AUTHOR'S NOTES:  *PLEASE* READ (hey!  there's important stuff in
here! really!  <g>)
 

Believe it or not, we're once again getting back on the Road!  <g>  I would
like to offer thanks to everyone who wrote to me about this series over the
course of the past weeks, uh... months... okay, okay, the past *two years*.
Eeek!   What can I say?   Life happens.  ;-)   Honestly?  For a while I just
wasn't motivated to write more Road.  I felt as though in the wake of all that
was happening on XF in seasons 4, 5 and onward that this story had
become kind of obsolete.   So big thanks to everyone who disagreed with me
and never stopped asking for more, especially Jenny, whose "semi-regular
nagging" finally succeeded in encouraging me to get back to it.  And thanks
-- I think!  <g> -- to the AOL Fanfic Junkies, who stalked me to the point
where I finally just had to give in.  <bg>

Speaking of giving in:  against my better judgment <g>, I've been
persuaded to post sections of this story as they are completed as a WIP, but
let it be known that I am *not* on any sort of schedule.   I'm about 2/3
finished with the story, but I am not going to put up any chapters until I've
had the chance to revise them;  I'm doing that work while trying to
complete the ending, which basically means I'm slowly but surely losing
my mind. <g>  So if WIPs are not your thing, you may want to wait until
I'm all done...

Big hugs of love and appreciation to my *terrific* Beta readers, MD, Lisa &
Jenny -- and a million thanks to Jen who has not only been a great Beta, but
also created this gorgeous web page and is helping me post this new
installment!   :-)   [If you think the page is as fabulously snazzy as I do, let
her know at [email protected]!]
 

OK -- here are the IMPORTANT things to note, aka 5 quick "Road Rules" --

ROAD RULE #1:  The universe of this story was created during Season
Three -- which means you should forget anything that happened in the
Carter Universe after "Apocrypha".  I have.  <g>  Disregard anything and
everything else -- *including* the events of The Movie.

ROAD RULE #2:  This story is most definitely a sequel.  For those that
*have* read the previous stories in this series and just want a refresher
[although I can't imagine why you'd need one, it's only been two years
since the last installment <g>], you can read the summaries -- they're
available on this site.   For those who *haven't* read any of the previous
Road stories, I'd recommend doing that first -- they're also available here.

ROAD RULE #3:  As with all the Road stories, any NC-17 smut stuff will be
separated out into its own *clearly marked* section -- underage readers or
those who simply don't like to read that kind of thing can happily skip over
the marked sections and not worry about missing an iota of plot.

ROAD RULE #4:  Did I mention this was being posted in a WIP-ish
fashion?  Just checking...  ;-)

ROAD RULE #5:  God knows that if there was ever a writer in need of
feedback, it's me.   I'm doing this because people have said they want to
read more in this universe -- so if you read this, and like it, let me know at
[email protected].
 

DISCLAIMER:  I think we all know by now that I don't own Mulder and
Scully or any of the other Chris Carter characters.  [Try saying *that* ten
times fast...]   All of the other characters are products of my own
hyperactive imagination -- they're mine, all mine!

DISTRIBUTION/ARCHIVE:   As this is a WIP, I don't want any of the
parts archived until the story is completed, please.
 
 
 

CITY LIMITS - Chapter One
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
5/7/99
 
 
 

PROLOGUE:  SUNDAY MORNING
 
 

A loud, insistent ring shattered the silence.

 The man stared at the piece of black plastic, at the blinking green
light that informed him a call was coming through.  He stared at the phone
blankly, a sense of foreboding sweeping over him.  He'd been waiting all
night for news, and with each passing hour the sick feeling that began in
his gut had intensified, inch by painful inch.

 He let the phone ring once, twice, three times, and still his hand did
not reach for the receiver.

 The phone rang six times before he finally snatched it up.

 "Yes?"

 The simple word was more a command than a question.

 "Hello...."  The voice on the other end was not the one that the man
had expected to hear.  The caller did not possess Christophe's tone of
insouciant authority;  quite the contrary, the words were halted, almost
stuttering in their uncertainty.  "I -- I'm calling this number, the
emergency number -- "

 "Who is this?"

 "Uh -- Danny.  Daniel Payne.  I'm the pilot that was hired to
transport your men to Santa Fe.  One of them left me this number."

 "Where are they?"

 "Well, sir," Payne said, a slight drawl audible in his words, "that's
the trouble.  They haven't been back.  I've been sitting here on the tarmac
for over twelve hours now -- basically all night. They took off in a car and I
haven't seen them since."

 Glancing quickly at his watch, the man did the math.  It was nearly
dawn in Santa Fe by now;  there would be no new information forthcoming.
The man knew instinctively that Christophe was dead.  There could be no
other explanation for the silence.

 "Sir?"  The pilot's voice interrupted his thoughts.  "I'm -- well, I'm in
need of some instructions.  I can keep waiting, of course, but you're way
into golden time already, and --"

 The man cut him off impatiently.  "Your services are no longer
required."

 "Okay, then."  Payne paused a moment.  "What about -- what about
my money, sir?"

 "You will be paid.  In due course."

 The man hung up the phone without waiting for the pilot's response.
He would see that the money was paid;  he never left anything unfinished.
He was mildly angry that Christophe had done something as foolish as
giving the pilot his number, but then again, phone lines could be
disconnected.  And at least now his fears were confirmed.  Things had gone
badly in Santa Fe, and at the worst possible time.  Arrangements were
already being made to resume the tests;  news of another delay would not be
well received.

 Reaching for the crumpled pack on the table, the man extracted a
cigarette.  Striking a match, he lit it and drew in a lungful of nicotine.  As
he slowly exhaled, his face hardened with resolve.   He would not fail in this
endeavor.   Even if he had to personally handle the situation from here on
in.  Subject number 2-65-49557 would be found, and the tests would be
completed, the program put into action.

 Dana Scully, the man thought, your time is running out.
 
 
 

WEDNESDAY
 
 

The real truth was that Rain was heavily into weird.

 Not weird as in gross or distasteful or scary.  Not weird as in creepy
or frightening or eerie.  Just weird as in odd and unusual and unique.
Weird as in offbeat and eccentric and, well, *interesting*.

 Rain hated it when things were too normal.

 This was the real reason she'd left her hometown.  Not that odd
things didn't happen there;  certainly they did, from time to time.  But
when they did happen, they weren't odd to Rain.  They were familiar
oddities, and as a result, they were utterly boring.  That was why she left
the week she finished high school.  She was afraid of becoming one of those
tedious women who married a local guy and raised a bunch of local kids
and lived a stifling, boring, totally forgettable life until they died and were
buried in the local cemetery.

 Besides, she knew that there was a whole big world out there and
that somewhere there were other people who were just as weird as she was.
If she could only find them, she would probably be okay.  So after
graduation, Rain had packed up the few things that she cared about and
headed west, to at last begin her quest.

 It was no surprise that she ended up in Los Angeles.  Rain had once
heard a joke about L.A. being populated by a bunch of fruits and nuts, and
even though she couldn't remember the punch line anymore she had to
admit there was at least a kernel of truth to it.

 Rain lived in Hollywood.  The city, not the state of mind.  When she'd
first arrived, she had been surprised to discover that there was a distinction
between the two.  Most of the movie stars and film producers and studio
executives didn't actually *live* in Hollywood;  the majority of them
occupied territory further west, like Beverly Hills and Brentwood.  Or north,
up in one of the canyons.  The richest of them lived on the beach in Malibu.

 Which left the actual city of Hollywood open for people like her.  The
weird ones, the eccentrics, the non-conformists.  Of course if Rain had her
choice, she'd live even further east, in Los Feliz or Silverlake, or maybe
down in Venice with the artists, but at the moment those rents were out of
her price range.  And besides, Hollywood suited her just fine.  It felt odd
and unusual and unique.  It felt like home.

 Rain let these thoughts flow through her brain, hoping that one of
them would strike a note of inspiration and give her something to write in
her battered songbook.  She had been blocked on ideas for days, despite the
new melody that had been haunting her.  She knew the tune but not the
words, and that was driving her crazy.

 Humming softly to herself, Rain strummed a few chords on her
guitar, then pulled up her sleeve to glance at her watch.  She had to be at
work pretty soon;  she couldn't afford to stay here on the back steps of
Cedric's shop too much longer.  "Gonna be late, gonna be late," she quietly
sang, picking out an accompaniment for the inane lyric.

 Not that it would matter, not really.  The great thing about her job
was that Louie was such a pushover.  Left to his own devices he could
probably sit behind the front desk of the Hollywood Plaza Motel for days on
end, except the lack of alcohol would kill him after awhile.  But he never
really minded when she was late, when she stumbled in for a morning
shift after a night out at Dragonfly, grimacing under the weight of a major
hangover.  Or when she took a long lunch to stroll by the Capitol Records
building tower three blocks from the motel, to see if there was anybody
interesting in the lobby.  Or when she left early to catch some band playing
at the Troubadour, hoping they would give her a chance to join them for a
song.

 Louie was cool, and he was totally weird, and Rain loved him for
that.  He had to be at least sixty, but his gray hair hung to his shoulders and
he favored Led Zeppelin t-shirts.   Rain was pretty positive that he'd spent at
least half of his life running the shabby motel.   It wasn't the kind of place
that attracted friends or guests of locals, nor was it the kind of place where
tourists with money would choose to stay.  It got most of its business from
people who weren't coming to rest, though they paid the regular rate as
though they were planning on getting sleep instead of sex.  The rest of the
guests were usually people who arrived at the Greyhound station over on
Vine, looking to crash for a few hours before catching another bus to
someplace else.

 That was fine with Rain, because it meant that usually the people
that she checked in and out were weird, or at the very least, interesting.
And interesting was almost as cool as weird.  Sometimes, though, it could
be a little scary.  She was only twenty-two (twenty-three in April, she was
always quick to add, because it sounded better), but she wasn't naive
enough to think that everyone who came into the motel was there on
legitimate business.  For this reason, she was glad about the gun that Louie
kept underneath the desk, and glad that he had taught her how to fire it.

 "Got me a gun," she sang absently.  "Got me a gun, and I know how
to use it..."

 "You planning to use that gun on me, girl?"

 Rain looked up to see Tyrone standing there, blue eyes flashing as he
grinned at her, cigarette in hand.  He was dressed in a typical Tyrone
ensemble, a tight black tee shirt with a pair of equally form-fitting, carefully
faded jeans.   His face and arms were tanned and his curly brown hair was
perfectly styled.  If he were walking in her neighborhood he'd be taking a
serious risk, but here in the middle of Boys Town he was just another
attractive prospective catch.

 "I should shoot you," she told him, "for running around without a
coat on.  I mean, it's *November*.  You're going to catch a cold."

 Tyrone shrugged, and sank down on the steps beside her.   "I just
came from the gym.  I'm all warmed up."

 "Great," Rain groaned.  "Now I *know* you're going to catch a cold."

 "Don't give me that yenta routine," Tyrone teased.  "I've already got a
mother.  Besides," he added, indicating her worn leather motorcycle jacket
with a disdainful flip of his wrist, "that thing you're wearing doesn't
deserve to be *called* a coat."

 "Whatever," Rain replied, putting her guitar gently down in the case
that lay open at her feet.  "Gimme a smoke."

 Tyrone obliged, holding the lighter for her like the gentleman he was.
"How long you been sitting here?"

 Rain yanked up the sleeve of her jacket to check her watch again.  "I
dunno....a couple hours."

 "Jesus," Tyrone remarked.  "Don't you have anything better to do
than hang out?"

