This is part five of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

AT THE BLUE HOTEL (5/12)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 
 

Lucy made her way carefully through the crowd to the bar and cursed the
second drink she had pounded at Napoleon House during what was commonly
thought of as happy hour.  For Lucy, it was just beginning of another long
night, the same as too many others in recent memory.

 "Hey there," she said by way of greeting to Tommy, who was tending bar as
usual behind the counter.

 "Hello, darlin'," he drawled, flashing her his trademark smile, his teeth
white against his brown skin.  "The usual?"

 "Nothing less," she answered, and pulled herself up onto the stool to
await the expected margarita.  A moment later it appeared, crafted swiftly
under Tommy's magic touch.  She took a long sip and sighed with pleasure.
She knew she was drinking too much, too often, but it was a way to pass
the time, a way to assuage the guilt she felt about the days that were
slipping by so quickly.  Lucy had been drowning in her addictions in the
months that had passed since her return from Los Angeles, powerless
against the rising tide of her own despair.  She was a writer by trade,
had published two novels and a book of short stories.  But lately the
ideas had been few and far between, and a writer without a story was a
worthless commodity.  Or so her agent had told her, when he terminated
their contract.

 Lucy took another sip and glanced around the restaurant.  It was getting
late, and Mr. B's was crowded.   Full of tourists and locals anxious to
sample the best nouveau cuisine New Orleans had to offer.  A wide variety
of people surrounded her, and she took in each of them with a long stare,
sizing them up, putting them to the test of her intense scrutiny.

 She noticed the couple in the corner because there was something
different about them, something she hadn't seen in her recent weeks of
socializing.  It was as though they were alone, though the room was full
of bodies pressed together in a teeming swarm of humanity.  The man's arm
was around the woman's shoulders and he held her close to him, and there
was something about his grasp that made Lucy remember feelings she had
assumed were long since buried.  The man said something to the woman that
made her laugh, and she moved nearer to him in a way that  carried the
hint of a deep intimacy, a bond that aroused Lucy's curiosity.

 Surprised to find her glass was empty, Lucy ordered another, ignoring
Tommy's warning glance.  She had eyes only for the couple at their small
table near the back, captivated by their complete absorption in one
another.

 "Ain't like you've never seen honeymooners 'round here before," said
Tommy as he handed her the glass.  "What's so fascinatin' 'bout them?"

 "Nothin'," Lucy smiled back.  "Just keepin' an eye out.  You know how it
is."

 "Indeed I do."  Tommy grinned at her.  "You can take that to the bank."

 Lucy didn't bother with a response, observing as the man rose from the
table, giving the woman's hands a squeeze as he did so.  She watched as he
made his way towards the restrooms at the back of the restaurant.  He
disappeared from her view and she turned her gaze back to the woman who
remained at the table.  It was only now that Lucy saw what the couple's
closeness had concealed:  the woman was blind, her eyes blank and vacant.
  She sat quietly, patiently awaiting her companion's return.  Not your
normal honeymooners, thought Lucy, and suddenly she felt the old familiar
exhilaration, the rush that came over her when she was hot on the trail of
a new idea.

 "Hey, Tommo," she called, "gimme another couple of these, will you?"

 "Doll," came the answer, "don't you think you should slow up?"

 "Gimme a break," she replied.  "I'm putting together a little gift,
here."

 Tommy said nothing else, and after a moment, two frosted glasses appeared
before her.  Abandoning her own half-finished drink she grabbed the two
new glasses and walked over to the table where the woman sat, winding her
way through the crush of the crowd.
 
 

Scully waited for Mulder, trying to make sense of the noise and confusion
that surrounded her. The restaurant was as Mulder had promised, crowded
with people intent on enjoying their evening.  The music was loud, a sort
of bluesy jazz that she could tell was being played live by a band not so
far from where she sat.  Delicious aromas permeated the air, the smell of
fried fish and beignets and rich, aromatic coffee.  The room was almost
stifling in its intensity, but Scully couldn't remember when she had last
been so happy.  It was better than she had expected, being out of the
apartment, being in the midst of the action instead of absorbing it from
her rooftop perch.

 She heard the approach of unfamiliar footsteps over the din and tensed,
unsure.  A moment later a voice announced the presence of the visitor.

 "Margaritas," said the voice, in a sweet and feminine Southern drawl.
"Specialty of the house."

 Scully paused a moment before replying.  "We didn't order any drinks,"
she said, keeping her head down, unwilling to draw attention to her
blindness.

 "Consider it a gift," came the answer, and Scully heard the clink of
glasses being placed on the tabletop before her.  She smelled the potent
tang of tequila dimmed by salt and suddenly felt tempted by the offer.  "A
little Southern hospitality."

