more information than they
would ever admit to. Certainly more than they would present to a Justice
Department peacock. That twerp Collins most assuredly was following up
avenues he hadn't thought to mention. Besides, Mulder was adequately
muzzled, which could only be a good thing. And his partner . . . she had
looked quite luscious. Meeting or no, he'd found himself entertaining some
interesting thoughts about her. He doubted very much that anyone would
ever suspect him of harboring such lustful impulses for an underling - not
that they would blame him, of course, even if they did know. That hair,
those luminous eyes, that oh-so sweet mouth - 

With an effort he shrugged those thoughts aside. <A time and a place for
such fantasies,> he rebuked himself, <and this neither of them.> He swept
a hand across his forehead, banishing the telltale pearls of sweat, then
removed his jacket and hung it fastidiously on the wooden coathanger
behind the door. No mundane racks for his suits; they'd ruin the fall of the
wonderful Macao silk. His work was more elevated than the average
Justice grunt. His clothes would reflect that.

He stood for a moment at the window, stretching his arms over his head.
The coffee smelled wonderful. His assistant had brewed it precisely at ten
a.m., just as he'd instructed. It was strong too - he could tell by the aroma.
A dark Jamaican blend. He smiled as he poured a cup. The steam was
delicious, and he found himself envisioning the red-haired agent swathed in
it. He'd had his eye on that one for a long time now. Time had only
improved her. Her pairing with that idiot Mulder was tailor-made in its
perfection. He was a geek. A clown. The potential for sentiment between
them was so slight as to be irrelevant. How could someone like her ever
feel anything for a dweeb like Mulder? Her work with him made her feel
important. Necessary. And it kept her association with other men to a
minimum. Carpenter would not have to take steps to break up a potential
romance. That the argument was old in no way detracted from its validity:

If he could not have her . . . 

Stop it, he told himself harshly, setting the cup down on an oaken coaster
and settling in his well-padded chair. There are other cases at hand, and
some more pressing than a series of hit-and-runs. He sighed as he opened
his datebook.

The phone beside him rang. He stared at it resentfully. He could guess who
it was, and in fact had half-expected the call. He took a deep sigh before
picking up the handset. "Yes," he said in a practiced, level tone.

The gravelly, smoke-roughened voice at the other end conveyed no such
pretense. "Carpenter, I think you owe something of an explanation. What is
going on with that case of yours?"

Inwardly he cringed. <Don't let him know how he bothers you,> he told
himself firmly. "I'm sorry, you'll have to be more specific than that."

"Don't crack wise, smart man. We gave you this case because you said you
could control the situation. The investigation isn't controlled, it's at a
standstill. There *must* be forward movement on this. The Attorney
General is already asking questions, even if you choose not to listen. Ignore
her too long and she'll make changes we might not find convenient."

Carpenter stared at his balled fist. "Just a minute. You left the particulars to
me, as I recall. Collins is making excellent progress. He isn't bogging down
in the details, and he certainly isn't inventing - "

"Collins is stumbling badly. I can't help but wonder why you haven't
noticed. As of this moment, Mulder is to be more actively involved. Collins
will no doubt object. Keep him in check, or we'll make other arrangements."

<Mulder is back in the equation.> A stab of hot rage lanced through
Carpenter, leaving him almost unable to speak. "And how, may I ask,
should I do that?"

The voice hardened. "That's why you get the big bucks, Mr. Carpenter. If
you have problems with this, we'll be more than happy to assign it to one
of your colleagues."

Carpenter clenched his teeth so hard his bridgework creaked. "That won't
be necessary, I assure you."

"Good. We'll be watching closely. You have two days to come up with
something that will placate the Attorney General. After that you're on unemployment."

With that the phone went dead.

His pulse hammered in his head as he returned the handset to its cradle. For
a moment he didn't move, just forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.
When the rage subsided, he calmly reached for his coffee.

"Shit," he muttered aloud, staring at the dark fluid. He set it aside,
untouched, then picked up the phone again. 

His assistant immediately responded. "Yes, sir?"

"Get me A.D. Skinner."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder wasn't a cautious driver at the best of time.

Mercifully the traffic between the Hoover building and Quantico was not at
its heaviest, and no cop would molest anyone driving a car with
government plates. Without a word he plucked the Styrofoam cup from his
partner's hand and took a heady gulp of the coffee, then offered it back.
"Here, you want some?"

She grimaced slightly. "No, thank you. I've had enough."

He glanced at her. "After all this time, you're afraid of my cooties?"

She humored him with a pained look. "No offense, but I don't want to
share your toothbrush either."

"My mom and dad did it all the time."

"Even if they did, they were married and we are not. Jesus, if you're going
to speed, would you at least keep your eyes on the road." She held up her
hand when he proffered the cup again. "Go ahead and finish it. I'm tired of
the smell."

He drank down the last of it and made a face. "I wish you took sugar. Ugh."

"Then say yes the next time I ask. If I ate half the sugar you do, my teeth
would rot out of my head."

He tapped a quick cadence on the steering wheel with his thumbs. "Oh,
thanks for reminding me. I have an appointment with the dentist next week.
Tuesday, I think." He spun the wheel then and brought the car to a jolting
stop. "Come on, I'll race you."

She was hard-pressed to keep up with his long strides. The guards at the
Security station scrutinized their badges and then waved them through. She
glanced at her watch as she hurried after him. It was just approaching noon.

In the computer lab, Klein met them with a polite nod. "You two didn't
waste any time getting here." He went to an out-basket overflowing with
sheets of paper and fished out a manila envelop. "Here's your baby. I don't
know how much good it's going to do you. People don't tend to smile
when they hit those airbags. Even after the cleaning up I did, it's pretty distorted."

Mulder nodded absently as he tore open the clasp. The image was indeed
blurred, but it resembled a human face and that was good enough. The
nose looked strange, flat and compressed, the eyes closed tight against the
impact. There was a hard, flat line across the forehead and down the sides
of the face. Scully touched a finger to the paper. "Looks like you were
right about that crash helmet."

He nodded as he stuffed the paper back into the envelop. "Klein, is it?
Thanks a lot. We owe you one."

The man gave his head a slow shake. "Jack Larson was a friend of mine,"
he said. "Tripp's a decent guy. Just close the book on this bastard, okay?"

Mulder glanced at his partner as they turned away. "Okay, G-woman.
You're more up on protocol than I am. What would the next step be for an
anal-retentive compulsive kiss-ass like Collins?"

She gave him a side-long glance. "I would begin by watching the adjectives."

He grinned. "Point well taken."

She hurried to keep up with him. "Forensic Anthropology, I suppose, to
get an ethnic profile. After than it'll have to go through Photo Ops for
comparison to the Federal databases. It would help if the image were
clearer. I'm afraid our wait has only just begun." He slowed for the
escalator, allowing her a moment to catch her breath. She eyed him,
worried. "Any one of a dozen people might leak this back to Collins, you
know. What are you going to tell him when he blows up in your face?"

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he considered her. "Bears some thought,
I suppose. I'm not too worried, actually, except for what he might do to you."

She frowned down at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "He can't say anything about me that hasn't already been said
at one time or another. Public opinion isn't high on my list of priorities, you
know that. I, uh, I didn't much like what he said about you though. More
to the point, I don't like the fact that it's true. That crack about your
reputation." Her frown deepened. He held her gaze. "It keeps coming up.
Where would you be if you hadn't been banished to the basement?"

She shook her head impatiently. "I knew what he meant when he said it. I
don't intend to lose any sleep over it. I don't want you to either." She
nudged him arm and nodded to the envelop. "We're going the wrong way.
Anthropology's on four." 

Her phone chirped before he could reply. She flipped it open. "Yeah,
Scully. Oh, Dr. Edwards. No, I'm fine." There was a long pause, and she
winced noticeably. "This afternoon? I don't think that's necessary . . . well
yes, as a matter of fact it is inconvenient." Another pause, and her eyes
closed in defeat. "Yes, I suppose blindness would be inconvenient too. All
right. I'll be there." She swore softly as she hung up. He was watching her
curiously. "Sorry. That was the ophthalmologist. I missed a follow-up
yesterday. He's pretty insistent."