 "Whaddaya want me to do, take a stroll down the promenade?"  Rain
scratched her head, running her fingers through her tousled dishwater
blonde hair.  Some guy at a bar the other day had told her she had hair like
Meg Ryan, which had almost been enough to convince her to dye it purple.
She had only resisted because purple hair wasn't really big with the people
who liked her kind of music, and she wasn't going to let vanity louse up her
chance at success.

 "Besides," she continued, "I've been working.  Writing songs.
Practicing.  You know."

 "Oh yeah, I *know* all right."  The words made no sense, but
making no sense was a Tyrone specialty.

 "Did you copy the keys?"

 "Yeah.  I made another set."  He took a drag on his cigarette and
then asked, "Are you sure about this?  I mean, you don't even *know* these
people."

 "What's to know?"  Rain gave him her most innocent stare.  "They're
nice people, I know that.  And they need a place to crash.  And Justin isn't
going to be back until New Years, if that."

 Justin was probably the most successful person that Rain knew in
L.A.   A friend of Tyrone and Cedric's from the bar circuit, he had his own
business, setting up companies with internet software.   He made plenty of
money, and he ran his own schedule.  Which gave him plenty of
opportunity to enjoy his two favorite pastimes:  sports and dating, preferably
in combination.

 Thinking these thoughts, Rain added in a confidential whisper, "I
don't see him coming back till ski season's over, if you want to know the
truth."

 "Yeah, well, ski season."  Another typical Tyron-ian nonsense
comment.

 "It's perfect," Rain insisted, wanting to stick to the plan.  "We both
need the money, and Justin will never be the wiser.  And he took all his
good computer stuff with him, so there's nothing to steal."

 "The stereo," he pointed out.  "They could steal the stereo."

 Rain rolled her eyes.  "Oh, yeah, like they're going to steal the
*stereo*.  They came in off of a bus with one duffel bag between them and
you think they're going to make off with an entire armoire full of
equipment.   That's it, they're stereo thieves."

 "They could be, you know."  Tyrone nodded his head thoughtfully.
"They could be like master thieves of audio-visual equipment.  That might
be how they pay for shit.  You know, find stuff and hock it."

 "Tyrone," she let out an exasperated breath.  "I am not even going to
dignify that with a response.  You're crazy, you know that?"

 "And you love it, girl."  That cocky grin was back, and Rain couldn't
help but smile.

 "I may love it, but I'm not speaking to you again if you mess this up."
Rain fixed him with her most serious look, opening her brown eyes as wide
as she could.  "I *need* this money.   And I *need* you to give me Justin's
keys."

 Tyrone said nothing, merely dropped his spent cigarette to the
ground and crushed it under his shoe.  Rain took his silence as an
invitation to continue.

 "He says it's only going to be for a week or two, no more than that,
and probably even less.  And I'll go over there, check on things, make sure
the *stereo* is still there.  I'll even water the plants," she promised, putting
out her own cigarette.  "You don't have to do a thing."

 "Nothing except give you the keys."

 "And I'm giving you *half* the money!"  She was getting frustrated
now.  "I think that's more than fair!"

 The sound of the door opening behind them interrupted their
escalating discussion.  "What's more than fair, and can I have some too?"

 Rain and Tyrone turned to see Cedric standing there, one brown
hand resting on his hip, the other holding open the door.   "I mean, all's
fair in love and war, isn't it?"

 Rain had a secret crush on Cedric.  He was easily the most beautiful
man she'd ever seen.  Half Jamaican and half Irish, he had grown up in
the Caribbean and spoke French and English with equal fluency.  His skin
was coffee brown and his black hair dangled from his head in a series of
artful braids.  The most startling thing about Cedric was his eyes, which
were as green as purest emeralds, and missed absolutely nothing.  She
adored him, and if she had the ability to change the world as she pleased
the first thing she'd do would be to make sure he played on her team.

 A smile crossed Tyrone's face at the sight of his lover.  "You make a
living out of eavesdropping now?"

 "Only when it comes to the good stuff," Cedric replied, leaning over to
give Tyrone a quick kiss.   A frown creased his dark features as he pulled
back.  "You've been smoking again."

 "So what else is new," Tyrone responded, as he always did.

 "Gonna kill you, mon," said Cedric, but Tyrone merely shrugged.

 Rain had been witness to this discussion a thousand times, and it
always ended the same way.  Today, she just wasn't in the mood.  "You
almost done in there, Cedric?"  she asked.  "I've gotta get to work."

 " 'Nother twenty minutes or so.  Then we're ready to rock and roll."

 "Good," said Tyrone, pleased.  "It's time for some M&M.   You
coming, Rain?"

 "I've got to work, remember?"  Rain wasn't entirely displeased about
that fact.  She wasn't really in the mood for margaritas at Marix, the
Mexican restaurant in the heart of West Hollywood.  It was packed with
eligible young men during the summer months, pounding down icy cold
drinks to escape the Los Angeles heat, but even in the winter it was still a
prime pick-up scene.

 This is my life, she thought, almost shaking her head at the
absurdity of it.  My two best friends are a white guy named Tyrone and a
black guy named Cedric who want nothing more than for me to hang out
with them in gay bars.

 Aloud, she added, "But Louie's coming back at midnight.  So if you
guys go to Club 80s afterwards, I'm in."

 This is my life, Rain repeated to herself with a secret smile.  And I
love it.

 "Cool," said Cedric.  "Hang out another few and I'll be done."   With
that, he disappeared back inside, the door falling shut behind him.

 Alone again with Tyrone, Rain resumed her attack.   "Okay, so are
you in, or are you out?  Because if you're out, I've got to think of something
else."

 Tyrone shook another cigarette out of his pack and lit it up.  "Why
can't they stay with you?"

 "Oh," Rain grimaced.  "As if."  Truth be told, she'd considered it, but
there wasn't even enough room for her in the tiny studio she rented up on
Franklin.   Besides, there was no way that she could pull it off with Ashley
around.  Ashley Fisher was the woman who owned the main house, an
unmarried, career-driven advertising exec.  Though Ashley wasn't a total
pill, she was a stickler about the rules, and extended guests were a big no-
no.

 "This is the only option, Tyrone.  And it's the only one that makes
sense.  So don't be a moron and make us both miss out on a big score.  Cold
hard cash.  That should mean something to you, unless they've raised the
pay at Rocket Video."

 Tyrone ignored her jibe, just inhaled deeply and then blew out a puff
of smoke.  "Tell me again how this happened."   She glared at him but he
didn't take the hint.  "What," he said lazily.  "It's not like we don't have
time."

 "Okay," Rain sighed, and stole another cigarette from his pack.  If it
was story time he wanted, story time he would get.
 
 
 

* end Chapter One *
 

All that boring disclaimer stuff is at the beginning of Chapter One.   This is
just story stuff.  <g>
 
 
 

CITY LIMITS - Chapter Two
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
5/7/99
 
 
 

On Monday afternoon [or so her story began], Rain was sitting behind the
motel desk alternately watching a rerun of some dumb sitcom and
scanning the LA Weekly for upcoming bands when the front door opened.
A man and a woman entered, and from the second they walked in they
completely captured her attention.

 Weird, she thought, a tremor of excitement racing through her body.

 The man was tall and thin and haggard, and carried a large duffel
bag in one hand.  His other hand rested on the arm of the woman, and it
was obvious he was using it to guide her across the dingy lobby.  Obvious
because it was clear to anyone who was looking that the woman was totally
blind, despite the brilliant blue of her eyes.  The woman was much shorter
than the man but looked no less exhausted, and it was apparent that
wherever they'd come from, it had taken them a long time to get here.

 *So* weird, Rain thought, and she pushed the newspaper to the side.

 "Can I help you?" she asked, in a surprisingly normal tone of voice.

 "We'd like a room," said the man.  "What's the rate?"

 "Seventy-five for a single, ninety for a double, one-oh-five for a king,"
Rain responded, the words automatic.   The rates were high given the
quality of the rooms, but they were a bargain for Los Angeles, even in this
area.

 The man nodded, releasing his grasp of the woman's arm to pull his
wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.  He checked the money inside and
then said, "We'll take a king."

 Sharing a bed, Rain mused, idly wondering how they'd first hooked
up.  Still maintaining her professional demeanor she inquired, "Just for
the one night?"

 "For now," the man replied, handing over some crumpled bills that
had seen better days.

 Rain took the money and put it in the drawer, handing the man his
change and then hitting the return key on the computer.  "I'm going to put
you in room 304," she said.  "It's on the third floor, the elevator's over there
to the left."  She typed in the room number and then looked up at the man.
"Can I have your name?"

 The man hesitated, but only for a second.  "Ford.  Rick and Lisa
Ford."

 Quicker with the alias than most, Rain thought, typing in the names.
Finished, she turned to the key board behind her and yanked #304 off of the
peg.  "Here you go, Mr. Ford.  If you need anything, just dial '0' and you'll
get the desk.   If you want to make a call, it's $.45 for a local, long distance is
extra.  Just dial '9' first."

 "Thanks," the man responded, taking the key from her grasp and
then turning to take the woman again by the arm.  It was then that Rain
realized the woman hadn't said a word during the entire exchange.  She
was as silent as a sphinx and appeared equally remote, her face hidden by a
fall of long dark hair.

 *Totally* weird, thought Rain, unable to take her eyes off of the pair.
She watched them until they disappeared inside the elevator and felt more
than a little disappointed when she was once again alone.

 Her disappointment didn't linger too long, though.   The man, Rick,
was back down in the lobby only twenty minutes later.   Walking up to the
desk, he asked, "Is there any place to get some quick, decent food around
here?"

 "Well," Rain replied, "there's the McDonalds by the bus station."

 Rick shook his head.  "Anything else?"

 "It's Hollywood," she grinned.  "You can get just about anything you
want.  Indian, Thai, Mexican, Italian.  There's a good Chinese place a few
blocks down."

 "What's the best?"

 Rain thought for a moment.  It wasn't often that she ate out,
preferring to eat cereal in the comfort of her guest house and save the little
money that she earned.  "I'd go for the Mexican or the Chinese, myself."
After a moment, she added, "Are you eating it in?  Or bringing it back?"

 "Take-out," said Rick, who seemed to be the sort of man to economize
on conversation.  It was a skill that Rain had never really mastered.

 "Chinese then," she replied.  "It's worth the walk -- they'll give you
loads of rice.  You'll be eating it for days."

 "Sounds good."  He glanced at the LA Weekly, which once again
claimed the space directly in front of her on the desk.  "Does that paper
carry classifieds?  For apartments and stuff?"

 "Sure," Rain told him, flipping past the music section to show him
the listings at the back.  "All kinds.  You looking for a place?"

 "Just temporarily," he answered.  "Where can I get one of those?"

 "Anywhere," she said, knowing it was true.  But she was basically
done with it, and the new Anne Rice book was burning a hole in her
backpack.  "You can have this one, though.  I'm finished."

 Rain folded the paper closed and handed it to him.  Rick tucked it
under his arm and gave her a small smile.  "Thanks," he said, and then
headed for the door.

 She watched him until he was out of sight, her mind already
formulating a plan.  It seemed a little crazy, but then again most good ideas
were.  And besides, part of her didn't really want to see Rick and his 'wife'
walk out of her life as quickly as they'd walked in.  There was something
about them that made her hear music inside her head, that inspired her to
put words to melody.  Inspiration, she knew, was as good as gold -- and if
she also got a little cash money out of it, the risk would be worth it.

 And she was pretty sure Tyrone would feel the exact same way.