He glanced pointedly at his watch. "You want me to drive you?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. We have time to drop this off. My car's
at the office. I'll drive myself. Come on, if we're lucky we'll catch them
before they split for lunch."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 18 
~~~~~~~~~~~


Wed. Oct 13


It was dark when she drew up outside her building. Progress was being
made, but it was slow. She was tired. The anthropologist had a backlog
and could make no promises. Photo Ops was always buried in work,
despite the fact that they had the fastest computers available. The databases
were mammoth. Photos and information on each and every felon in
America and its territories were stored there. Each had to be scrutinized
and evaluated. There was no way around it: the operation would take time.

It had not helped at all to be summoned so unceremoniously for another
battery of tests. She wasn't the authority he was, but neither was she
completely without expertise. That the tedious and time-consuming retinal
scan showed no problems only made her feel vindicated. Better to be safe,
Mulder had said when she told him, though she could hear in his voice that
he too was feeling the strain. 

Wearily she locked the car and trudged up the walkway. The foyer smelled
of cigarette smoke, and she wrinkled her nose. Someone had evidently
decided to stink up the hallway rather than contaminate their own
apartment. She never had been able to stomach the smell. Bill liked the
occasional cigar, but she only saw him at holidays now. Dad had never
smoked. Too many years of life on board navy ships - one didn't have to
light up to smoke. Just inhale.

"Good evening, Miss Scully."

The voice was unmistakable. She whirled, snapping her weapon free and
bringing it to bear in one motion. A tall figure stepped slowly out of the
shadows, the flare of his lighter illuminating his face for just an instant.
"You're looking well, all things considered."

Her aim didn't waver despite the jolt of adrenaline. "What do you want?"
she demanded.

He didn't answer immediately, but took a deep pull on the cigarette. "Shall
we step outside? Your neighbors might not appreciate an armed and
frightened woman standing in their hallway." He backed slowly toward the
front door. "I assure you I'm not here to harm you. Quite the contrary."

She didn't move. "We'll talk right here. And put that thing out."

His eyebrows twitched. After a long moment he turned and snuffed the
cigarette in a decorative potted plant. "Very well. Here it is. The digital
image you obtained this morning - to go through channels will take time. A
lot of it."

Scully allowed herself the barest of smiles. "How astute. Thank you for
sharing this with me."

He ignored the sarcasm. "I'm not finished, Agent. There are ways to speed
up the process. I'll admit to some surprise that you haven't utilized any of
them yet. Still, sometimes the most obvious answers are the ones we can't see."

She stared at him coldly. "What are you talking about?

He drew the lighter out of his pocket and toyed with it. "The company
your partner keeps when he isn't with you, the vagabonds who call
themselves the Lone Gunmen. I believe they have access to a database
beyond even the scope of the FBI. You might want to consult them."

Slowly she lowered her arm, though she neither reset the safety nor moved
her index finger from the trigger. "Why tell me this?" she asked harshly.
"Why should you care one way or the other about this case?"

He shrugged one shoulder, and in the vague half-light she thought she saw
him smile. When he spoke there was a marked lightness in his tone. "This is
a very important case, Agent Scully. I don't have to tell you that. Why
come to you? I suppose I could have gone to Agent Mulder just as easily.
He's pulled a gun on me too from time to time, now that I think of it. You
two make a good pair. Perhaps I wanted to see for myself that you were
unharmed. I must confess to having a tender spot in my heart for you. I do
have a heart, you know. I suppose that makes me no different from your
partner. Or am I mistaken?"

Heat rose in her face and made her cheeks sting. She held her silence.

He took a slow step back and opened the door. "Ask them, Miss Scully.
We can't wait until another innocent is killed now, can we?"

With that he was gone.

She was shaking. Quickly she safetied her weapon and holstered it. Her
fingers were unsteady. She fumbled a moment with the keys, then found
the right one and slipped inside. Stood with her back pressed to the door
for a moment. Vulgarities danced for a moment in her head but she shook
them off, instead taking a quick, deep breath to steady herself. Then she
flipped open her phone and punched two buttons. He picked up on the
second ring. "Mulder, it's me. I need to see you now."

~~~~~~~~~~~

He met her outside the fortress. His business suit had been replaced by
jeans and T-shirt, and he smelled faintly of sweat. Frohike opened the door
and ushered them in. "What gives, guys? You want some dinner? I just
finished, but I could find something."

Mulder held up a hand. "None for me, thanks. Scully, hungry?"

She shook her head. "No thanks, but I wouldn't say no to a drink."

Frohike's bushy eyebrows shot upward and he turned away. Mulder gave
her a searching look. "A drink? You?" He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
"What happened? Are you okay?"

She pulled away uneasily. "Yeah, I'm fine. Please, not around these guys.
They're too good at reading gestures." She paused. "I got a visit from a
friend of ours." She turned to Frohike and accepted the plastic tumbler.
"Thanks. What is it?"

He watched her take a careful sip. "Tequila. Sorry, it's all I could find.
Come on in. I'm alone tonight, but I guess you could see that. Kind of nice,
having the place to myself."

Mulder looked around. "Where is everyone? Langley driving Byers to the
hospital?" He caught Scully's surprised look and smiled. "He has a cold. I
think I'm just kidding."

Frohike ignored the remark. "They've gone to a convention in New York. I
didn't want to go this time. Byers gets weird at those things. You know,
always looking for his lady love." He shrugged. "So tell me, to what do I
owe the honor?"

Mulder looked at her expectantly. "I'm not sure. Care to enlighten us?"

She took a swig of the liquor, then set aside the tumbler and shrugged off
her heavy blazer. Unlike her partner she had not changed clothes from the
day, and the business suit was beginning to chafe. "This," she began,
producing the digital image. Mulder glanced at it, frowning. "I'm
wondering if you have any way of running a comparison for identification."

Frohike looked confused. "Come again?"

She gestured broadly to the roomful of equipment, only a fraction of which
she could identify. "You pride yourselves on breaking into secure systems,
right? I've got a job for you. I just don't know *which* system." She held
up the image Klein had given them. "We need this person identified, and
we need it done soon."

He looked at it doubtfully. "I thought you had resources - "

"We do," she said, cutting him off. "But they take time, and I get the
feeling time isn't exactly on our side on this one." She stared at Frohike,
trying to ignore Mulder's concerned gaze. "Can you do it?"

He squinted at the image a minute, then took it and turned away. "Well,
yeah. There are any number of databases I could look in. It would help if I
knew a little bit about what I'm searching for."

She took a deep breath. "That's the person that hit Mulder and me. Eye-
witness reports make it to be a woman, or a very delicately-built man. It
isn't much to work with, but - "

"We already have our people running it through the national databases,"
Mulder said.

Frohike chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Yeah, okay. Let's see if we can cover
the other end of the spectrum. Say, someone who doesn't have a criminal
record but still might have had cause to have their picture snapped. Hmm.
You know, this is a pretty bad shot. Kind of reminds me of the last picture
I had on my driver's license."

They exchanged quick glances, and he snapped his fingers. "Bingo." He
spun on his heel and hurried to one of the terminals scattered about the
room. "What was that Langley said once, about hacking into the DMV
mainframe and changing his status. We'll just modify that some, make it a
search and copy rather than a search and modify . . . the security on that
network's a joke . . . start with all the women between ages fifteen and
thirty . . . " He eyed the blurry image again. "Better make it forty."

Mulder turned Scully away. "Tell me about this visit," he murmured.

This time she didn't shrug off his hand. "He was in the foyer of my
apartment building. I smelled those damned cigarettes but didn't stop to
think who it might be." She shuddered. "He said the key to solving this is
here with these guys. If he's telling the truth, it puts us on the same side of
the issue with him. I find that possibility unsettling."

Mulder glanced over his shoulder. Frohike was hard at it and had
apparently forgotten about them. "Did he say anything else?"

She looked away. "I asked him why he came to me with this. He said he - "
There she stopped.

He saw the color rising in her cheeks. "What? What did he say?"

Her pressed her lips thin for an instant. "He said he wanted to see for
himself that I'm okay." She looked at him again, and he could see the
humiliation in her expression, could hear the agitation in her tone. "After all
he's done, after all he's ordered done, to say that with such ease . . . it
made my skin crawl." She crossed her arms quickly and dropped her gaze.
"I don't know if I can go back there tonight."

He nodded slowly. "Frohike, that's going to take some time, isn't it?"

There was a soft grunt. "Unless you get real lucky, it's gonna take a couple
days. This machine's faster than the DMV's, but there are a hell of a lot of
faces in the mainframe, even within these parameters."

"Fine. I'm taking Scully home, and then I'll be back. Wait up for me."

She frowned at him. "Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Weren't you listening? I'm driving you home."

She brushed him aside. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine."

He caught her hand. "Don't go squirrelly on me, I'm just looking out for
my partner." He picked up her jacket and handed it to her. "Thanks for the
lovely evening, Melvin. Don't forget to lock us out."

~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't protest again. They had not gone far when a light rain began to
fall. The silence between them was broken only by the occasional soft
whoosh of the wipers. 

She wouldn't admit to it, but she was glad of his company. She didn't want
to go back and face that apartment alone. It was home, yes, and ordinarily
she was felt secure enough there; but on nights like this it was too full of
memories. She had been attacked there, kidnapped and taken away by God
only knew what. By the same bastard who had invaded it again tonight.
The bastard who had ordered her own death. The man responsible for
Melissa, shot in her place, killed as she herself would have been had
circumstances been any different. That one of the murderers himself was
later killed brought no comfort to a grieving family, nor did anything to
assuage her own guilt.

Her sister had died in her place. Nothing would change that fact.

Huddled in the dark, she closed her eyes and tried to force away the
troubling thoughts. A soft sound caught her attention. He had sighed. She
turned her head and looked at him. His attention was on the road; her
movement, slight as it was, had gone unnoticed. She studied him silently.
The years had left him remarkably unchanged, at least physically. The gray
eyes were calm, somehow expressive even when carefully masked. Could
she ever be so uncaring of what others thought of her, as he seemed to be?
<Take me as I am,> he seemed to shout. To hell with rules, to hell with
logic and science and common-sense; he believed in . . . everything.
*Anything.* In the theoretical rather than the probable; in the untried, not
the proven. Something more than the here and now. Ghosts, monsters,
magic: the intangibles he could only search for but never touch, never
know with absolute certainty to be real.

Maybe that's why he chases them so relentlessly, she mused. The purest
love is that which is unrequited. Unprovable, and therefore undeniable.

Love. They never spoke of it, not so much out of a sense of embarrassment
but because in some strange, indefinable way they knew without saying
anything. 

<Wasn't that magic?> 

No, that's the product of a lot of time spent together. That's the
phenomenon called *partnership,* the thing Section Chief Blevins had
hoped would never develop.

<And when he kissed you? Even if he had taken you by surprise, which he
didn't, you didn't have to kiss him back.>

She looked away, chagrined. That couldn't be explained away so easily. In
all their time together they had rarely been anything but reserved toward
each other, with little more than a touch in passing. This physicalness was
new. Not altogether unpleasant, but unsettling because it was so spontaneous.

And because she liked it. The Bureau didn't approve of such goings-on.
Personal involvement with colleagues was flatly discouraged. 

The warmth of his hand touched hers, and without thinking she curved her
fingers up around his. "Are you okay?" he murmured.

She nodded slowly without turning. "Yeah."

"You're quiet."

She smiled wanly at that. "That isn't a problem, is it?"

He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "You want to talk, I'll listen."

She mused for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "It's one thing to
suspect his involvement, but to have him pop up out of nowhere and
interject himself like that . . . it's unnerving." She shivered. "He could just
as easily show up one day and kill us."

His hand tightened around hers. "He won't."

She looked at him then. "How do we know? How can we guess anything
he'll do? Machiavellian bastard."

They drove in silence for a while. She did not let go of his hand.

At long last he drew up in her neighborhood and parked the car not far
from her building. Without a word he followed her up the walk. The faint
stench of burnt tobacco still hung in the stagnant hallway air. She took her
keys from him and unlocked the door, then stood back and gave it a little
shove. It swung open slowly. For an instant she was tempted to draw her
weapon. She didn't care that he was watching.

It was just her apartment. No ghosts. No assassins. She took a deep breath.

He followed her in. "Can I use the bathroom?" he asked. She nodded
absently as she stripped her jacket off. 

He brushed past her and disappeared around the corner into the hallway. A
quick glance into her bedroom showed nothing amiss. The bathroom was
likewise clear, the shower empty, the glass in the windows intact. He
thought about checking the closets, but figured she couldn't help but catch
on. He paused long enough to wash his hands, maintaining the illusion,
before returning to the living room.

She was in the kitchen, setting a cup of water in the microwave. "You want
some coffee?" she asked, glancing at the clock. It was just past ten.

He shook his head as he studied her. She bore his scrutiny for a moment,
then turned away. "Knock it off, Mulder. I said I'm okay."

He nodded, unconvinced. "You're not having coffee at this hour, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, tea. I called a cab for you. It shouldn't be long."

He stood for a moment as though undecided, then gestured to the living
room with a turn of his head. "You look a little tired. I'll wait out here, if
you want to get to bed."

She stood for a long moment, watching the revolving cup as though
fascinated, and he wondered if she'd heard him. She turned and nodded.
"Go ahead. Turn on the TV if you want. I think I'm going to sit up a
while." She paused and turned back to the microwave. "Thanks. For
bringing me home, and for checking out my bathroom. I take it there were
no armed men lurking in the shadows."

He smiled sheepishly. "How did you know?"

She allowed herself a wan smile. "You never *ask* to use the bathroom.
You just use it." She glanced at him. He was standing so close she had only
to turn. She did so slowly, and he caught her up in a hug. She didn't
protest. His bulk felt good. Reassuring. She closed her eyes and listened to
the slow, even beat of his heart. His hand rose and gently stroked the fall of
her hair. She didn't look up, and he didn't speak.



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 19
~~~~~~~~~~~


Thurs. Oct 14 1:15 p.m.


Skinner stood by the shaded window and stared at the blinding afternoon
sunlight. It was an exercise in discomfort, one that he practiced whenever
he thought the fatigue and frustration of his job could not get any worse.
Doing so ground home the agonizing realization that, no matter how crazy
circumstances were, things could *always* get worse.

Now was such a time. He had just returned from lunch - never an exciting
affair in D.C. anyway - and walked straight into a landmine: Special
Prosecutor Carpenter was on the phone with news guaranteed to piss
Collins off. The agent's responsibilities were being scaled back, ostensibly
to allow him time to complete work on another ongoing case. To make
matters more difficult, Mulder's status had been upgraded from provisional
team member to full active. His partner would of course be accompanying
him. Skinner was to break the news, and should be prepared for the
inevitable fireworks.

Standing there looking out at the blazing white light, he found himself
smiling humorlessly. Something was up. Carpenter had not said so and
never would, but Skinner suspected the order had not been one of his own
deciding. Whatever his name, the nicotine-saturated shadow-man was up to
his own machinations. He didn't want the case solved too quickly - isn't
that what he had said? Something had evidently changed that.

Skinner heard the outer door to his office open, and he groaned inwardly.
It wasn't his goal to be father-mentor to the agents under him - but God,
he hated snubbing a hard-working stiff. He'd been that self-same grunt
once upon a time. It had never occurred to him that delivering such news
could be as bad as receiving it.

There was a polite knock at the door as it opened. He set his face in a stoic
mask as he turned from the window. Collins entered, his own expression
carefully neutral. Skinner pulled no punches. Collins' old SAC needed an
assist on a case, and Skinner was freeing him up. He could split his time
between the two, but the older had priority.

Collins' expression changed radically as he absorbed the news. His dark
eyes hardened, and his mouth grew thin and tight. "Might I ask, Sir," he
said, emphasizing the last syllable, "who is going to be taking over as
investigator on this hit-and-run case?"

Skinner didn't allow the discomfort to show in his eyes. "I'm acting SAC.
Nothing else will change, except that Agents Mulder and Scully will take a
more active role in the actual investigation."

He hadn't thought it possible, but Collins' expression hardened still more.
"I see," he replied, glaring at the shaded windows. "Yes, I see. Very well.
Shall I leave my casenotes here or give them to Agent Mulder myself?"

Skinner jerked his chin once. "Leave them with my assistant. She'll see
they're copied and couriered down. The originals will be returned to you."

Collins nodded and turned on his heel, accepting the unspoken dismissal.
Skinner stopped him at the door. "Agent, you realize this in no way reflects
on your work. This is an adjustment, nothing more."

Collins looked back, his eyes stormy. "Of course," he said quietly, and
opened the door with a jerk. To his credit, he didn't let it slam shut behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder was in his office, struggling to fill in some of the gaps, when the
storm broke. A hard rap at the door startled him and sent his carefully
composed thoughts scurrying for cover. He frowned as he pushed himself
to his feet. Scully had gone out a few minutes before, but why would she
knock? Besides, judging from the strength of the blows, the caller was a
man. An unhappy one.

He opened the door and immediately fell back a step. "Agent Collins. To
what do I owe the honor?"

Collins looked at him imperiously for a long moment before stepping into
the room. He let his gaze travel the room slowly, and snorted. "I've heard
about this place," he said. "I can't say I'd ever expect this of a fellow
agent. Have you ever been profiled, Mulder? How about psychoanalyzed?
I'm sure those doctors'd scratch their heads raw over you."

Mulder stood unmoving, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed. "Let's not get
ugly, Collins. What do you want? I'm a little busy right now."

Collins turned back to him. "And you're only going to get busier. I thought
I'd save Skinner the time and pleasure, and come tell you myself. Seems
I've pissed someone off." Mulder's brows twitched at that but he said
nothing. "Technically I'm to split my time between this case and the
Washington Heights donnybrook. SAC MacGregor needs my help to finish
up, so the story goes. We both know that's just a load of bullshit." 

Mulder folded his arms calmly. "I don't suppose you'll believe me when I
say, this is news to me."

Collins' smile was fleeting and sour, his drawl much more pronounced.
"Sure it is. I shoulda seen this coming. You always get what you want.
You know, when they shut this little operation of yours down and farmed
you out to Domestics, I was kinda pleased. I thought Kersh might just
teach you a little somethin' about humility. After all, Martians're just things
in movies the rest of us never have time to see. We do real work. We look
*outward* for conspiracies, not inward. I don't know if you've noticed,
but the FBI's got enough detractors - we don't need any fuckups muddyin'
the water." His eyes narrowed. "And this whole thing 'bout your
reinstatement smells kinda strong. What's up with that? You got something
on Skinner? Some little insurance policy, maybe a little dirt that makes sure
you stay on his good side?" He smirked when Mulder held his silence.
"Well, I s'pose everyone around here knows more than they tell." He
looked around the cluttered room. "Looks t'me like you got life by the
a'monds. Nice little cush assignment. An SAC that thinks your shit don't
stink. And your partner - " He pursed his lips and cupped his hands before
his chest. "Me, I prefer a good handful. You must like 'em small. 'Course,
I'd have never accepted a partner with tits in the first place." He took a
step closer, his chin lifting in a clear challenge. "You think no one knows
'bout you two? How you're always covering for each other? Hell, I'd bet
money you two put the spurs to each other when you're not on company
time. Fact is, it wouldn't surprise me if you were doin' it right here."

Mulder looked at him calmly, neither accepting the bait nor giving way.
"Agent Collins, the only reason you aren't on your ass right now is because
I'd have to explain exactly why I assaulted a fellow agent." He stopped
himself then with a bitter half-smile. "Then again, it might be worth it if
only to see my partner bring you up on harassment charges." The smile
became fixed. "Right now you're blowing so much smoke I'm having
trouble breathing. This conversation is over. Get your smarmy ass out of
my office. Now."

For a moment Collins didn't move, and Mulder wondered if it really would
come down to physical force. He could take the man, of that he was fairly
certain, but the contest would be on the painful side of close. He unfolded
his arms and dropped them slowly to his sides. He was close enough: a slug
to the midriff and a hard shove, and the bastard might just fall backwards
out of the office . . .

"Mulder, I finally got the notes on the - " Scully drew up short in the
doorway, her expression hardening as she looked from man to man. The
tension in Mulder's stance was unmistakable. "Agent Collins, is there
something we can do for you?"

Collins glanced at her disdainfully, and Mulder's fists bunched.
Explanations or not, if the bastard blurted out a crass accusation, he'd end
up with a broken nose.

And evidently he knew it. Collins dropped his chin in a polite nod. "Just
come by to pass the torch, so to speak," he replied with forced lightness.
"The powers that be have found it necessary to replace my particular
genius with that of your partner. I'm just as pleased, actually. This case has
been one headache after another."

Scully stared at him, her eyes cautious. "Really," she said. "I might have to
agree with you on that."

Mulder glanced at her, then looked back at Collins. "Excuse us," he said.
"We have work to do now."

Collins turned away. This time the door slammed with a resounding crash.

Scully looked at him, wide-eyed. "What was that all about?"

He turned away with a grunt. "Nothing."

She was unconvinced. "Nothing. The testosterone is so thick in this room I
can practically taste it. What the hell is up with you two?"

He turned, his jaw still set. "He's been reassigned, and he isn't exactly
happy about it. I wouldn't blame him if he wasn't such a short-sighted
cretin." He sighed, trying to dispel the tension in his shoulders, and when
he turned to her his eyes were calmer. "Now what was it you were saying?"

She opened the casefile. "The interview with the hitchhiker, the guy out on
the highway the night we were hit. He's a student at the local community
college. Has a Georgetown address."

Mulder grunted as he reached for his jacket. "Then let's go see him."

"Don't you want to read the notes first?"

He shook his head as he brushed past her. "Read them to me on the way."
He stopped short. "Wait - it's two in the afternoon. Do we even know he's
around?"

She smiled. "He's around. I called and talked to his roommate. I figured
you wouldn't want to wait."

He eyed her fondly. She held his gaze, smiling. "You are good," he
murmured. "Let's go."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 20
~~~~~~~~~~~ 


Thurs. Oct 14 2:45 p.m.