 By the time Rick returned, bearing several white bags that smelled
heavenly,  she was ready to put her plan into action.  But things were
spoiled by the fact that she was in the midst of dealing with guests at the
desk.  It was another couple, but an entirely different sort, the we-don't-
really-need-the-room-for-the-whole-night kind.  Rain was pretty sure that
the couple was underage;  the girl was for sure, though she wasn't certain
about the guy.  But guests were guests and money was money and she went
ahead and checked them in, knowing that Louie wouldn't want her to turn
them away.

 When she'd finished, Rick had already disappeared into the elevator,
but Rain wasn't deterred.  Once she had a goal in mind she rarely lost sight
of the target.  Reaching below the desk she took out the sign that Louie used
when he had to run out for a quick drink and hung it on the peg glued just
above the front door.  The sign read "Back In Five", and though all that
faced her was plain cardboard, she knew the words printed on the other
side would be clearly visible to anyone looking through the glass from the
street.  Then she locked the front door and took the elevator upstairs.

 The third floor was almost completely silent except for the mumbled
babble from a television coming from the end of the hall to the left.  Rain
ignored the noise and turned down the hallway to the right, glancing at the
numbers on the doors until she found herself in front of #304.  Steeling
herself, she raised her right hand and knocked three times, as officiously
as she was able.  There was no response, but when she pressed her ear to
the door she could hear the sound of running water, so she knocked again.

 After a moment, a low, unmistakably female voice came through the
door.  "Yes?"

 "It's Rain," she announced.  "From the front desk, downstairs."

 Silence, a long silence.  Then, "What do you want?"

 Your money, Rain thought.

 "I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."

 There was no response, though Rain heard the sound of footsteps,
growing fainter as they moved away from the door.  Rain stood there,
waiting, and then the sound of running water ceased.  She was just
beginning to realize that she'd been upstairs for longer than five minutes
when the door opened.

 Rick was standing there, a towel around his waist, his hair wet from
the shower.  "What is it?" he asked, but Rain found herself unable to
answer, mesmerized by the sight of his naked chest and the droplets of
water that still rested against his skin.  His body was thin but it was toned,
all solid muscle without an inch of fat.

 "What is it?" Rick repeated, and Rain unconsciously licked her lips
as she sought the words that had fled her addled brain.

 "You... you were looking for a place to stay?"  She heard her voice
raise an octave like some dumb high-schooler and she fought for
composure.  "In the paper. The Weekly.  I mean, I got the impression that
you were looking for an apartment."

 "And?"

 Over Rick's shoulder Rain could see the woman hovering near the
bed, and unable to meet his eyes, she focused on her instead.  "I might... I
might have one for you.  Someplace you could rent.  Assuming it's only
temporary.  And paid in cash."

 "Where?"

 "It's a friend's place.  It's nice.  Real nice.  Furnished and
everything."  It all seemed awkward now, and Rain suddenly wished that
she had never come upstairs.

 "Why are you telling me this?"  The words sounded harsh, but Rain
didn't see anything in Rick's expression but frank curiosity, and it gave her
courage.

 "Because," she admitted, "I need the money."  After a moment, she
bravely added, "And because you don't seem like the kind of guy who likes
to answer a lot of questions.   And I'm not the kind of girl who likes to ask
them."

 He stared at her for a long, searching moment, making Rain glad
that she'd told him the truth.  Somehow she suspected that he'd know it if
she were lying.

 "We'll think about it," he said finally, and she felt the blood start
pumping through her veins again.  "Thank you."

 "You're welcome," she replied.  "I'm on until midnight.  And then
I'm back tomorrow afternoon."

 Rick nodded, and then shut the door.  Rain didn't know whether to be
excited about the possibilities or relieved that the conversation was over.
Still undecided, she went back downstairs to the desk.

 It was several hours and a few chapters of Anne Rice later before
Rain got her answer.  The ding of the bell announced the arrival of the
elevator and then Rick stepped out.  He waited until he was directly in front
of her before he spoke.

 "You've got a deal," he told her, "assuming the place looks okay and
the money is right.  As long as you meant what you said about no
questions."

 "I did," Rain answered, though at this moment her mind was
whirling with questions she'd never before thought to ask.  "I promise."

 "Rain?"

 He said her name like a question, and she nodded in response,
holding out her hand to shake.  "Rain Meyer."   It was close enough to the
truth;  after all, certain as she was that he was using an alias, he certainly
didn't need to know that her real first name was Leah.

 "Good to meet you, Rain."

 "You too, Rick."

 Rick nodded but said nothing more, just turned and headed back
towards the elevator, its doors still open and waiting.  "Tomorrow, then,"
he said from over his shoulder.

 "Tomorrow," Rain echoed.   As the elevator doors slammed shut,
blocking him from her view, she glanced up at the clock on the wall.

 It read precisely 11:58 pm.
 
 
 

"So that's it?"  Tyrone shifted his position on the stairs, his foot coming
dangerously close to kicking her guitar case.  Dumb guitar.  Always in the
way.  "That's the whole story?"

 "Pretty much," Rain replied. "I mean, that was Monday night.
When I got in yesterday they weren't around;  I rang their room but there
was no answer.  They showed up in the lobby around five and I guess they'd
gone out and gotten a car.  Some old Volvo -- I told him just to park it on the
street.   He wanted to go check out the place, but I couldn't get ahold of you
so I told him we'd have to do it today."

 Tyrone nodded slowly, giving every word its proper consideration.
"And how'd you end up here?"

 She shrugged, grabbing another cigarette.  At this rate, she was
going to owe him another pack.  "He asked for a suggestion.  And I gave
him one -- Cedric needs the green as much as we do.  Besides, the shop
closes early on Wednesdays, so it's private, which they like."

 "Girl, you have got a heart like a hotel.  I just don't know if that's a
good thing or a whole mess of trouble."

 "It's a good thing," she assured him, checking her watch again.
"Shit," she moaned.  "I am *definitely* going to be late for my shift."

 "Well," Tyrone suggested, "we could do it tomorrow.  You could let
them in then."

 As far as he was concerned, tomorrow was as good as any other day.
He still had a certain amount of doubt about this whole transaction.  He'd
made the keys, because he hadn't wanted to show up without them.  There
was no wrath on earth like the wrath of an angry Rain.  Tyrone liked her
well enough;  she was a good friend, and she knew how to party.  But she
had a tendency to leap before she looked and that made him more than a
little nervous.

 "Not gonna work," Rain groaned.  "Not for me.  Besides, I promised -
-"

 At that moment, the back door to the shop opened, and Cedric
appeared, a satisfied smile on his face.  "All finished," he announced.
"Check out this handiwork."

 Rain rose to her feet and Tyrone stood up beside her to watch as the
mystery couple emerged.  He was at a bit of a disadvantage, not having seen
the "before" to this "after", but it was obvious that Cedric had worked his
usual magic.  No surprise there;  in Tyrone's opinion, Cedric was
something pretty close to a god.

 The woman's hair was short, really short, a close-cropped cut with
just a little sweep of bangs.  It looked as though Cedric had colored it too;  it
was a rich, dark shade -- almost black -- that somehow suited her smooth,
pale skin.  He didn't spend a lot of time checking out women, but this one
was definitely pretty, despite the fact that her blue eyes were quite obviously
sightless.  Tyrone was secretly glad that Rain'd given him the word up on
that one;  otherwise, he would have been quite startled to see her standing
there, remarkably at ease considering the circumstances.

 The man, Tyrone quickly decided, was worthy of more than just a
casual glance.  Thanks to Cedric's skillful handiwork, his hair was white
blond, streaked a little bit like a surfer's, cut short and artfully styled with
just a little bit of gel.  He'd look better with a tan, that much was certain,
and a couple trips to the gym might be just what the doctor ordered.  But as
thin and drawn as he appeared, the man still rated a second look.  His
physique was lean but obviously muscular, and that full lower lip was more
than enough to clinch the deal.

 "Check it out," Tyrone declared, an unexpected smile on his face.
"It's Winona Ryder and Brad Pitt.  Hey," he added as an afterthought,
"aren't they dating?"

 Cedric laughed, but Rain looked embarrassed, shooting him a glance
that would have sliced a lesser man in two.  "No, idiot.  Winona's with Matt
Damon;  Brad's doing the girl from 'Friends'."  And who cares, anyway?"
With a slightly frustrated shake of her head, she added, "Rick, Lisa, this is
my friend Tyrone.  Don't listen to him -- he's crazy.  You both look great."

 "Hey," Tyrone protested, "I'm just teasing."  He reached out and
shook both of their hands, noting as he did the close eye that Rick kept on
Lisa.

 "I don't think I've ever worn my hair this short."  Lisa brought a
hand up to touch it in a gesture of curious wonderment.

 "Yeah, well, I can assure you that I was *never* a blond."  Rick
winced.  "Not even when I was a kid."

 "Trust me," Rain insisted. "You guys look totally chic."  She tilted
her head to the side, regarding them both.  Lisa was still fiddling with her
hair and it seemed to inspire Rain, who started rummaging through her
backpack.  "Lisa, I think I've got a present for you."

 After a moment of frantic searching, Rain pulled a small hair clip
out of the bag.  "The finishing touch," she announced with a flourish.
"Hold still for just a sec."  Leaning forward she swept Lisa's bangs to the
side and pinned them with the clip, which was square and made up of tiny
rhinestones.  "Now *that* looks terrific," she beamed.

 Lisa ran her fingers over the barrette and offered a wan smile.
"Thanks, Rain."

 "If the music thing doesn't work out, maybe Cedric will give you a
job,"  Tyrone grinned.  Turning his attention to Cedric, he added, "You've
done good work, man."

 "What can I say?"  Cedric raised up both palms in a supplicating
gesture.  "I'm a hairstyling genius."

 "Yeah, genius," Tyrone muttered, but he gave his lover a wink.

 They all stood in a slightly awkward silence that was broken when
Rain gave Cedric a big hug, thanking him for his willingness to pull
overtime on her behalf.   Rick and Lisa chimed in with thanks of their own,
and then it was time.  Tyrone pulled out the two sets of keys, and handed
them to Rain.   He tried to tamp down his nervousness, thinking about how
much good the money would do for his burgeoning acting career.  A new
set of head shots, at the very least.

 Have a little faith, he told himself, and putting the image of stereo
thieves out of his mind he tried his best to do just that.

 Rain held the keys up in one hand, a bright smile on her face.  "The
keys to your new digs," she announced proudly.  "Let's rock and roll."

 Now, Tyrone thought, there was no turning back.
 
 
 

* end Chapter Two *
 

All that boring disclaimer stuff is at the beginning of Chapter One.   This is
just story stuff.  <g>   Thanks again to Jen for taking the time out of her
newly busybusybusy schedule to post these chapters for me!
 
 
 

CITY LIMITS - Chapter Three
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
5/28/99
 
 
 

Fox Mulder had to admit that taking the apartment was starting to seem
like a good idea.  It was on a little street just below what Rain called the
Plaza, a stretch of Sunset Boulevard crammed with expensive boutiques
and restaurants.  Sport utility vehicles and trendily dressed pedestrians
crowded the boulevard itself, but their street was quiet and seemed
relatively safe.

 The apartment was in a 40s style garden building, with a pool in the
center.  Had it been summertime Mulder would have worried about
constantly running into the other residents, but at this time of year it didn't
seem like it would be much of a problem.  The unit belonging to Rain's
friend was in the corner, near the back, and Mulder was pleased to note
that there was a stairwell leading directly to the underground parking close
beside it.  That meant two exits:  down the stairs, or out the front gate to the
street.   As he saw it, that meant less chance of being trapped if a situation
arose.