"Man, I don't know what else I can tell you. It's like I told that other guy,
the cars were just sitting there."

They exchanged quick glances, reading without difficulty the
disappointment in one another's eyes. The witness, bearing the unlikely
name of Marcus Shelby, was not what they had hoped. Pizza boxes and
take-out wrappers cluttered the apartment floor, and articles of clothing
had been flung over virtually every piece of furniture. The smell of freshly-
burned marijuana was heavy in the air. 

Mulder winced as he took a cautious breath. "May I ask what you were
doing out there at that time of night, Mr. Shelby?"

Undaunted by their credentials, Shelby dropped his thin frame into a beer-
stained easy chair and propped his bare feet up on a mismatched ottoman.
"Sure, I don't have a whole lot to hide. I got a girlfriend who works the
night shift out at the airport. She had dinner break from ten to eleven. I
went out for a nooner. I s'pose that's what you call it when you work the
night shift. Her name's Nina, in case you need t'talk to her. Nina Tyler.
Anyway, after we was done I went back out looking to hitch a ride, and I
saw the cars there on the other side of the road. Just sitting there, side by side."

Standing beside her partner, Scully eased her weight from one foot to the
other. "What kind of cars were they?"

He shrugged. "One was sort of silver-blue. It was like a Nissan or
something. Maybe a Celica. The other, it was in front, it was sort of silver
too, but it was a big mother. One of those, like, Chevy Suburbans.
Awesome damn car."

Mulder nodded. "And the drivers?"

Again the man shrugged. "I saw two. They each had a head. They each
*were* a head, 'cause that's all I could see. Except - " He tried to snap his
fingers and failed. "They had, like, these walkie-talkies. Damn, I didn't tell
those other FBI schmoes about that. I couldn't figure out what they were
doing out there. They didn't have anything like a flat tire or nothing."

"What about headlights?" Mulder asked.

"Nah. They were sitting under a streetlight. I could hear their radios
squawk a little. Lemme think, what'd they say." He scratched his head and
appeared to actually concentrate for a moment. "Deega. Something like
that. Deega may. Yeah, that's it."

Scully folded her arms across her chest. "How long were you there?"

The shrug returned. "I dunno. Didn't have a watch on. It wasn't too long
'cause it started to rain. Some kindhearted s.o.b. came along an' took pity
on me. Drove me clear into town and dropped me at the deli down the
street so I could get a beer. I came home after that. Kinda wiped out."

"And you don't have any idea of the time?"

Shelby frowned. "Wait, lemme think - SNL was about over. It was a repeat
too, man. Pissed me off. I dunno what time it comes on - maybe you could
check that."

They exchanged glances, and Scully turned on her heel. "Thank you for
your time, Mr. Shelby. If we have anything further to ask, we'll be in contact."

He grinned. "Sure, babe. You can call me anytime." He fumbled with the
ottoman before shoving it away and lurching to his feet. "Arncha gonna
gimme one of your cards like they do on TV? Just in case I think of
something else."

Mulder had no trouble reading the disgust in her expression. He quickly
produced one of his own. "This works for both of us," he said.

The dismissive tone was lost on Shelby. He studied the card, admiring it as
if it were a treasure. "Cool, man. I never had ona these b'fore. Fox." He
grinned. "Funky name, man." He slipped it in a pocket in his tattered jeans.

Safely back outside, Scully pressed a hand to her throat and coughed.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it's a wonder he has any brain cells left."

Mulder glanced at her as he started the car. "The Bureau does any random
drug tests this month, we're both out on our asses." 

She looked at him. "Not much of a witness, as these things go."

He spared a fast look over his shoulder as he pulled back out into traffic.
"Collins mentioned something yesterday about a saliva sample and a
genetics profile. That's your bailiwick. Then we're gonna see Frohike. He's
had eighteen hours to work on identifying that woman. Maybe we can find
a way to speed him along."

She sniffed her sleeve and grimaced. "We'd better take time to change
clothes first. We can't go back to the office smelling like this, they'll test us
on the spot."

~~~~~~~~~~~

They stopped at her apartment, where Mulder paced impatiently as she
changed. It didn't take long. She emerged from the bedroom, smelling and
feeling better. Her woolen business suit had been replaced by dark jeans
and a plain white shirt. Running shoes took the place of leather pumps. He
half-smiled as she past him. "Hey, you smell good."

She dug in her purse for her phone. "Your place now, right? I'll call
Quantico. There's no reason to go out there if the mainframe's still giving
them trouble."

He nodded but didn't reply, merely listened to the half of the conversation
he could hear. "This is Agent Scully. I'm calling about the genetics profile
you guys are running for Agent Collins. Yes, Bill Collins." There was a
short pause. "Yes, that's the one. What do you mean, you can't tell me?
It's Collins' case? Apparently you haven't been notified - he's been
reassigned. I'm on the investigating team, and I need that report." This
time the pause was longer, and Scully's eyes narrowed as she listened. "All
right, listen to me. I need that the minute it's completed. Fax it to my office
downtown, and send the original via courier to my SAC, AD Skinner.
Yeah, you have the number." She stabbed the power button. "Collins told
them not to relinquish the report to anyone but him. Effective way to
circumvent anyone who might be interested."

"Yeah, like us," Mulder grunted. His own phone chirped, and he quickly
fished it out of a jacket pocket. "Yeah, Mulder. What?" Scully looked at
him and saw surprise and excitement in his eyes. "Frohike, you are a god.
We'll be there as soon as we can." He flashed her a grin. "He thinks he
might have a match."

She frowned and gestured out the window. "Where are you going? Your
apartment is that way - you just missed the turnoff."

He waved her away impatiently. "Frohike won't care how I smell." He hit
the brakes and changed lanes, missing a passing car by inches. She shot him
a reproachful look, but he ignored it. "I'm getting that feeling, Scully. The
one that says we're close." He paused. "Either that or I'm a little stoned."

~~~~~~~~~~~

4:30 p.m.

Frohike met them at the door with a self-satisfied smirk. "Hey kids. Glad
you could come by." He sniffed suspiciously, and his face lit up. "Jesus,
have you two been smoking pot?"

Scully brushed past them. "If we have, it's wasn't of our own volition. The
guy we just interviewed was higher than a kite. He could also be a strong
argument to support the practice of involuntary sterilization."

He beamed at her. "It's been a while since I smelled it. Brings back a lot of
very fond memories, let me tell you." He caught her sour look. "Sorry,
doll. C'mon." He turned and led the way through the maze of equipment to
one of the workstations. "I've been at this all night, so forgive me if I start
to ramble. What I did is this: starting with 
the-"

"The abbreviated version if you don't mind, Melvin," Mulder said dryly.

The older man glanced at him irritably. "Yeah, all right. In layman's terms I
cleaned up the image. Ran it through the scanner and let the machine have
it. Had a couple lukewarm matches, but nothing definite. Nothing I could
call you about. Then this popped up." He keyed the mouse, and a photo
appeared on the monitor. "Even someone that doesn't look at women all
that much would see that this is the same face."

Mulder leaned closer and studied the image. She was young, no more than
twenty-five. The DMV photo was not what he would call complimentary,
but then they rarely were. Beside him, Scully looked from one photo to the
other. "Okay. Do you have a name to go with that?"

Frohike typed something, and the laser printer beside her immediately
started to hum. She picked up the copy and read from it. "Miranda
Escobar. Virginia address. Hm. Something familiar about that name.
Escobar. Escobar."

Mulder tapped Frohike's shoulder. "Another one, please. I'll get this sent
out to the Virginia police. You have anything else on her?"

Frohike grunted. "Yeah, I ran the name and address through the criminal
database just out of curiosity. Her record is clean, but there was a Miguel
Escobar with the same address. Small-time car thief." 

They exchanged quick glances. "Is he still living there?" Scully asked.

He caught the excitement in her tone. "Not at this time, no. And before you
ask, there is no current address on him. Seems he was killed in a police
pursuit five months ago." 

Mulder turned slowly, his thoughts racing. "This Miranda Escobar - what
does she do for a living?"

Frohike looked from one to the other. "That'll take a little more work."

"Start digging." Mulder turned to Scully. "We need to get this to Skinner.
I'm going to grab a computer and do a little investigating. Can you get this
where it needs so go?"