 Rain unlocked the door and pushed it open, moving inside to allow
them to enter.  Mulder guided Scully carefully through the entryway and
looked around with grudging approval.  He'd had lingering doubts about
this arrangement from the moment that Rain had proposed it, but so far it
seemed as though they'd been right to take the chance.

 "It's not the biggest place," Rain admitted, as she flipped on the
lights.  "I mean, Justin lives here all by himself.  But it should be okay for
the two of you."

 "It'll be fine," Mulder reassured her, and the more they looked
around, the more he meant what he said.  There were four rooms; well,
five, if you counted the dining nook that branched off of the living room. The
bedroom and bath were large, given the size of the unit, and the kitchen
was state of the art, obviously equipped for someone who liked to cook.  It
was well-furnished, nice contemporary pieces mixed in with a few
carefully selected antiques.  And the place had obviously been decorated by
someone with taste and a very distinct sense of style.

 "Well?"  Scully spoke quietly, her words intended for his ears only.
"How is it?  Okay?"

 "More than okay, Lisa."  He used her alias even as he whispered.
"It's terrific."

 Scully offered him a faint smile in response but said nothing more,
and Mulder felt his anxiety level raise another notch.

 Something was wrong with Scully.

 Mulder didn't know what it was, not exactly, and it wasn't as though
she was giving him any clues.  Hell, since they'd arrived in Los Angeles
two days ago, she'd barely spoken to him.  She'd been silent as a ghost most
of the time, more taciturn and secretive than he could remember her being
since they'd embarked on this journey.  She brushed his questions aside
with her familiar litany of "I'm fine" and "everything's okay", but he knew
her well enough to read between the lines.

 Part of him suspected that she was unhappy with the results of the
call he had made to the Gunmen the night they arrived.  They hadn't
managed to come up with a solid lead on the droperidol connection yet,
which was certainly disappointing.  On the other hand, Mulder had been
cheered by the fact that it looked as though Frohike would be able to swing
an appointment for them with Dr. Robert Bard.  Scully hadn't seemed
affected by either piece of news, and when Mulder pressed her to talk with
him, she had adamantly refused.

 What bothered Mulder the most was the fact that Scully didn't seem
to want to touch him or even be touched;  she brushed aside his attempts to
get close to her, merely enduring a kiss or two before turning away.
Although he ached to be with her physically, she seemed suddenly to want
to redraw their boundaries and he didn't quite know how to handle that.

 It had occurred to the most paranoid part of his mind that perhaps
during the relative calm of their bus journey, she had evaluated their
relationship and changed her mind about it.  Though an unbelievable
amount of things had happened since their first night together on the train,
in actual time only a week had passed.  It wasn't inconceivable that she
might be having second thoughts.  In fact, that paranoid part of his mind
insisted, having second thoughts within the first week of a relationship was
entirely reasonable.  Hell, it probably happened all the time.

 Except from Mulder's point of view, their relationship had been
around a lot longer than a week.  Much, much longer.  Years, as a matter
of fact.  Forged under circumstances that had never been ideal, even before
they'd been forced to leave D.C., and yet somehow all the stronger as a
result.  However, there remained a certain, inescapable truth.   A week ago
they'd crossed a line together, and now he was afraid that he might find
himself standing alone on the other side.

 It was seven days since he had made love to her for the very first
time.   He couldn't bear the thought that he might never be allowed to do so
again.

 Everything was slipping away.  She was slipping away, and that
terrified him.

 For the moment, however, there was nothing he could do about it.  So
he pushed the fear aside and guided Scully carefully through each of the
rooms, listening to Rain as she laid down the ground rules for their
tenancy.

 "Go ahead and use whatever you need, like towels and sheets and
stuff," Rain was saying.  "I'll go to the laundromat and wash everything
afterwards.  Just stay out of Justin's closets and his personal junk."  She
giggled a little and added, "And don't use the stereo.  Well, if you do, be
really careful.  Tyrone's wigged out about it."

 Mulder shrugged.  "Tell him not to worry.  We'll leave it alone."

 When they finished the tour, Rain favored them both with a sweet
smile, toying with a lock of her unruly hair.  "So?  You like?"

 "It's great," Mulder replied.  "Even better than I expected."

 "Good."  Rain's smile slipped away, to be replaced by a more earnest
expression.  "Now, about the money...."

 "I've got it right here," Mulder said, releasing his grasp of Scully's
arm to reach for his wallet.  "At least part of it."

 "Part of it?"

 He rifled through the billfold before responding to the question.  "I've
got enough here for the first four days.  I'll have the rest for you tomorrow."

 Rain frowned.  "I thought we were doing this week by week."

 "We were,"  Mulder reassured her.  "We *are*.  I just spent more on
the car than I'd expected to."

 He held out the pile of bills towards her, but Rain didn't immediately
reach out to take them.  Instead, her eyes flicked carefully from him to
Scully and back again.   She was probably in her early twenties, but in
battered jeans and a cropped tee shirt with the words "Rude Girl" printed
on the front, she could pass for a high school student.  Yet there was
something hard in her gaze that made her seem experienced beyond her
years.   It was clear she was a survivor, smart enough and tough enough to
handle people who were foolish enough to underestimate her.

 She could call the cops...

 Mulder pushed the errant thought out of his mind, meeting her level
stare head on.

 "What time tomorrow?"

 "We'll have it by noon," Mulder promised.  "No later than that."

 A long moment passed, and then Rain finally nodded.  She took the
money and tucked it into the pocket of her jeans, and then handed him the
set of keys.  With the transaction completed, the cheerful grin returned to
her face.

 "Cool," said Rain.  "Bring it by the motel after three.  That's when I
start my shift tomorrow."

 "Thank you, Rain, for arranging all this."  Scully smiled politely in
her general direction.  "We really appreciate it."

 "No problem.  You're doing me a favor too."  Though Mulder didn't
think it was possible, Rain's grin grew even wider.  Tapping her bulging
pocket, she announced, "I'm taking this straight to the bank.  I'm saving
up to make a demo tape, and this is some excellent headway."  She reached
out and shook hands with both of them and then headed for the door.

 "Hasta la vista," she announced, and then she was gone, the door
slamming behind her as punctuation.
 
 
 

When the lights went off in the apartment across the courtyard, Caitlin
closed the shutters on her front window.  She poured herself another glass
of diet Coke from the liter bottle on the table, all without losing her grip on
the portable phone.  Her friend Julie was babbling on about something or
other, but Caitlin was only giving it half of her attention.

 "....and then he had the nerve to call me and say that he was giving
the spec to someone else, can you believe that?  I mean, does he not *know*
who I work for?  What is *that* all about?"

 "I don't know," Caitlin responded absently, not really listening.  It
was always the same old story with Julie, some kind of complaint about
something or other.  If it wasn't for the fact that Julie's boss was one of the
hottest producers in town, Caitlin wouldn't give her the time of day.  Well,
that, and the fact that Julie was her workout partner at the gym up the
street.  "Maybe you should call Jeff and complain."

 "I'm not calling *Jeff* -- he's always such a dick to me."

 "Hm, yeah, he can be."  Caitlin wandered back over to the couch and
curled up, tucking the phone between her chin and her shoulder.  She
opened up the script she had been reading before Julie had called, but the
text didn't look any more interesting than the last time she checked.  The
worst thing about being a junior agent was all the crap she had to wade
through, looking for new potential clients.  There was nothing more boring
except the dumb Hollywood keggers that she found herself attending on far
too many Saturday nights.  It was boredom that had drawn her to the
window in the first place, and now her curiosity was piqued.

 "Do you ever *talk* to Jeff?"  Julie's voice burbled through the
receiver.  "He's so cold, but I guess you never have to deal with him.  I
mean, he's like a rival of yours, well not of *yours* exactly, but he works at
a different agency than you do so -- "

 "Hey, Jules?"  Caitlin waited until she was sure her friend was
prepared to be quiet before she continued.  "There's something strange
going on in my building."

 "Strange?  Strange like what?  Are there people out there topless by
the pool again?"

 "God, no."  Caitlin sighed, exasperated.  "It's November, geek.
Nobody's by the pool.   But I think that little troll friend of Justin's is up to
something."

 "Isn't Justin out of town?"

 "Yeah," Caitlin answered.  "And that's what's strange about it."

 "You think she's doing drugs over there?  Justin usually has killer
weed."

 "I don't know, maybe."  Taking her long blonde hair in one hand,
Caitlin pulled it up into a ponytail and secured it with a clip, all without
losing her grip on the phone.  "She brought some people in there, and then
left by herself.  And I'd bet you next week's tracking report that Justin
doesn't know a thing about it."

 "Wow.  That *is* strange."  Julie paused for a moment, then asked,
"Anyone cute?"

 "No," she answered, then recanted.  "Well, maybe.  I mean, the guy
was okay, but he looked a little seedy.  And he had this girl with him -- he
was like, holding her up.  You might be right -- they could be strung out."

 "Whoa... well, what are you going to do?  Call the police?  Or talk to
Justin first?  Do you have the number where he's staying?"  Julie's
questions were interrupted by the click of the call waiting.

 "No," Caitlin answered.  "Right now, I'm just going to keep an eye
out."  The phone line clicked again.  "Keep an eye out, and answer this
damn phone.  I'll talk to you later."

 As she answered the other line, Caitlin crossed the room and
cracked the shutters open again.  She still had a couple hours of reading
ahead of her, and there was always the chance that the lights would come
back on.  It couldn't hurt to be prepared.
 
 
 

He doesn't believe you just look at his face he thinks you're crazy crazy like
Mulder --

 < YouhavetolistentomesirI'mtellingyouthetruth > --

He's turning away you've lost Skinner you've lost everything --

 < AgentScullyyou'vetakenthistoofar, you'renotmakinganysense > --

 < Iammakingsenseyou'rejustnotlisteningtomeIhaveproof > --

 < IfIhavetoputyouonsuspensionIwilldon'ttestmeonthat > --
 
 

Though Dana Scully was unaware of it, it was happening again.  Bits and
pieces of her former life falling into random, fragmented order, invading
her dreams and disturbing her sleep.
 
 

Forget about it don't even try to make him believe you he's working with
them anyway they're all in league together maybe even Mulder don't trust
any of them just don't you can do this on your own --

 < AmImakingmyselfclear, Scully > --

 < Perfectlyclearsir, Iknowjustwhereyoustand > --

Get out of there get out of there don't waste any more time with him don't
waste any more time with any of them not even Mulder he won't believe you
either, won't listen he never listens never never never --
 
 

Scully twisted restlessly under the covers, her heart pounding, her breaths
coming rapidly as her body fought to regain the consciousness her mind
was determined to deny her.
 