She nodded and took the proffered car keys. "Yeah. I'll be back as soon as
I can."

~~~~~~~~~~~

5:30 p.m.

Skinner was uncharacteristically disheveled when he met her at the office
door. His tie was askew, allowing the collar button to be unfastened. There
was an unmistakable weariness about him. "Come in, Agent Scully. I've
just received the report from Latents on that fingerprint you found, and I
had to do some arm-twisting to get it. Seems Collins didn't want to share
the wealth - he told them to funnel all information through him."

Scully nodded as she followed him in. "Yes, sir. He's done the same thing
with the DNA report. I've already spoken with them - they're going to
send the original here to you and fax copies to the office downstairs." She
showed him papers she carried. "This is a digital image of the person who
hit us, and who presumably killed Agent Larson. We got it from the airbag
in the car involved in our case. This other one comes from one of our
sources. We think we have a match."

Skinner took the printouts and studied them quickly. "All right, I'll have
them sent out. With any luck Virginia police should have her in custody
within the hour." He looked at her. "Where's Mulder now?"

She held his gaze. "Still with his source, running a background check.
Evidently the suspect's brother was killed in a police pursuit not long ago.
If local law enforcement can't find her, we'll have to rely on his profile to
lead us to her."

Skinner grunted softly as he read the DMV printout. "All right. Here,
you'll want the report from Latents." He plucked it out of the files littering
his desk and handed it to her. She saw anger in his dark eyes, heard it in his
carefully muted tone. "You should know I'm going to file an official
reprimand against Agent Collins for his conduct on this case. He's allowed
his ambition to overshadow both his objectivity and his discretion. The
review board will want to speak with both you and Agent Mulder on the matter."

She nodded uneasily. "Of course. Anything else?"

He gestured to her with a lift of his chin. "How are you and Mulder? Any
problems since the accident?"

She hesitated an instant. There was no reason he shouldn't ask, and no
reason she shouldn't answer - unless he was referring to more than the
accident. She looked him in the eye as she shook her head. "No, sir.
Nothing that time won't take care of." 

He grunted and turned away. "Thank you, that'll be all." He stopped her as
she reached for the doorknob. "Keep me apprized, Agent Scully."

She looked back at him. He was already back at it, flipping through pages,
making notes on a tablet. "Yes, sir," she said softly, and turned away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The building was still a hive of activity. She threaded her way through the
crowded hallway and caught an elevator going down. No one ever went to
the basement; she exited alone and made her way down the darkened hall
to the office. It was locked, of course. Even empty, it felt more like home
than any other part of the complex. For a moment she stood in the
doorway and looked around.

The fax had been busy. She quickly scanned the documents. The report
form Quantico was on top. "About time," she muttered, thumbing through
the pages. There was enough saliva to identify the suspect as a woman,
blood type O positive. Other markers needed more genetic material for
analysis. Well, that wasn't much, but it helped.

The report from Latents was more enlightening. Because it was only a
partial print the computer could not positively confirm an identity, but
offered up several prospects. She frowned as she ran down the list,
muttering the names aloud. One jumped out at her. "Jose Escobar. Jesus,
there's that name again."

Impatient, she turned and scanned the office. Her gaze fell upon the box
Mulder had found in the corner of the office the other night, the one she
had used to take her work home. It had been dropped in a chair in the
corner. The files were still in it. They were copies only and as such were no
longer needed. Her eyes narrowed as she fished through the folders. Here it
was, the police report from the first incident. She drew it out and spread it
open on the desk, running her finger down pages as she skimmed them. 

Escobar. The owner of the first vehicle stolen was named Escobar. A
Florida address. Hell, it was worth a try, wasn't it? Her pulse quickened as
she picked up the phone and dialed. It rang three times before it was picked
up. "Bueno."

The language stopped her. Spanish. Not her strong suit. She almost hung
up, then stopped herself. Might as well try. "Hello, is this the Escobar
residence? Tomas Escobar?"

The voice was polite but uninviting. "Yes, this is Tomas. Can I help you?"

She almost dropped the phone. "Uh, sir, this is Special Agent Dana Scully
with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I, uh, I'm working on a case
involving a car that you reported stolen."

A voice took on a tone of impatience. "Yes, miss. I filed that report four
months ago. I don't see why it's still important to anyone. The insurance
paid on it, and the car's been replaced."

She sat down quickly. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry to bother you. I was wondering
if you happen to have a relative, a young woman by the name of Miranda."

"Miranda. Yes, she's my niece."

"And Miguel?"

The voice grew cold. "Miguel was killed, miss, quite some time ago. I'm
sure you aren't investigating his murder. Is there anything else? We're just
sitting down to dinner."

Her pulse was throbbing in her temples. "One more question. Her brother
Jose - do you know where he is right now?"

"Jose? Jose has put all this behind him and is trying to rebuild his life. He
would probably have more luck if people would leave him alone." There
was a click as the phone went dead.

Her hands shook almost imperceptibly as she hung up. <She stole her
uncle's car for the first crime, probably in retaliation for what she feels
was done to her brother. Jose might be an accomplice. This I have to
share with Mulder.> 

He answered on the first ring. "Yeah, Mul- "

"I've got something," she said, cutting him off.

He listened, and she could almost see him nodding in time to her words.
"We found something here too. Miranda Escobar is an employee out at
National Airport, and little brother Jose is one of the grounds crew. There
isn't an airline database they wouldn't have access to. She must have
learned what flight we were on and when it would be coming in. And my
car - it had exempt stickers on it, just like Larson's. It wouldn't have been
too hard for her to trace them back to us. We were sitting ducks, Scully,
and we didn't even know it."

Something in his tone set off alarm bells in her head. "What are you going
to do now?"

"You're coming to pick me up, and we're going down there. Tonight."

She held her hand. "Wait. Let me call Skinner. He can get the team - "

"I don't think she's going to just sit around and wait for us to pick her up, Scully."

"And I don't think she has the faintest idea we're onto her."

"What if she gets a call from her uncle? He might be pissed off she stole his
car, but family ties can be touchy. One phone call and they disappear into
the frigging woodwork, like a pair of roaches."

She realized he wouldn't be swayed. "All right, I'm on my way. Traffic's
murder right now - promise me you'll wait. Don't go off half-cocked, Mulder."

He grunted. "Yeah, I'm here. Just don't make any unnecessary stops."

She shook her head doubtfully as she hurried to the elevator. <He isn't
thinking objectively. He's seeing a suspect who might get away. I can't
fault him, but I can't let it get the better of him either.> Reluctantly she
pulled her phone out and keyed the power on. Dialed slowly, and closed
her eyes when the line was picked up. "Sir, it's Scully. I need you to listen
very carefully."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder was waiting for her outside the fortress, pacing like an expectant
father. She pulled up to the curb, and he almost ran to meet her. "Glad you
could make it. Get over."

She didn't relinquish the wheel. "No way. Get in - I have something for you."

He swore as he ran around to the other side and dropped in beside her. She
left a little tire tread in the gutter as she pulled away. "What is it?" he asked
curtly. "And where is it?"

She jerked her head back. "On the seat behind us. Don't argue with me,
just put it on."

He groped around in the dark. "What is it?"

She glanced at him. "An insurance policy." 

He grunted. "A vest. Good thinking. You'd better be wearing one."

She smiled grimly. "No worries. No, put it on under your shirt." He gave
her a puzzled look, but her jaw was set. "Get real, friend. We're not going
in like the fifth battalion. Skinner's mobilizing the unit right now. We are to
watch and follow if any movements are made. We are not to engage the
suspects directly, and we sure as hell aren't going to take them on
ourselves. We know about Miranda and Jose - God only knows how many
more there are."

He glared at her as he stripped his shirt off. "Going by the book, are you,
Scully? Can't say I approve."

She snorted softly. "I can't say I'd approve of you waltzing in and getting
your head blown off. You're not exactly thinking straight at the moment.
You're letting it get to you. This isn't personal."

He nodded impatiently. "They killed your friend and damn near killed me
and mine, and I'm not supposed to take umbrage. How much more
personal can it get?"

She didn't reply. She didn't have to.



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 21
~~~~~~~~~~~ 


Thurs. Oct 14 8:02 p.m.


The neighborhood was quiet. Tall trees separated each house, and
streetlights cast twisted shadows through the trailing branches. Nothing
was happening, and that was fine with Scully. They sat in the car a block
from the suspect's residence, watching and listening. A single light was on
in the front room, and from the windows came the telltale glow of a TV. 

"Where the hell is Skinner?" Mulder grumbled. "And why'd you park way
over here? Can you even see anything?"

She glanced at him. "Down, boy."

He gestured to a nearby house with a jerk of his chin. "You think Mr.
Rogers knows there's a cop killer living in his neighborhood?"

She caught his arm and squeezed it. "Jesus, would you sit still? The
neighbors are going to think we're out here making out."

His smile was genuine. "That's a nice thought, Scully, but now isn't the time."

She waved him to silence. 

In the darkness behind them, a shadow moved.
Mulder fingered the snap on his holster but decided against checking his
weapon again. Anxiously he drummed his fingers on the dashboard. When
she shot him a hard look, he dropped his hand to his knee and kept drumming.

The shadow crept closer, stealthy and unseen.

"I'm calling Skinner," he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. She
caught his hand to stop him, and he looked at her irritably. "What?"

She pressed his hand down onto the seat. "Dammit, Mulder, just sit there.
It hasn't been that long - Skinner will be here."

He ignored her and began dialing. There was a soft click as the call went through.

A soft tap at the window. Metallic. They froze. Even without looking,
Scully knew what it was. Slowly she turned her head and found herself
staring down the barrel of a pistol. 

Beside her, Mulder swallowed hard. "Oh, shit."

The pistol remained aimed at her head. Just beyond it stood a slight
shadow. Its hand gestured to her, beckoning. Heart pounding, Scully
slowly raised her hands and opened the door.

"Hola, chica," a voice murmured. High and soft. A woman's voice. "What
have we here? Why would two lovebirds be sitting in the dark watching my
house?" The form fell back a step. "Both of you, out of the car. This side,
if you please."

Mulder dropped the phone on the floorboard and slid out after her. The
connection had been made; with any luck Skinner would have an ear in on
what was going on. Mulder could only hope their captor wouldn't notice
the phone's telltale glow.

Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked a time or two, then fell
silent. The hand gestured, and they moved together into the light of a
streetlamp. "Well well," Miranda said, and clicked her tongue. "Look who
we have. I think I can guess why you're here, can't I?" She stepped close
enough to divest them of weapons, then fell back a step. "Now we're going
to go for a little walk. You know the place, I'm sure." Her teeth gleamed in
the murky light. "How about you hold hands. I'll just follow along. Don't
think about breaking for it. I'm sure to get at least one of you."

Mulder didn't move. "I think you've misinterpreted our presence here.
We're from - "

"Give it a rest, J. Edgar." She gestured with the gun. "Take the bitch and
get moving."

Scully said nothing as he reached for her hand. The woman followed a few
paces behind them, the pistol trained on their backs. Mulder's hand was
warm in hers. She tried to look around without moving her head, but there
was little to see. The neighborhood around them was tranquil. Nowhere
did she see any evidence of a SWAT team. <For God's sake, what's
keeping Skinner?> 

The walk was agonizingly short. "Open the door," she murmured as they
mounted the steps a few paces before her. Mulder complied. "Go on in and
meet the family. At least what there is left of it."
The living room was almost barren. Perched on a barstool against one wall,
a small TV was showing a rerun of Star Trek. Sprawled on a loveseat, a
young, gawky-looking man gaped in obvious surprise. He quickly shoved
himself upright. "Jesus, Ran, what's going on?"

The woman locked the door behind them, then switched on the overhead
light. The glare made them wince. "Byron," she called, sparing a glance
into an adjoining room. "Need you in here, man."

They heard the sound of a chair scraping across linoleum, then the clunk of
footfalls. Heavy boots. "What gives, babe?" Short and compact, his dark
hair shot through with gray, he looked to be around forty. He caught sight
of the agents, and the tenderness in his voice vanished. "And what to my
wondering eyes should appear but - two dicks. That's slang, baby, for
detectives. Feds, I'd say." He eyed Mulder and smirked. "Nice tie, buddy."

The younger man looked at him with obvious dislike. "She knows what it
means, you idiot. Stop treating her like one of your blow-up dolls." He
jerked his chin at the agents. "What'd you bring them in here for?"

Miranda handed each of them a gun, keeping the small pistol herself. "I got
a call. Guy wouldn't give his name, but it sounded like Tio down in
Lauderdale. He said to keep my eyes open. Said I might be getting some
company." Her lip curled as she studied Scully. "I guess he was right."

Mulder slowly opened his jacket and pulled out his ID. "Federal agents,"
he said, his expression blank, his voice calm. "We were staking out a house
in the neighborhood when this woman accosted us. Neither my partner nor
I have any idea who you people are."

Byron chuckled at that. "Yeah, and my name's Paul Bunyon. Say Jose,
how 'bout you see if you can find some cuffs. I don't think these two are
gonna be leaving any time soon. Not upright, anyway." He stepped close to
Scully and stroked her hair with the barrel of the gun. She stood rigid,
staring at him coldly. "You a real redhead, baby?" he asked with feigned
tenderness, and smiled at Mulder. "Oh, I don't think your buddy likes me.
Maybe I'll make him watch."

Miranda waved him away. "We don't have time for that. Take them out to
the garage. Jose, get some things. It was good while it lasted, but we're
out of here."

The older man gestured with the gun. "Through the kitchen, good people.
Your chariot awaits." They exchanged quick glances, and Mulder nodded
once. Byron's eyes widened. "Oh, I think we have a little communication
going on here. What gives, you two?"

The woman sneered at them as she hurried past. "These're the lovers we
nailed the other night on the airport highway. Yeah, chica, I saw you two. I
was a quarter-mile away and using IR binocs, but I saw. You should have
been there, Byron. It almost looked like they meant it."

"Meant what?" Mulder asked with studied innocence.

She sneered. "With the carrot-top. The smooch. Very sweet."

Byron nudged Scully in the side with the weapon. "After you, madam.
Follow my ladyfriend there."

Her thoughts raced as she complied. <We can't get in that car with them.>
She glanced around furtively. <Where's Jose? He doesn't like this Byron
guy. That could be useful.>

Miranda led the way to the garage and flipped on the overhead light. It
wasn't a large place, with nothing to hide behind except the car, a smaller
SUV. Its plates had been removed. "No point in waiting," she said sharply.
"Around to the back, you two. Jose, get the trunk. We'll need a blanket
too, to keep the blood from splattering. No, don't put the damn bags back
there! You wanna ride to the state line with two stiffs propped up in front
with us? Use your fuckin' head!"

Shaken, Jose tossed the bags on the one of the seats and reached around
Scully to open the back. She glanced at Mulder; he nodded once. The boy
was close, the man and woman locked in debate over their potential
destinations. She wouldn't get another chance - she had to try. "Listen to
me," she whispered, barely moving her lips, hardly daring to breathe at all.
"You don't have to do this. Get those guns away from them. This doesn't
have to end badly."

He stared at her in surprise.

She looked at him, half-defiant, half-pleading. God, he looked so young.
"Jose, I spoke to Tomas. He said you're trying to get your life back on
track. That isn't going to be possible if you do this. Help us. I can see you
don't want to be involved in this. Listen - there's a strike team gathering
down the street even as we speak. If my partner and I get killed, those men
won't stop until you're all dead. I promise you that." She glanced at
Miranda, still arguing with her companion. "Your sister isn't playing this
very smart, Jose. That bastard Byron doesn't give a damn about either one
of you. I've seen a thousand of his type. He'd just as soon kill you as not,
then turn State's against your sister. Come on, don't let him get away with
that. Don't - "

"Shut up!" he snarled, giving her a hard shove. Mulder caught her and kept
her from falling. Jose backpedaled quickly, and they could see the
desperation in his eyes. "Ran, this is bullshit. I'm not shooting no Fed. You
want someone done, let Byron do it. Sonofabich gets off on seeing blood fly."

The man stepped forward boldly. "My pleasure. Get 'em close enough and
you'll get two for the price of one."

Miranda waved her pistol at him impatiently. "Shut up, all of you! What
was that? Shit, I think we got more company." She waved a come-hither.
"Yo Rose, over here. Byron, sneak your ass out and scope it out."

Mulder traded looks with Scully, standing motionless beside him. "I'll tell
you exactly what that is," he said. "Our SAC is heading a team which is at
this moment surrounding this house. By now the neighborhood has been
evacuated, and an arsenal of heavy weapons is being brought in. I figure
you can expect the first volley of teargas in about forty-five seconds." He
looked at Miranda, his eyes hard but his voice softening. "So far you're
responsible for the death of one agent. If you stop there you stand a good
chance of raising a plausible defense, especially if you tell them about
Miguel. Only if you stop now."

Jose leapt forward, his weapon raised, his face red and beaded with sweat.
"Man, she didn't even do that guy - it was that bastard there! Ran, you
can't do this! We're as good as dead now - don't let that *chingada* do
any more to you than he already has! Come on, we can still get out!"

The older man turned on him slowly and brought the weapon up in a dead
aim. "What did you call me, you gutless bastard?"

Jose spat at him. "You heard me! Even a brain-dead junkie like you should
know what a *chingada* is!"

For an instant no one moved. Then Byron's mouth twisted, and Scully
knew what was coming before it happened.

The boy took the shot full the belly. Mulder immediately ducked down
behind the car, pulling her with him and protecting her with his bulk. She
grabbed for the weapon in Jose's hand - it was Mulder's 9mm - and
clutched it to her breast. Their eyes met for just an instant.

"Get up!" The voice cracked out like a whip, and she froze. Byron stepped
forward, his face a phantasm of rage. His gun pointed unerringly at
Mulder's head. She couldn't make it to her feet by herself, not without
revealing the weapon. With the slightest of nods, he cautiously pushed
himself upright, effectively shielding her from their view as he helped her
up. Jose lay sprawled at their feet. His stunned eyes were wide and his lips
moved, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

Byron's voice was flat and edged. "All right, Red, turn around. C'mon, you
act like you've never seen this before."

Scully glanced over her shoulder. Miranda had not moved but was staring
at her fallen brother with a stricken expression. Byron glanced at her. "Get
the keys, babe." She didn't move, and his voice hardened as he turned to
her. "Get the friggin' keys! We gotta get outa here!"

Mulder caught Scully's eye. *Now,* he breathed, and stepped back. 

She pivoted and fired.

The shot took Byron in the chest, just above the sternum. He fell without a sound.

Then Mulder doubled over and went down. A second shot caught Scully in
the shoulder and spun her around. Gasping, she ducked behind the car
again, somehow managing to drag him with her. Her foot slipped in the
trail of blood - *was it Jose's or Mulder's?* and she fell hard. Miranda
continued firing wildly about the garage, screaming in both Spanish and
English. Shots ricocheted around the garage, shattering car windows and
tearing holes in the walls and ceiling. Scully huddled beside Mulder and
groped for the pulse in his throat. He was pale, his lips tight, his eyes
squinted against the pain. "Go," he whispered.

She could see under the car from where she was. The woman was still
shrieking, not caring about anything but her grief. Scully took careful aim
and fired.