 

 < Whatareyoudoingherethisisaprivatefacility > --

Don't waver don't falter now not when you're so close keep the gun on him -
-

 < Iwanttoknowwhatyou'redoinghere, tellme > --

 < Thisisamedicalresearchcenterwedoresearch > --

 < CutthebullshitIwanttoknowwhat'sreallygoingonhere > --

Cock the gun show him you mean business --

 < Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout > --

 < Youowemeyouputthatchipinthebackofmyneck,
whydidyouDOthattome > --

He's scared now, you can see it, this goddamn doctor, he's scared cowering
behind his desk that's good that's good make him talk --

 < Ididn'tdoanythingtoyoulady > --

 < Maybeyoudidn'tbutTheydidandIneedtoknow > --

 < Lookyoudon'tunderstandit'sbiggerthanjustyou > --

 < Whatdoyoumeanbythat > --

 < Ican'texplain > --
 

B-R-R-I-I-I-N-G     B-R-R-I-I-I-N-G     B-R-R-I-I-I-N-G

What's that sound some kind of alarm --

A distraction shit and it worked what's he got in his hand a paperweight or
something duck duck shit fire at him fire the gun  --

BLAM BLAM BLAM

He's getting away follow him follow him out of the office down the corridor -
-

Run run run run run --

He's going through the door hurry hurry if you really run you'll catch him
dammit it's locked how did he do that?  Down the hall then there must be
another entrance after all this is the center there's got to be another way in
and what is that noise feet pounding behind someone shouting at me --

 < Scullystopdon'tfollowhimit'satrap > --

 He's grabbing me pulling on my arm  --

 < Letgoletgoletgohe'sgettingaway >

 < LethimgoScullywehavetogetout > --

 Push him shove him get him off me --

 < GetoffmeMulder > --

 Push him hard and now he's tripping falling how did I do that never
mind keep running you can't let the man get away there's another door and
it's open get inside and slam it shut quick what is this place? a lab? is this
the lab where they discovered it? but where did he go where is the doctor?
pounding on the door behind me --

 < Scullyopenthisdoordammit > --

 Just ignore it --  < Youcan'tstopmeMuldernotnownotnow > --

 Check the walls there must be a hidden exit somewhere I know he's
here where could he have gone what is that sound --

  < Ohmygodohmygod > --
 
 

Scully awoke with a gasp, instantly aware of the sweat trickling down her
forehead, of the damp patches beneath the arms of the tee shirt she wore.
She drew in a deep, startled breath, crossing her arms fiercely across her
chest as she fought for composure.

 Long moments passed before she felt as though she'd regained her
equilibrium.  She listened quietly, but heard nothing but the sound of
Mulder's deep, even breathing.  Amazingly enough, it seemed as though he
had slept through this latest nightmare.  Scully wasn't terribly surprised.
After all, she'd become practiced enough about dealing with them that she
no longer awoke screaming.  Besides, he was exhausted.  If the last few
days had been arduous for her, they'd been doubly hard on Mulder.  This
was probably the first decent night of sleep he'd had in over a week.

 Moving as quietly as she was able, Scully slipped out of the bed.  She
stood up carefully and began feeling her way across the bedroom in the
direction of the bathroom.  It wasn't easy;  despite the detailed description
that Mulder had given her after Rain had left them alone, the apartment
still felt strange and unfamiliar.

 She banged her knee once, on the edge of the dresser, but finally
found the door.  She opened it silently and stepped inside, closing the door
behind her.  The toilet was in the corner, against the wall, and she sank
down upon its lid with a relieved sigh, its surface cold against her bare
legs.  Here, she could steal a moment's peace away from Mulder's watchful
gaze.  Here, she could sit and think.  And if she felt like rubbing her eyes
and sniffling a little, hell, she could do that too.

 Scully had already decided that she hated Los Angeles.

 She had known the minute their bus had arrived that this city wasn't
a place where she was ever likely to feel at ease.  The noise on the street was
deafening, a cacophonous jumble of engines and car horns and blaring
music, not to mention the scattered babble of what seemed like thousands of
voices.  The city smelled awful, of gasoline and car exhaust and the stale
greasy aroma of fast food, quite a change from the fresh, clean air back in
Santa Fe.  The streets were crowded enough to make negotiating them
difficult, and Scully had kept a tight hold on Mulder's arm as they searched
for a place to stay.

 The motel he had chosen seemed like it was one step up from a
dump, judging by the musty smell in the room and the carpet that felt thin
and rough beneath her bare feet.  The water that trickled down on her from
the shower head reeked of rust and the linens on the bed were scratchy and
coarse.  In comparison to Elliot and Beck's lovely loft it was a miserable
place, but that first night Scully had really been too tired to care.

 In retrospect, though, their choice of motels hadn't been all bad.  For
better or worse, it had brought them Rain.  Scully was glad now that they
had decided to take Rain up on her offer.  So far, this apartment seemed a
whole lot nicer than probably anything else they would have been able to
afford.  It was much quieter in this part of town, and it certainly smelled
better.  Mulder had told her about the garden that surrounded the building,
but even without his description she would have recognized the sweet,
powerful scent of late-blooming jasmine wafting in through the windows.

 Scully sighed and shifted position, leaning one elbow against the edge
of the sink and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand.  She couldn't
shake the notion that they were making a big mistake being here, though
she hadn't voiced her fears to Mulder.  Instead, she had silently
accompanied him when he picked up the money the Gunmen had sent.
Wearing sunglasses in an attempt to conceal her blindness, she had gone
with him to buy the car, and returned to spend a second night in their room
at the dismal motel.  Today had consisted of nothing more than the trip to
the hair salon and their arrival here, the only other activity of note being a
quick call to Byers to arrange for more funds.

 During all of it, Mulder had been overly solicitous, almost
smothering her with his constant presence.  He was acting too protective,
too paranoid, and though Scully understood the reason for it, that didn't
make it any easier to endure.  The last week had been terrifying for them
both, but he was carrying an additional self-imposed burden of guilt.
Though he denied it repeatedly, she knew he blamed himself for their
separation on the train.  But that was then, and this was now, and it was
getting to the point where she was starting to tense up every time he
reached for her hand.  I can do this myself, she wanted to scream, but the
truth was, she couldn't.  At least, not always;  and lately Mulder seemed to
have lost the ability to distinguish the times when she needed his help from
the times when she wanted to do things on her own.

 Truth be told, however, it wasn't really Mulder that had her nerves
on edge.  Try as she might, Scully couldn't forget the words that Christophe
had uttered in the mine.  They played over and over in her head, on a never
ending loop.

 "There are some people who aren't quite finished with you.  People
who need me to bring you back."

 Scully swallowed hard, running her fingers through her newly
close-cropped hair as she considered the meaning of the words yet again.
Not finished with her... more than anything else, that simple phrase made
it clear that her abduction had been part of a deliberate plan.  That the chip
in her neck had been implanted there for a specific reason.  That the disk,
which Mulder had retrieved from the mine, was indeed a significant piece
of a larger puzzle.

 What they needed to be doing right now was finding a way to solve
that puzzle.  Not hanging around Los Angeles hoping to get into see a
doctor in search of a miracle cure.  Scully had no desire to meet with Dr.
Robert Bard;  she didn't need an eye specialist to tell her what she already
knew.  What she needed was to find some answers about who was after her
and why.

 "People who need me to bring you back."

 Bring her back...but for what?  More tests?  More experiments?
Scully shuddered at the thought.  They were coming for her, of that she was
certain, and the most frightening thing about this city was that she felt
They could sneak up on them at any time.  Even here, in the relatively safe
haven of Rain's friend's apartment, she couldn't allow herself to relax.

 "Scully?"

 The sound of her name caused her to jump.  She had been so lost in
her thoughts that she hadn't even heard his approach.  A light tapping
noise echoed through the door and then she heard his voice again.

 "Scully?  You okay in there?"

 No, I'm not okay.

 I'm terrified.

 They're coming for me.

 "I'm fine," she answered automatically, rising to her feet.  With
fumbling fingers she found the lever and flushed the toilet, creating a
plausible excuse for her absence.

 She crossed to the door and turned the handle and walked right into
him.  "Mulder..." she murmured his name by way of apology, taking a tiny
step back.  "I said I'm fine.  I can get back to bed by myself."

 "I know," he replied, but she felt the smooth firm grip of his hand on
her arm nonetheless.  Biting her lip to hold back her irritation she
accompanied him back across the room and slid beneath the covers.
Mulder quickly followed suit, turning until he was spooning her, slipping
one arm around her waist and tucking the other beneath the pillows.

 "This okay?" he whispered, and although part of her was still
annoyed with him, she nodded, scooting back so that her body was flush
with his.

 "Feels good," she sighed, and despite everything, some little part of
her meant it.

 He gently kissed the back of her neck, once, and then again.  The
kisses felt nice, but as his hand slid up her stomach to caress her breast
through her shirt, Scully felt herself tense.   His fingers brushed over her
nipple on their way up to her shoulder.  Mulder stroked his hand across
her collarbone and then cupped her cheek in his palm.

 Scully tried to lie still, to ignore the tight pounding in her chest.

 His lips planted a soft, gentle kiss behind her ear, his tongue slipping
out to trace the shape of her lobe.

 It was suddenly very hard to breathe.

 "Mulder..."

 His mouth stopped its motion immediately at the sound of her
protest.  His palm remained on her cheek for an infinite second before he
pulled it away.  He moved his arm back down to her waist, holding her
more loosely this time, and she knew she had hurt him.  The
disappointment radiating from him was intense enough to be palpable,
crashing down between them like a physical barrier that she was powerless
to remove.  She just couldn't make love, not now, not when she was feeling
this distant.  If only there was a way to make him understand.

 "I'm just tired, Mulder."

 "I know," he whispered, but she could hear the sadness in his voice.

 "I love you."

 "I love you too."  He slipped his arm more firmly around her, and she
let him do it.

  " 'Night, Scully."

 " 'Night," she echoed, closing her sightless eyes.

 Scully heard his breathing slow and deepen as he drifted once again
towards sleep, but she lay awake, unable to take her usual comfort in the
warmth of his body and the safety of his embrace.

 It wasn't until much later that her fears subsided enough to let her
rest.
 
 
 

* end Chapter Three *
 

Feedback?  Please... [email protected].     :-)
 

All that boring disclaimer stuff is at the beginning of Chapter One.   This is
just story stuff.  <g>

Just a reminder:  this story is set in a universe created sometime during
Season 3...
 
 
 

CITY LIMITS - Chapter Four
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
7/14/99
 
 
 

THURSDAY
 
 

Though he would never have admitted it to anyone, the man was nervous.
It was still rare for him to be granted an audience with the members of the
Consortium;  that alone was enough to make his palms sweat.  It was even
worse to have to face them with a job still incomplete, a job that he had
expected to have finished long ago.

 But the man was a pro at bluffing, at playing political games.
Because of this he was able to light a cigarette with a reasonable semblance
of his usual ease, blowing smoke into the room with a studied nonchalance.

 "You do realize that time is running out."

 "I do," said the man, taking another drag on his cigarette.  "I am
well aware of the schedule."

 "And are you aware that you have not delivered as promised?"

 The man did not know any of the members of the Consortium by
name.  It was not yet his right or his privilege to be given that information.
He was used to that, and their anonymity did not phase him.  He responded
to each of the members in turn, treating each with the respect that he hoped
would one day be accorded to him.

 "A hitch in the plans," the man replied. "Nothing more.  We will
have our subject in time."

 "How can you guarantee that?  You haven't proven your ability to
keep your promises to us yet."

 The man shrugged.  "My mistake was in trusting others to handle
work that I should have seen to myself.  Others who were not as thorough
as I intend to be."

 "What is it you intend to do?"

 "Two things, actually."  The man inhaled deeply.  "The subject has
left Santa Fe;  were it not for her companion, she would have been returned
to us already.  I am, however, still confident in my ability to track them
down."

 "Why is that?"

 "I have personally obtained some information that should be
helpful."  The man allowed himself a secret inner smile at the memory of
how pleasant obtaining that information had been.  "They have become
sloppy, and I don't expect it will be hard to follow their trail."

 "And the second thing?"

 The man allowed himself the rarest of smiles.  "The best way to get a
rat to find its way through the maze is to lure it with a particularly
attractive piece of cheese.   I have no doubt that if we lay out the right kind of
cheese, our little lab rat will find her own way home."
 
 
 

It was snowing.

 Margaret Scully looked up from the letter that she was reading and
saw that it was snowing outside.  Big fat wet flakes that slid down the
window and gathered on the sill.  The ground was already covered with a
thick layer of it;  it must have been snowing for some time already and she
hadn't even noticed.

 That wasn't unusual for her, not lately.  Lately it seemed as though
her mind wandered all the time.  In the midst of the most mundane tasks
she'd find herself thinking about her youngest daughter, wondering where
she was, and if she was safe.

 If it was snowing, wherever she was.

 Margaret turned her attention back to the letter in her hand.   It was
from Bill, and he wasn't seeing any snow where he was, on Naval
maneuvers in the Pacific.  Bill's letters were just like Bill himself, quick,
terse and business-like, but they touched her heart nonetheless.  None of
her children had ever been really great with letters, except perhaps for
Melissa.  When she'd been in the mood, she had sent long rambling
missives filled with flowery prose and endless descriptions of the places
she'd been and the people she'd seen.  Melissa, the wandering spirit.

 At times like this, Margaret regretted that she hadn't had a better
relationship with Melissa.  Now that it was too late, she recalled all of the
times that they'd exchanged harsh words, wishing that she had the
opportunity to turn back the clock and be a better mother.  To be a better
friend.

 It hadn't been as difficult with Dana.  They had always been close,
since Dana was a little girl, and probably even more so in recent years.
Margaret hadn't shared her husband's disapproval of their daughter's
decision to join the FBI.  Oh, she'd been a little disappointed, maybe, to let
go of her dream of seeing Dana become the Chief of Staff at some huge
hospital.  And she'd been worried, certainly, about the dangers that went
along with being a federal agent.  But she hadn't ever disapproved.  What
Margaret wanted more than anything was for her children to succeed, to
make a difference in the world, and if being a member of the Bureau was
the way that Dana wanted to do it, she hadn't wanted to stand in her way.

 Lately, she'd been regretting that too.  If she'd only joined her
husband in his protests, if she'd insisted that Dana forgo the opportunity to
become an agent, none of this would ever have happened.  If she'd only
done that, Dana wouldn't be missing.

 If only...

 Margaret rose from the couch, carefully folding the letter back up
and tucking it safely back in its envelope.  She went upstairs and opened the
closet at the end of the hall, pulling out one of several hatboxes that lined
the middle shelf.  Lifting the lid, she placed Bill's letter gently atop other
scattered pieces of correspondence, postcards and pictures and holiday
mail.  She never threw anything away that belonged to her children.

 Shutting the door, Margaret sighed, her thoughts flitting once again
to Dana.  Maybe she would call Walter Skinner, just to check in.  Tomorrow
would be a week since he had come by the house to tell her that he'd missed
catching up to Fox in Texas, and she hadn't heard a word from him since
then.  She knew that if there had been any new developments in their
search, he would have called her immediately, but it couldn't hurt to check
in.

 Maybe today there would be some news.
 
 
 

Mulder finished his second cup of coffee and glanced again at his watch.  It
was  a quarter to ten;  still a little early to have to go in and awaken Scully.
After all, it wasn't as though they had anything on the schedule for the day
outside of dropping more cash off to Rain and checking in with the
Gunmen.  Right now they were smack dab in the middle of a waiting game.

 Maybe that's what it is, Mulder mused as he got up from his chair
and went back into the kitchen for more java.  Maybe it's the waiting that's
making both of us so tense.  Their current situation all too closely mirrored
that of an ongoing stakeout.  The endless, relentless watching and waiting
for information.  The constant threat of potential danger.  Hell, there had
been many a stakeout they'd endured that had rattled their nerves and
caused them to snap at one another -- why should this circumstance be any
different?

 What made this worse was that there was no second team to come in
and relieve them.  They were on their own.

 And this particular investigation was nothing if not personal.

 He frowned as he entered the kitchen at the sight of his nemesis.
Justin's apartment was equipped with state-of-the-art everything, and the
coffee maker was no exception.  To call it a coffee maker was actually to
demean the piece of equipment;  it was an Espresso Master, and Mulder
had pretty much decided that you had to be a master brewer just to get the
damn thing to work.  It could grind its own beans and froth its own milk
and even start by itself if the right buttons were pushed, but Mulder
stubbornly ignored all of those automatic functions.  He was a manual type
of guy.  And as long as he could get a straight cup of coffee out of it he
wasn't going to ask for anything more.

 Much to his chagrin, the pot was nearly empty;  two cups and he'd
finished almost all of the liquid.  More water this time, Mulder reminded
himself, trying to remember exactly how to unlatch the lid so he could put
in a new filter.

 He heard the sound of the bedroom door opening, followed by soft
footsteps barely audible on the carpeted floor.  And then her voice, still
heavy with sleep.  "Mulder?  Where are you?"

 "In the kitchen," he replied.  He resisted the impulse to go to her, to
be her guide.  She had made it clear again last night that she wanted her
space, and though it was killing him, he was going to do his best to comply
with her unspoken request.

 She made her way into the kitchen slowly, her arms extended
slightly in front of her as she felt her way through the door.  His heart leapt
at the sight of her, as it always did.  She was dressed in just the tee shirt
and panties that she had worn to bed, her legs and feet bare.  Her short
dark hair was tousled from sleep, tufts of it sticking up every which way.
He longed to pull her close, to run his fingers through it and smooth down
the wayward locks, but instead he remained where he was and waited for
her to approach.

 Scully reached the counter with a barely perceptible sigh of relief and
leaned against it, resting her elbows on its surface.  "You making coffee?"

 "Trying," he said.  "This machine is not my friend."

 That brought a smile to her face.  Not really a smile, more a gentle
upward curving of her lips, but it was enough for Mulder.

 "What time is it?"

 "Getting close to ten."  He managed to fill the compartment with
beans and then flipped the switch, listening to the machine whir as it
ground up the contents.  "You sleep OK?"

 "Yes."  A yawn escaped her as though to belie the simple word.  "Did
you?"

 I could have slept better, he thought.  "Yes."

 "Good."

 The whirring stopped, leaving silence in its wake.  The machine
emitted a series of clicks followed by the sound of dripping liquid as the
coffee began to brew.

 Scully rubbed her sightless eyes with her hands and sighed, but said
nothing to fill the empty air.

 "Are you hungry?"  Mulder glanced over his shoulder at the paper
bag on the counter.  "I could toast one of these bagels.  Or make some eggs --
I think there are some in the fridge."

 "I don't want anything to eat.  Just some coffee."

 "You sure?"  He turned his attention back to her, noticing that her
fair skin lacked some of its usual healthy glow.  "There's cereal, too.  And
plenty of milk."

 "I'm not hungry, Mulder."

 "OK then.  Maybe after you get dressed."   Mulder tried to push aside
the worry threading its way to the forefront of his consciousness.
 

 <noteatingshe'snoteatinglossofappetiteisasignofdepression>
 

 He decided a change of subject was in order.  "I've got to go and pick
up the money from the Gunmen.  Do you want to come with me?"

 She shrugged. "Do you want me to?"

 Mulder looked at her, stunned.  "What kind of a question is that?"
 
 
 

He was overreacting.  Scully could hear it in his tone.  "It's just a question,
Mulder."

 "Well, I should think you'd know the answer to it.  Why wouldn't I
want you to come?"

 The coffee machine hissed with the sound of escaping steam, which
she assumed meant it had finished brewing.  "Is the coffee ready?"

 "Yes," he said, and she heard the creak of a cabinet followed by the
telltale clink of ceramic hitting Formica.   "Answer the question, Scully."

 "I'm just wondering if you think it's safe," she replied.  It was
frustrating, how difficult it was to communicate with him lately.  "We've
been out a lot together since we've been here.  And it's easier for you to
make your way around without attracting attention if you're alone."

 He didn't respond to that right away, which she took as a good sign.
At least he was still willing to consider her point of view.  She listened to the
noises he made as he prepared the coffee and waited for his response.

 "Here," he said, and Scully reached a cautious hand forward.  Her
fingertips brushed the handle of the coffee mug and she gripped it and lifted
it carefully, trying not to spill the hot liquid.  It smelled rich and strong and
tasted even better, flavored with just the right amount of cream.

 "I don't like the idea of leaving you alone," Mulder finally admitted.
He didn't say more, but he didn't have to.  She knew too well what he was
thinking.
 

 <whatifsomethinghappenstoyouandI'mnottheretoprotectyou>
 

 She knew because he'd left her alone only once since they'd been
reunited, when he'd gone to call the Gunmen and pick up Chinese food
their first night in L.A.   Other than that, they had been together every
waking minute.

 It was too much.  He was too close.  She needed space.

 "I'll be fine, Mulder.  You're just going to pick up the money and
drop it off with Rain.  That shouldn't take you very long."

 "No," he said.  "It shouldn't.  And I'm sure you would be fine."

 Scully took another sip of coffee, trying to ignore the frustration that
was blooming in her chest.  "Why is it that I think there's a 'but' in there
somewhere?"

 "Dammit, Scully."  He swore gently under his breath.  "This isn't
about you.  I'm not trying to imply that you're not capable of taking care of
yourself."  He paused, then added, "God forbid I do that."

 "Mulder --" She was mad, now, but he cut her off before she could get
the words out.

 "What if you're right?" he demanded.  His voice was angry now, a
low-pitched bellow from deep in his chest.  "What if They did see us,
yesterday or the day before?  What if I leave and They follow *me*?  What
then?"

 Scully could see his point, but she wasn't willing to concede to it.  She
put the coffee mug down on the counter and then rested her hands palms
down beside it.  "So what?  Are you saying that if we're together it's going to
stop Them?  That They'll be less likely to kill us if we're together and not
apart?"

 They don't want to kill you, a little interior voice reminded her.  They
want to take you back.

 A tremor ran up her spine, but she resolutely ignored it.

 "No, Scully.  I'm not saying that, and you know it."  She felt his
hands slide gently to cover hers.  "But I do feel better when we're together.
And if that makes us more noticeable, then that's a risk I'm willing to
take."

 His hands felt warm, and strong.  She was tempted to link her
fingers with his for a brief moment, but her simmering anger extinguished
the urge.   "So when you asked me if I wanted to come, you weren't really
asking.  You'd already decided what we were going to do."

 His silence told her she was right.

 "I don't know why I'm surprised."  Scully pulled her hands out from
beneath his and clenched them in fists at her sides.  "That's how this
works, isn't it?  How it always has.  You make all the decisions, and I just
come along for the ride."

 "Scully, don't --"

 "It's true.  That's why we're here in L.A., after all.  Because *you*
decided that we should be."  She knew she should stop, but she couldn't
help herself.  Not when she knew so well what buttons to push.  "Then
again, it's your money that's financing this little venture.  So I guess you
should be the one to decide how we spend it."

 She heard his footsteps and knew that he was coming around from
behind the counter.  "You're not being fair, Scully."

 She didn't want him near her, didn't want him touching her, and
she backed away slowly.  "It's fine, Mulder.  Now that I know how this is
gonna work.  Now that I know the rules."  She drew in a deep breath to hold
back her growing rage. "I guess I'd better get in the shower.  I certainly
don't want to keep you waiting."

 As she turned and began making her way back towards the bedroom,
Scully half-expected Mulder to stop her.  But he did nothing and said
nothing and so she left accompanied by nothing save the sound of his
breathing.
 
 
 

A loud expletive issued from her lips as Caitlin dropped to her hands and
knees in search of the backing to her diamond earring.  It wasn't visible
anywhere on the hardwood floor and she instinctively knew it had rolled
beneath the bottom of her dresser.

 "Dammit!  Dammit all to hell!"  She did not have time for this, not
now.  She should have been in the office an hour ago, but her workout had
run late.  The staff meeting was scheduled to start in thirty-five minutes
and she still had to get to the office, park, and drop off her stuff before
heading to the conference room.  She needed to be on time for the meeting.
She needed to stop at Starbucks for a venti vanilla latte.  She did not need to
be down on the ground searching for a tiny piece of polished gold.