The bullet tore into her foot, and she howled as she fell. The slide on her
own firearm snapped open - the chamber was empty. Scully lurched to her
feet, gasping as fresh agony lanced through her chest, and staggered
around the car. Surrounded by shards of glass and spent shell casing, the
woman sobbed as she writhed in pain. "Jose! Jose! Jose!"

The pain in Scully's shoulder was receding, but a sudden wave of vertigo
made the garage spin around her. She clenched her teeth as she bent and
pried the empty pistol out of the woman's clawed hand. A glance at the
fallen men confirmed that they were already dead.

"Scully . . . "

He was lying where she left him. Her own pain forgotten, she hurried back
to him and tore his jacket and shirt open with one tug. There was a single
hole in the vest. Carefully she peeled back the stiff material. A large
hemotoma was already forming on his ribs, and he was bleeding. He tried
to sit up but the pain made him retch, and he fell back against her. "Oh
God, that hurts . . . "

She drew him as gently as she could into her lap. "Lie still," she murmured,
laying a hand carefully over the bleeding wound. He flinched and swore
through clenched teeth. Outside she could hear sounds of running
footsteps. When the door from the kitchen snapped open, she held up her
free hand, fingers spread. "Hold your fire. I'm Scully. We need a medic
right now - my partner's been shot." 

Voices immediately rang through the house. In the distance she could hear
the wails of sirens.

Mulder whispered her name. She stripped her jacket off and laid it carefully
over him, holding him tightly when he began to shiver. "Hang on," she
murmured. He gripped her hand hard. She winced but didn't pull away.
"They're on their way. Just hang on." 



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 22 
~~~~~~~~~~~


Thurs. Oct 14 9:30 p.m.


The chaos had not subsided when Special Prosecutor Carpenter arrived on
the scene. There were cops in the garage, cops in the house, cops in the
street. A coroner's wagon occupied the driveway, and an ambulance was
parked in the street out front. A line of cops held the crowd of onlookers
and professional pests, the media, at bay. He could see Skinner's bald head
in the crush of bodies, and immediately singled him out. "When you get a
minute, Walter, I'd like a report here. I'm not sure what the plan was, but
I'm thinking it didn't go down quite as it should have."

Skinner shot him a hard look. "No sir, I think that's a fair assumption."

Carpenter looked around. "Anyone wounded on our side?"

He jerked his head toward the ambulance. "Mulder took a round almost
point-blank. He's not feeling too well. Scully got it in the shoulder. They
were both wearing vests."

Carpenter repressed a stab of disappointment. "Fortunate. May I see them?"

Skinner shrugged and turned away. "You know where to find them. I can't
get away just at the moment. Excuse me."

The ambulance doors were open. The paramedics were busy but not
frantic; that could only mean the lucky rat would live to screw with him
another day. Carpenter assumed a caring expression as he shouldered his
way through the crowd. Scully looked up and saw him first. A strange look
flitted across her face. She was pale, her eyes intensely blue in the harsh
light. He tipped his head forward in greeting. "Agents. How are you? A
little shaken? Not too bloody, I hope?"

She shook her head and looked away. She was sitting on a bench beside
Mulder, her left arm encased in a sling. Mulder was in full recline on a
stretcher, a pressure bandage affixed to his belly, a clear mask strapped to
his face. He returned Carpenter's gaze with blank, weary eyes. No, not
quite blank. Not weak - in fact, anything but. Almost defiant. He was,
Carpenter noted with a mental sneer, clutching Scully's free hand.

No. She was holding his.

He blinked, then winced as something akin to pain lanced through his
chest. He struggled to cover his dismay. She was holding Mulder's hand. It
was unfathomable. Unthinkable, and yet the evidence was there in front of
him. There *was* something between them. Dana Scully, the most
intelligent and desirable woman he had met in years, the woman he had
privately coveted since their first meeting, had fallen for the bastard's
muddy-eyed act. 

<Failure. You were wrong about them. And you obviously misjudged her.>

His desires fluttered, dying.

He almost sneered in disgust. How can she? A woman like that could do so
much better. 

And so should I.

He nodded in turn to them. There was nothing to say now. She was
beneath him. "I'll leave you to it," he said to no one in particular, and
turned away.

They watched him go, weaving his way back through the throng to the
house. "Pity Skinner," Mulder said quietly. His voice was muffled behind
the mask. She leaned closer, and he managed a wan smile. "We don't have
to work with him anymore."

~~~~~~~~~~~

<Why do they call it observation? No one's observing. No one's even around.>

She pushed herself slowly to her feet and paced the small room. A glance
at her watch told her it was past midnight. Moonlight spilled in through a
slit in the drapes; she sighed as she parted them and looked out. The
familiar cityscape, sad and drab as it was, seemed a different place in this
light. Not magical. Not even mythical. Different. 

Hopeful.

An hour had passed, and she was getting tired. An hour of watching him
sleep, and once again thanking God. He'd be okay. The bullet hadn't done
much more than cut a gash on his ribs and knock the wind out of him. A
battery of tests showed no internal trauma or bleeding. The hemotoma was
ugly but would fade. He'd be back on his feet in a few days, and at work a
few days after that.

If he took it easy.

A soft sound made her turn. He was watching her. She returned to his side,
a smile starting. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

He nodded. "A little sore." The blankets moved as he shifted beneath them.
He fumbled for the lightcord and gave it a tug. The soft light made him
squint. "Will the warden let me have some water, or do I have to make do
with this damn saline?"

She poured a cup of water and handed it to him. "It's glucose, actually,"
she murmured. 

He grunted. "Oh, well all right then." He drained the cup and handed it
back, then dropped his head back to the pillow and gestured to the sling
with a lift of his chin. "Can I see?"

She looked at him blankly. "See what?"

He gestured again. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

She couldn't help but smile as she refilled the cup. "Only you could put it
like that."

He caught her hand and held it. His gaze was unwavering. "I want to see."

She sobered. For some reason it was important to him. As with so many
things where he was concerned, she didn't have to understand to respect it.
"All right." Carefully she removed the sling, then opened the top few
buttons of her shirt and peeled it back. A dark smudge the size of his fist
marred the pale flesh just below her collarbone. He winced ever-so slightly. 

"Jesus, Scully . . . " he whispered, touching it carefully with a fingertip.

She shivered and closed her shirt. 

They regarded each other for a long time. He tried to smile and failed. "I
guess we have to make a decision, don't we."

She frowned gently. "What do you mean?"

He bit his lower lip. "That day Skinner came to my apartment," he said
quietly. "I probably should have told you before but . . . he warned me
about this. Said he'd reassign us, break us up, rather than let any . . .
untoward attachment compromise our safety." His gaze dropped to the
hand lying beside his. "I can't help but wonder if that wouldn't be best. Not
because I want . . . " He shook his head slowly. "It isn't that I want to
change what we have or what we are . . . but Scully, the mortality I've
been contemplating since Larson's funeral hasn't been my own." He looked
at her again, his eyes somber. "I don't want to lose you again."

She blinked. "So you're going to push me away instead?" He didn't
answer. She stroked the back of his hand with her own, the touch so light
he could barely feel it. "At the risk of sounding like my impulsive partner,"
she said very softly, "I'd like to point something out. What happened in
that house - correct me if I'm wrong, but it didn't involve any verbal
communication. I can't speak for you, but I've never had a relationship
with that level of familiarity. I'm not likely to anytime soon. If I'm ever in
such a position again, I sure as hell wouldn't want to be there with
someone I don't trust." 

He nodded slowly. "And those digs Collins made? Working with Spooky
to the detriment of your career - that doesn't bother you?"

Her chin rose. "It would bother me to give in to what men like that think
about either one of us."

A smile tugged at his eyes. "And that other thing . . . we just go on like
nothing's happened?"

Her eyebrows arched. "Oh, but something did happen. I can't pretend it
didn't. I don't want that to change everything else. There's no reason it should."

His smile grew. "I've tasted the wine, Scully. I have to admit, I liked it. I
can't promise it won't happen again." At that she dropped her gaze self-
consciously. "Tell me the what-ifs don't bother you. Those possibilities that
aren't so extreme. I mean, how many times are you going to have to bind
my wounds?"

She looked at him. "As often as I have to. Listen, Mulder - this job comes
with risks. You know that as well as I do. Yes, those risks bother me - but
I am not willing to give everything up because I'm afraid of what *might*
happen." 

He silently digested her words, then slowly nodded. "All right."

She allowed herself the barest of smiles. "All right. Listen, it's late. They
gave me a pain med a little while ago, and it's starting to work. Get some
rest. I'll see you in the morning."

He frowned. "You're not driving."

She almost laughed. "No. The nurses are finding a quiet place for me. Do
you want anything before I go?"

He laid his hand over hers. "Yeah." She looked at him expectantly. "Call a
cab. Go home." He shook his head when she began to protest. "There's no
reason for you to stay, and every reason for you to go. You've done your
job. The bad guys are dead, the woman is in custody . . . there isn't
anything else for you to do."

They studied each other for a moment, and then she nodded reluctantly.
"Yeah, okay, if that's what you want. Give me a call when they let you go
tomorrow. I'll take you home." She started to turn, then hesitated.

He frowned. "What is it?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "I guess I don't want to leave," she said
quietly. "I mean, you stayed with me. It doesn't feel right to walk away."

He smiled at that. "You were unconscious. There was no discussing it."
Then he patted the mattress playfully. "If you insist though, I have room in
here - "

"Shut up, Mulder."



~~~~~~~~~~~
Mindset, Ch. 23
~~~~~~~~~~~


Friday, October 22 
Office of Professional Review 
9:00 a.m.