 "Forget it," she muttered to herself, abandoning her quest for the
time being.  She took the diamond studs out of her ears and dug through
her jewelry box in search of an adequate substitute.  The teardrop pearls
with the silver clasps would have to do;  at least they complimented her
gray pantsuit.  She tugged on a pair of stacked loafers and then grabbed her
briefcase and her purse and her short black trench coat.  At the last minute
she remembered the umbrella;  the morning radio DJ's had predicted rain
by the afternoon, and it just wouldn't do to be caught in a downpour on the
way back from lunch.

 She paused for just a moment as she tore through the living room to
regard Eloise, her Siamese cat, who was lazily curled up on the couch.
"Bye, darling," she said, offering the cat a little smile.  "Have a good day."

 Eloise didn't deign to give her a response.  She merely sat
impassively like the little queen she was, her tail twitching just the
slightest bit.

   Caitlin frowned.  These were the moments when she was positive she
should have bought a dog.  "Or don't have a good day.  It's your choice."

 Ready at last, she made her way to the door.  Once outside she locked
the top lock and then dropped her keys, swearing again heartily as she
juggled her things in order to pick them up.  She stuck the key in the bottom
lock and gave it a vicious turn.  It was then that she heard the telltale ring
of her cell phone from inside her Kate Spade handbag.  She thought for a
moment about ignoring it, but immediately decided she couldn't take the
risk.  It could be Tom, the senior agent to whom she reported.  Or her
assistant, with some important message.

 Or it could be Brian, the cute guy she'd met at drinks the other night.

 She reached into the bag, grabbing the phone and hitting the power
button with a swipe of her finger.  "Hello?"

 "Caitlin?"  The voice on the other end was hesitant.  Too hesitant.
She would have to deal with that.

 "Of course it's me, Suzanne.  Who the hell else would it be?"  There
was nothing, Caitlin thought as she made her way along the path that led
to the garage, nothing in the world quite like an inefficient assistant.
"What do you want?"

 "It's Tom," Suzanne stammered.  "He's looking for the deal memo
on the Disney project.  And I can't find it anywhere."

 "Well, the reason you can't *find* it is because it's not done."   Caitlin
stumbled, losing her balance and almost tumbling to the ground.  A quick
glance revealed a green watering hose blocking the path, and she kicked it
to the side, inwardly cursing the building's gardeners.   "So you know what
you need to do?"

 "What?"

 The answer was on the tip of Caitlin's tongue, but she hesitated for
just a second as she glanced in the window of the apartment across the
way.  The man that she had seen with Rain entering the unit the night
before was leaning with his elbows on the kitchen counter, his face buried
in his hands.

 What the hell...  She stopped cold for just a minute to watch him, all
thoughts of her own schedule forgotten.  There was something about his
stance that made him seem both incredibly sad and incredibly lonely.

 "Caitlin?  What am I supposed to do?"

 Suzanne's whine brought her back to reality and Caitlin turned
away, heading towards the underground parking.  He's probably depressed
because he's all out of weed, she thought as she descended the stairs.
Putting her thoughts of the man aside, she bellowed into the phone.
"You're supposed to *stall* him!  That's what you're supposed to do!  Do I
have to tell you *EVERYTHING*?"

 Caitlin reached her car and threw her stuff in the back seat.  She
climbed in behind the wheel and tore out of the garage with the cell phone
still glued to her ear.
 
 
 

* end Chapter Four *
 

Feedback?  Please... [email protected].     :-)
 

A Word About Feedback:

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has written me with
feedback about the Road Stories and about these new WIP chapters.   :)   I
make a point of responding to every feedback note individually, because I
really appreciate it when someone takes the time to drop me a note about
something that I've written -- it's what makes this fanfic stuff so much fun!
However, my ineptitude with computer stuff finally caught up with me -- in
updating my AOL to the latest version, I lost a batch of saved mail that I
hadn't yet responded to, and have been unable to recover it.  :/  So, if you did
write to me and failed to hear back, that's the reason why.   But please know
that I *did* read each and every note, and am so thankful to have received
them.   :)
 
 

All that boring disclaimer stuff is at the beginning of Chapter One.   This is
just story stuff.  <g>

Just a reminder:  this story is set in a universe created sometime during
Season 3...
 
 
 

CITY LIMITS - Chapter Five
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
9/1/99
 
 
 

It was becoming harder and harder to believe that there was still no solid
evidence.  No clues, no leads.

 Nothing.  Simply nothing.

 Assistant Director Walter Skinner pushed aside the sheaf of papers
he had been reading and brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose.   He
lifted his glasses with two fingers and massaged the tender mass of
cartilage that held up the wire rims.  He had a headache, pounding fiercely
behind his eyes, and he knew that his recent lack of sleep was starting to
have a dire effect on his well-being.

 In the week since his trip to Texas, he had been absolutely relentless
in his quest for information and answers.  Yet so far he had come up with
nothing.   Nothing solid, nothing substantial.  He had gone over every
report, every possible sighting, every piece of hard evidence, but none of it
had proven fruitful.

 He had no idea as to the whereabouts of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.
And he found that unbelievably frustrating.

 "Two people," Skinner muttered under his breath.  "Two people
cannot simply disappear from the goddamned face of the earth."

 From what he could tell, however, it seemed to have happened
exactly that way.  At least prior to the El Paso incident, bits and pieces of
data had filtered down to him.   The crime scene in New Orleans coupled
with the evidence gathered from the upstairs apartment had seemed like
the most fortuitous of breaks;  Mulder's arrest had looked like a definitive
end to a lengthy search.

 But since El Paso, there had been nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

 Skinner couldn't help but suspect that he was being deliberately
blocked.  Hell, his cigarette smoking nemesis had done worse in the past
than merely conceal information;  it was almost a given that he was doing
at least that much now.  It made things more difficult, but not impossible.
The man could hide truths and concoct lies, but he couldn't control
everything.  There was bound to be something that had slipped through the
cracks.

 All Walter Skinner had to do was find out what that was.

 The intercom on his desk buzzed, a loud sound that jostled him to
attention.  He hit the call button with one sharp finger.  "Yes?"

 It was his assistant Holly who replied, her voice tinny through the
speaker.  "There's a Margaret Scully on line three, sir.  Do you wish to take
the call?"

 Skinner drew in a deep breath.  Did he wish to take the call?  Hell no.

 "Thanks, Holly."

 He waited a long moment before picking up the receiver and bringing
it to his ear.  "Hello?"

 "Hello, Walter."  Her words were quiet, hesitant.  "I'm sorry to
disturb you -- I'm sure you must be busy."

 "It's fine."  He paused.  "I've been -- I've been meaning to call you."

 "Is there news?"

 "No, no."  Skinner hastened to correct her assumption.  "Nothing
new, at least nothing solid.  I just wanted to let you know that, at least."
God, he thought, way to fumble the pass.  He cleared his throat.  "What I
meant to say is that although we don't have any solid leads at present,
we're following up on all of the information at our disposal.  We've got
teams of agents on this, and we're working arm and arm with local law
enforcement.   We should have -- I would expect us to have -- some hard
information shortly."

 She didn't answer right away, and Skinner found himself wondering
what she might be thinking.  Not for the first time, he felt relieved that at
least Margaret Scully had no idea that her missing daughter might also be
blind.  There were limits to how much a person could endure, he well
knew.  And it seemed like that particular bit of information might be more
than she could handle.

 "Good," she finally said.  "I mean -- I hope so.  I hope that you get
some news very soon."

 "We will," Skinner assured her, with a confidence he didn't quite
feel.  "We definitely will.  We just need to be patient."

 His words were meant to comfort her, but he used them to comfort
himself as well.  He knew that Margaret Scully was patient;  she had the
patience -- and the faith -- of a saint.

 "I know," she replied.  "I'm doing my best.  And I know that you're
working as hard as you can to find them, and bring them home."  She
paused, then added, "I really appreciate that.  I really appreciate all that
you're doing for Dana.  And for Fox."

 "They are terrific agents," he told her.  "And good people.  I don't
want to see them persecuted in this way."

 "Is there anything that I -- that I can do to help?"

 Skinner wished that there was something he could say, some task
that he could assign her to help lessen the burden of waiting.  "No.  We've
got it under control.  Just let us know if you hear anything from either one
of them, anything at all."

 "I will," she responded.  "Thank you, Walter.  Thank you for keeping
me informed."

 "Of course.  I'll speak to you soon."

 Skinner hung up the phone, hoping that the next time he spoke to her
he would have something more definitive to say.
 
 
 

Mulder put the coffee mugs into the sink and debated about washing them
but decided to save that chore for later.  There was no point in running the
dishwasher, not without any dishes to fill it.

 He hated the tension that had sprung up between them.  Maybe she's
right, said an annoying voice inside his head.  Maybe you *are* being too
controlling.  This is about her, not about you.  You need to remember that.

 The thing of it was, everything he was doing he *was* doing for her.
Perhaps he just wasn't going about it the right way.  But he couldn't
imagine forgoing the opportunity to see Dr. Bard.  They might never get this
chance again.  Hell, they might not even get it now.  There was no
guarantee.

 What Mulder really wanted was the opportunity to weigh all of the
pros and cons.  To analyze the situation and make a rational decision.  The
trouble was, his favorite sounding board had suddenly decided to put him in
the cone of silence.  Which effectively left him on his own.

 Be careful, that voice warned him.  Don't push too hard.

 But if I don't push, Mulder thought, who will?

   Mulder glanced at his watch yet again and decided to risk going to
check on Scully.  He walked out of the kitchen and down the hall.  As he
neared the bedroom, he heard the sound of running water.  He entered the
room quietly, his footsteps silent on the carpeted floor.  The bathroom door
was slightly ajar, and he approached cautiously.

 Scully was standing just inside, her hair wet from the shower,
dressed in a bra and a pair of jeans.  She was in the middle of washing her
face, bent over the sink to splash water against her skin.  Mulder watched
silently as she finished and patted the countertop in search of the towel that
lay on its edge.   She found it and raised it to her face, wiping away the
beaded drops that remained on her cheeks.

 When her face was sufficiently dry, she pulled the towel away,
holding it loosely in one hand.  She raised the other to brush some loose
strands of hair away from her forehead, and exhaled, a deep, low sigh.
Mulder felt vaguely guilty for his voyeuristic behavior, knowing that it was
only the water pouring from the faucet that was masking the sound of his
breathing, but he could not force himself to look away.

 Her next movement took him completely off guard.  With her free
hand, Scully reached out in front of her, until her fingers touched the
mirror that was mounted on the wall above the sink.   She rubbed the glass
gently, as though she were stroking her own reflection.

 Mulder swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly thick, as he linked
eyes with her mirror image and saw only emptiness staring back at him.
A familiar ache swept over him as he wondered what thoughts were
passing through her mind at that moment.

 So lost was he in his contemplation that he barely noticed her drop
the towel and turn off the faucet, leaving the room in sudden silence.   A
second later she had pulled her hand away from the glass and swiveled
slightly to face his direction.

 "Mulder?"

 He winced as he saw her raise her arms and cross them over her
chest, hating the fact that his mere presence made her feel so vulnerable.

 "Yeah," he awkwardly replied.  "I was just -- I was checking to see if
you were ready."

 "I'll be out in a minute," she responded, reaching out with one hand
to find the frame of the door.  She closed it firmly, and Mulder found
himself once again alone.  She was still shutting him out.

 Yet the beginning of a tiny smile crept across his face as
understanding dawned.

 His illicit spying had yielded a bit of important information.  It
wasn't that Scully lacked the desire to see Dr. Bard.  That much was clear.
For whatever reason, it seemed she lacked the nerve.

 My brave Scully, he thought.  You've got courage enough for both of
us.

 You just need to be reminded of that fact.

 Mulder walked over to the bed and sat down to wait, his mind already
trying to figure out how to proceed.  He would find a way to reassure her, to
let her know that she did not have anything to fear.  To remind her that he
would be with her every step of the way.  No matter what else happened.

 I'm here for you, Scully, Mulder thought.   All you have to do is let
me be.
 
 
 

Rain picked out two chords and strummed them quietly, testing them out
against the refrain of the lyrics.  A frown crossed her face at the result.   It
sounded too melancholy, even for her.  Maybe the trouble was starting in a
minor key;  it might be better just to begin again from a different place.

 The ring of the phone interrupted her concentration.  She glanced
around, but the cordless receiver was nowhere in sight.  "Shit!"  She put
down the guitar and wandered around the tiny studio, tossing clothing and
music magazines aside in her search.

 She found it on the fifth ring and pressed the power button.  "Hello?"

 "Hey girl, what's up?"

 Rain sighed.  Tyrone had his chatty voice on, and she knew all too
well what that meant.  She was about to be regaled with stories of what had
happened after she'd left him and Cedric at Club 80s the night before.   And
if he was as long winded as he usually was, that meant her practice session
was over.   She'd be lucky to get to work on time.

 "Nothing much," she answered.  "Just getting in a little playing time
before work.  What's up with you?"

 "Recovering," Tyrone responded with a yawn.  "Drinkin' a little diet
Coke.  I can't believe it's so late already."  He paused, then asked, "Have
you heard anything?"

 The question caught her off guard.  "Anything about what?"

 "From those people.  Rick and Lisa.  Have you heard from them?"

 "Of course not," Rain replied.  "I mean, it's not like they have my
home number.  Besides, I just let them in last night.  I don't need to check
on them yet."

 "Hm."  Tyrone exhaled, and Rain knew he must be smoking one of
his ever-present cigarettes.  "Maybe you should."

 "Maybe you should stop being paranoid.  You don't wear it well."

 "Okay girl, but let me not be the one who said 'I told you so' when the
shit hits the fan," he admonished in his sternest voice.

 The conversation was starting to make Rain feel edgy.  "I'm seeing
them this morning, if that makes you feel any better.  They're coming by the
motel to bring me the rest of the money."

 "The *rest* of the money?"  His shock ricocheted through the phone
wires.  "They didn't give you all the do-re-mi when you gave them the
keys?"

 "Tyrone, shut up!"  Rain had reached her breaking point.  "I will
handle this!  I've got it under control."

 But secretly, she was starting to wonder if she did.
 
 
 

Scully edged a little closer to Mulder, feeling self-conscious wearing
sunglasses indoors in the middle of November.  The Western Union office
was crowded, and there were people nearby who smelled stale and
unwashed.

 She really, really hated Los Angeles.

 "How much longer, Rick?" she asked.  It seemed like they had been
standing in line forever.

 "We're next," Mulder assured her.  "Just a few more minutes and
we'll be out of here."

 When they finally reached the counter, Scully was pleased to discover
that the transaction was quick.  She listened as he counted out the money
and signed the receipt, and then allowed him to take her arm and lead her
back out to the street.

 "We got a telegram with the money," he told her as they walked, his
voice pitched deliberately low.

 "What did it say?"

 "I'm supposed to call them.  I guess they'll tell me then."

 They walked several blocks past the place where they had left the car
in search of a glass-walled phone booth, but came up empty.

 "I guess we'll have to use this one on the corner," Mulder decided.
There was an air of resignation in his voice.

 "Is it safe?"

 She could almost hear him shrug.  "Safe enough.  Stand close to me,
though."

 Scully was happy to obey.  The snarl of traffic in the street was loud
and noisy and she felt as though she was constantly being jostled by
passers-by.  Every time she brushed against another person she half-
expected them to grab her and yank her into some alley where a parked van
was waiting.

 You're letting your imagination get the best of you, she reminded
herself, trying to maintain her composure.

 She heard Mulder drop coins into the phone.  They fell to the bottom
with a jangling clatter that almost masked the sound of the push-button
tones.   He rattled off a ten-digit number and then hung up the phone,
which rang almost immediately afterward.

 Scully listened to Mulder's end of the conversation, but he said
nothing much beyond "yes", "fine" and "okay".  Try as she might, she
wasn't able to hear anything that was being said on the Gunmen's end of
the line.

 When it seemed the conversation was winding down, she said, "Tell
them hello for me."

 Mulder complied, added a few more "okays" for good measure, and
then ended the call.  "Well," he said as he took her by the arm again, "it
looks as though we're in business."

 Something inside her shrank back at his words.  "Meaning?"

 "Meaning we've got an appointment with the doctor tomorrow
morning at 10:45."  He leaned in towards her, his voice was low and close to
her ear.  "We've got some paperwork to pick up at a postal service center
near our apartment."

 "Great," she said, trying to force enthusiasm that she did not feel.

 They reached the car, and Scully waited as Mulder unlocked the door
for her and helped her into the passenger seat.  When she heard the door
slam she pulled off the hated sunglasses and closed her eyes for a moment,
drawing in a deep breath.

 You can handle this, she thought.   You can handle all of it.

 She opened her eyes at the sound of Mulder opening the driver's side
door.  He slid into the seat which creaked audibly and then slammed the
door shut.   She heard the sounds of the key in the ignition and the engine
starting up, and was surprised to then find Mulder's hand atop hers.

 "We're almost there, Scully."   His voice was bright and full of
excitement.  "Everything's going to be okay."   He leaned in towards her and
she drew in the clean scent of his skin as he kissed her softly.  "I promise."

 When he pulled back, Scully did her best to smile, knowing he was
watching her, hoping with all her heart that he was right.
 
 
 

The man stared at the grid which had been prepared for him on the wall of
his private office.  It was basically a map of the United States overlaid with
a series of dashed and solid lines in various colors.  All of the lines began
from the same starting point, a bus depot in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

 He was surprised to discover how many different lines there were.
He hadn't expected there to have been quite so many buses traveling
through the city on a Sunday, nor headed for so many different
destinations.  Albuquerque, he decided, must be a main way station for
travel through the southwestern states.

 It wasn't terribly vexing, however;  he had more than enough people
to check out the various leads.   He only wished that he had been able to
narrow the search to a more specific area.  But during his impromptu
interrogation of the three occupants of the ranch style house, it had quickly
become obvious that Mulder and Scully had not dropped any clues as to
where they were headed.

 If only they'd seen which bus, he mused, wondering for an idle
moment if perhaps the young people had managed to fool him.   It was
highly unlikely.  The man knew that he was very good at being persuasive.

 Without a specific destination to guide his search, the man was
forced to spread his men evenly across all of the routes.  However
something told him that Mulder and Scully would not have headed east
again so soon, or south, given the troubles they'd left behind in New
Orleans.

 Which left only two realistic destinations:  north, towards Canada, or
further west, towards California.  There were many stops along the routes
headed in both directions, and the man would not rest until they had all
been searched.

 And in the meantime, he would continue to bait his trap.

 If I can't find you, he thought with a certain bitter joy, I'll make sure
that you come back of your own free will.
 
 
 

" 'Morning, Louie," Rain called as she entered the motel lobby.  The desk
was empty, and there was no response.  "Louie?"

 "I'm in back," he shouted.  "Be out in a sec."

 Rain shrugged and stretched her arm over the edge of the counter to
find the release button for the swinging door of the desk.   She pressed it and
it emitted a loud buzz, allowing her to push the door open and enter.  Once
behind the desk she dropped her backpack on the ground and climbed up
onto the stool to survey her humble empire.

 There were a few message slips scattered on the desktop and a pile of
unsorted mail in the corner.  She sighed, wondering whether anything
would get done if she ever decided to stop coming in.   She started putting
the messages in the appropriate boxes, checking each to see if there was
anything interesting or weird jotted upon them.

 "You're early," Louie announced as he walked out of the back room.
"What's goin' on, some kind of national holiday?  Or maybe you're plannin'
on leavin' before the end of your shift."

 "Neither one," Rain declared.  "Just early today.  That a crime?"

 "Hell no," he smiled.  "Means I get to get out of here now, which is a
blessin' as far as I'm concerned."

 Rain smiled back, giving him a cursory once over.  The t-shirt he was
wearing had certainly seen better days;  if she had to hazard a guess, she
would bet that he'd slept in it.  And his jeans bore the stain of something
that looked a lot like coffee on one of the knees.  "Louie my man, you are a
bona fide mess."

 Louie raised both hands in the air, palms up.  "Ain't got no reason to
dress up around here."

 She knew better than to argue.  "Get going," she told him.  "I've got
everything under control."

 "I know you do, darlin'.  I know you do." He gave her a wink and
headed towards the door.   "You know where to find me if you need me."

 "Public library," she joked.  "I've got the number right here."

 With a gallant wave of his hand, Louie swept out the door, headed for
the bar down the street.

 "Officially happy hour starts at five, not three," Rain muttered to no
one in particular, and began rifling through the mail.

 Fifteen minutes later the mail was put away, all of the keys were
back on the proper hooks and Rain was bored out of her gourd.  She
drummed her fingers aimlessly on the countertop and then bent over to
rifle through her backpack in search of her battered notebook.

 When she looked up again, Rick and Lisa were standing in front of
the desk.   Rain reacted with surprise, having not even heard the door open.
"Hey guys," she said.  "Good to see you.   How's the place?"

 "It's great," Rick smiled.  "Really terrific."

 "It rocks, doesn't it?"  Rain grinned.  He was so good looking, in an
offbeat way that really turned her on.   Even dressed the way he was, in that
ratty windbreaker over jeans and a sweater, he managed to look amazing.

 "How 'bout you, Lisa," she asked, turning her attention to the petite
woman by his side.  "You like the apartment?"

 Lisa nodded and offered one of her reticent smiles, her blue eyes
blank.  "It's nice.  Thanks again for letting us stay there."

 "It's cool," Rain replied, wondering again just how on earth these
two had managed to hook up.  It wasn't that Lisa wasn't pretty, because she
was, especially with Cedric's great new haircut.  But she seemed so quiet
and taciturn compared to Rick, so conservative and preppy in her navy coat
and khakis.  There was nothing that Rain hated more than preppy, but if it
was Rick's thing, there wasn't a lot she could do about it.

 Pushing these thoughts aside, she got down to business.  "You have
my money?"

 "Right here," Rick replied, casting a cautious glance around the
deserted lobby before opening his wallet.  He pulled out a wad of cash and
passed it across the desk, and Rain took a moment to count it.  Though she
was reluctant to admit it, Tyrone's call had made her worry, just a little.

 All of the money was there, though, and she tucked it into the pocket
of her jeans with a smile.  "What's done is done," she announced, satisfied.
"You're paid through next Wednesday.  Enjoy."

 "We will," Rick assured her, and reached out a hand to take Lisa by
the arm.  "Remember, though, this has to stay between us."

 "No problem," Rain responded.  "I don't want the word out any more
than you do.  The last thing I need is to have Justin on my ass."

 He met her eyes for a long moment.  "Good," he finally said.  "We'll
talk to you later."

 "Later," Rain echoed, watching as they walked out the door and onto
the street.  Once they were out of her sight, she took the money out of her
pocket and counted it again just for fun, a smile blooming on her face.
 
 
 

* end Chapter Five *
 

Feedback?  Please... [email protected].     :-)