Skinner sat alone in the wide hallway. The rich mahogany tones were
soothing, the chair he sat in comfortable, but they weren't enough to
distract him from what was happening in the room behind him. An agent
under his supervision was going to be reprimanded and punished. It had
not been a particularly easy decision to reach, even though it was well-
warranted. Now it was out of his hands. He was there to report his
observations and comment on the role Agent Collins had played in the
Escobar case, not pass judgment. At least not on Collins. Just himself.

Voices down the hall caught his attention, and he glanced up just as Mulder
and Scully rounded a distant corner. He studied them as they approached.
Had the shadowy figure been right about them, he wondered. Had
something transpired between them that he should know about? They were
partners, after all. Friends. They counted on one another, sometimes for
their very lives. Why shouldn't they be close? When should such bonds be
discouraged? At what point should he impose himself into the situation,
place injunctions and therefore limitations on their association? 

At what point did his responsibilities outweigh their rights?

He sat motionless as they approached. They were talking, apparently still
unaware of him. Mulder moved a little slower than normal, no doubt in
concession to the football-sized bruise he still sported on his ribcage. There
was a respectable distance between them, making a casual touch almost
impossible, though when one of her heels slipped on the smooth linoleum,
Mulder was close enough to catch her arm. She steadied herself against
him, and Skinner heard her soft laugh. Mulder said something and smiled. 

If there was something going on, they were doing a good job of disguising
it. There was a connection between them, that couldn't be denied; Skinner
himself had witnessed it. An unspoken language of looks and gestures.
Someone who didn't know them might well misconstrue those searching
gazes as something else. The really romantic might even see the two as so
attuned to one another they simply didn't have to touch. To touch without
touching. What was that if not sublime?

Skinner wasn't a romantic. These two were friends, nothing more. He
would attest to that himself. And if he was wrong - well, he'd deal with
that it and when it came up. Until he had good cause, until he saw with his
own eyes compelling evidence that served to change his mind, he would
disbelieve all rumors. And if that time came? Chances are he'd cut them a
little slack. What they did in their off-hours didn't concern him, just so it
didn't interfere with the way they worked together. Judging from this last
case, that wasn't even close to happening.

When they were almost upon him, he rose and nodded. Neither seemed
surprised to see him. They exchanged polite greetings, then sat down.

The door opened almost immediately and a silver-haired woman beckoned.
"Sir, they're ready for you."

Skinner nodded and rose again. They said nothing, merely nodded and
followed him with their eyes. He closed the door after him.

They exchanged looks. "He was watching us, you know," she murmured.
"All the way down the hall, like he was looking for something."

Mulder allowed himself a wry half-smile. "I should have laid one on you. It
would almost be worth it just to see his glasses fog up."

She suppressed a giggle. "Thank you for your discretion. We're here to
testify against Collins. I don't want to start a witch hunt against *us.*"

He shrugged, still smiling. 

It was half an hour before the door opened and Skinner reemerged. His
face was dark with emotion, his jaw set, his eyes hard. They exchanged
uneasy glances and started to their feet. "Sir, what is it?" Scully asked.

He looked at them in turn. "You aren't going to believe this," he said. His
voice shook almost imperceptibly with contained rage. "Collins is making
counter-charges. He's asserting that you two not only withheld information
vital to his investigation, but that you gained unauthorized access to a
Federal database in your pursuit of the suspect. Because of that fact, the
actions you took at the house were unlawful and unwarranted. Miranda
Escobar's being held on murder charges, but only on the strength of his investigations."

Mulder's expression darkened noticeably. "He solved this case single-
handedly? He isn't that good and you know it."

"That isn't the issue right now. Who's this source of yours, and what
database is it that you're supposed to have hacked into? That's what they
were asking me."

Scully's eyes were cautious, her tone hard. "What did you tell them?"

He looked at her a long moment before answering. "I told them many
officers have contacts that don't fall under any official classification. What
information you gained was off the record and to the best of my knowledge
had been corroborated. Satisfy my curiosity, Agent Mulder. Did I lie in
there? Just where did you get the information that led you to that woman?"

Scully held his gaze. "We ran the image against the DMV records for DC
and the surrounding metropolitan areas. We were within jurisdiction, and
well within federal guidelines."

"And did you gain access through recognized channels, or did you rely on
one of your conspiracy theorist friends to provide you the key?" When they
didn't answer he swore and shook his head. "Dammit, you've opened the
door for them. Everything Collins pulled, all that high-handed treatment of
protocol - that's been ignored. Hell, the panel in there all but signed off on
it. If you two aren't lucky, it's you who're going to get that reprimand."

Mulder raised his hands to his hips and sneered. "Bureau politics," he said,
his voice edge. "Whose toes did we step on? Whose ass didn't we kiss?
And more importantly, who's providing Collins with this information? He
isn't smart enough to connect the dots himself."

Skinner nodded stiffly. "Special Prosecutor Carpenter is backing him up.
He says Collins would have eventually arrived at the same conclusion as
you. What you two came up with is not only of little value, it's close to
unethical. That two of the three suspects were killed before they could be
arrested is also being called into question. Carpenter's recommending a
panel convene to investigate the matter."

Mulder's mouth twisted unpleasantly. "Collins is pimping for the bastard,"
he said softly. "You know that."

Skinner's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You say that to Scully and me,
you're bitching about the job. You go in there and say that, he'll have you
on libel. Do yourself a big favor, Mulder: keep your mouth shut." He
glanced at his watch and shook his head. "The assembly is adjourning for
the day. The matter has been postponed. You two get your asses back to
the office and keep your heads down, and I mean low. I'm going to start
pulling strings. If you're lucky, they won't all break before this is over." He
cut Mulder off with a look. "That wasn't a request, agents."

Scully moved first, falling back a step and catching a hand around Mulder's
arm. He started to shrug her away, then thought better of it and allowed
himself to be turned. "This is such bullshit," he muttered.

She didn't let go of him. "Yes, it is. Standing here arguing with our one
ally isn't going to get us anywhere." 

He pulled himself away from her. She remained close, ready to grab him
should he turn back. He shot her a hard look. "Give it a rest, would you?
I'm not going to do anything stupid."

She leaned closer when he muttered something under his breath. "What
was that?"

He didn't respond, merely glanced at her, his eyes distant. Clearly he was
weighing something in his own mind. That he wasn't talking about it was
unsettling. "Nothing," he murmured, sweeping a hand over his face. 

Little was said on the drive back to the office. They made the familiar trip
through the downstairs entrance, then down the single flight of stairs to the
basement. He unlocked the door and held it open for her, then locked it
behind them. She looked at him curiously.

"Let the bastards knock," he said glumly as he took off his jacket.

She brushed past him. There were a few papers in the fax in-basket; she
picked them up and leafed through them. Initial reports for new cases.
Something for Mulder from one of his video clubs. A note from Klein.
"You want to see these?" she asked, dropping them on the desk.

He switched on the computer monitor. "I don't care," he muttered, keying
up the Games icon. "I just don't care."

She sat in the desk chair and looked at him stoically. "Are you going to tell
me what's going on?" 

He glanced at her. "What're you talking about?"

She grunted very softly. "It's been six years, Mulder. You can't hide
everything behind those cool grays. Something's up. Are you going to tell
me, or do I have to go see Collins about it myself?"

He sat back with a snort. "What makes you think it has anything to do with
him?" Her gaze was unflinching. After a long silence he looked at her and
relented. "Okay, it's about him. It doesn't matter. Just let it go." He tried
without success to sigh away some of his tension. "It was bullshit at the
time. I'm not going to validate it by pursuing it now."

She was still for a moment, then abruptly pushed herself to her feet. "All
right then. If you're going to sit there and piss your time away, I've got an
errand to run. Will you be ready to do anything productive in, say, an
hour?" He nodded with a soft grunt. "All right then. I'll be back. Here, you
might want to have a look through these." She shoved the faxes toward him.

He looked up as she closed the door behind her. He didn't want to tell her -
it would only add to her anger. What good would that do? After all, it was
hearsay. Collins would no doubt deny ever saying it. Who besides her
would believe him? Sour grapes. It cut him to his heart, but he let it go.

The faxes lay where she left them. Just like her to stir his interest and then
not address them. She really did know how to get to him. Swearing softly,
he turned away from the game and snatched them up. The video thing was
garbage and she knew it. The incoming cases might be of interest when his
mood was better. The thing from Klein . . .

He glanced through it impatiently. Frowned as he reread it, slower this
time. And found himself smiling.


Congrats. We heard about Collins. Anyone wants to know who solved the
case, all they have to do is ask. Thanks for looking after Jack. Klein.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain began to fall on the way to the cemetery. Scully glanced skyward
as she hurried across the expanse of lawn, clutching her collar up close. No
umbrella, naturally. It didn't matter, the trench coat would suffice. She
wouldn't be long. 

Third row, fifth from the end. Carstairs, Bertram . . . Larson. She stopped
and gazed sadly at the marker. It was still clean, as yet untouched by the
passage of time. She drew herself up against the cold and wet, then drew
the small bouquet out of the protective recesses of her coat. Carefully she
removed the plastic, then knelt and fed the bound stems into the ring beside
the inscription. She didn't read it, but silently composed her own. Jack
Larson. Teacher. Friend. Final victim. 

What had Mulder said? <The bad guys are dead, the woman is in custody .
. . there isn't anything else for you to do.> She smiled sadly. Just this one thing.

After a moment she rose and turned away.

She saw him at once. He was leaning against her car, unobtrusive yet
unrelenting. His arms were folded, his head bowed against the rain. He was
watching her. She found herself smiling.

It didn't matter to her who got the credit for the job. She knew. So did he.
And if there really was a heaven, Jack did too.



~~~~~~~~~~~
End
~~~~~~~~~~~