 "Thank you," she said, reaching tentatively for a glass.  She found one
with her hands and grasped it tightly, bringing it to her mouth and hoping
that she wouldn't spill.  She took a small sip, conscious of the fact that
the bearer of the drinks had sat down across from her.  The margarita
tasted strong and cool and good as it hit her throat and she took another
quick sip before putting the glass down.

 "Good, huh?"  Scully thought she detected the hint of a grin in the words
and smiled back at her unknown companion.

 "Yes, very good," she replied.  "Do you work here?"

 "Nah," was the response, "although Tommy wishes I did."

 "Tommy?" Scully asked, confused.

 "The bartender."  A pause, and then, "Just a good old boy.  He humors me,
from time to time."

 Scully nodded, some dim part of her aware that a conversation with a
stranger couldn't be a wise move.  Yet there was something about the
woman's rich, earthy voice that made her seem safe, non-threatening.

 "If you don't work here," she questioned, "what are you doing bringing me
drinks?"

 "To be frank," came the answer, "curiosity.  Couldn't help myself.
Always love meetin' new people -- some may call me nosy.  I prefer to
think of myself as naturally inquisitive.  Much better phrase, don't you
think?"

 Despite herself, Scully started to laugh.  The woman seemed a little odd,
but her charm was hard to resist.  "Much better," she agreed.

 At that moment a voice from across the room stopped their conversation.
"Lucy?  You botherin' my customers again?"

 Scully didn't have a moment to answer before the woman, Lucy, did so
herself.  "Keep your shirt on, Tommy Boy.  The lady here's doin' just
fine.   Aren't you, sweetheart?"

 Scully felt a peculiar rush of relief, as though the woman's presence was
legitimized by the bartender's recognition.  "I'm fine," she answered for
Tommy's benefit.  "And thanks for the drinks."

 "Sure thing," came Tommy's reply.  "Just let me know if y'all need
another round."

 Feeling more relaxed now, Scully took another sip of her drink, listening
as the woman across from her chuckled.  "That Tommy, bless his heart.
Mixes a fine drink, if I do say so myself."  A pause, then the question,
"You're not from 'round here, are you?"

 "No," Scully answered, "just visiting."

 "Hmmm.... " said the woman.  "Pretty good place to visit.  Honeymoon?"

 Scully felt a blush wash across her cheeks and bent her head forward to
hide the sudden rush of embarrassment.  "In a way," she answered.
 
 

Mulder approached the table, his apprehension growing as he noticed that
Scully wasn't sitting alone as he had left her.  There was a woman across
from her, dressed in a maroon sweater and a long black skirt, complimented
by a long silver chain around her neck bearing a funky collection of
charms and talismans.  The woman was watching Scully with an intensity
that filled Mulder with unease and he crossed the distance in a few quick
steps until he was back by her side.

 "Lisa?" his voice raised in a question as he sank down beside her.  "You
okay?"

 She nodded, and took another sip from the drink in front of her.  "Yes,"
she answered, putting a hand on his leg to reassure him.  "Complimentary
margarita," she smiled, awkwardly handing him the glass.  "It's good.  Try
some."

 The woman across from them watched as he put the glass back on the table.
 "None for me," he said.

 "None for you?"  The woman looked pleased.  "Guess that means more for
me."  She grabbed the other glass and took a long, satisfied sip.

 "And you are?"  Mulder tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

 "Lucy Anne," the woman replied, tossing her long dark hair over her
shoulder and extending a delicate hand towards him.  "Lucy to both close
friends and new acquaintances."

 Mulder took the offered hand and shook it, eyeing Scully as he did so.
She seemed calm, even happy, which relieved him.  "Rick," he said by way
of greeting.

 "Pleased to meet you, Rick."  The woman smiled at him and despite himself
Mulder was drawn to her grin.  There was something about her, something
warm and friendly and honest that threatened to break through his reserve.
 "I was just getting acquainted with your wife, here."

 Mulder took another glance at Scully, noticing how her cheeks had
reddened.  He took her hand under the table and squeezed it, but said
nothing.

 "Been married long?"

 "No," Mulder replied, knowing an answer was expected.  "It's a pretty
recent thing."

 "Seems so," answered the woman, sizing him up with a wise look that made
him feel as though she knew he was lying.

 It was Scully that broke the awkward silence that followed.  "Lucy?  Do
you eat here often?"

 "Too often for my liking," Lucy drawled.  "But a person gets awful tired
of cooking after awhile.  I'd recommend the fish -- they do a good job
with it."

 Scully gave a little smile and nodded in Lucy's general direction, and
Mulder realized that she was enjoying the company.  He took a deep breath
and tried to relax, for her sake.

 As Lucy ran down the items on the menu for Scully's benefit, Mulder took
the opportunity to study her.  She was a fairly petite woman, not much
taller than Scully as best as he could tell.  She had dark hair that swung
past her shoulders and pale blue eyes that fairly sparkled with energy and
intelligence.  There were faint lines in her face that placed her age near
forty, but her demeanor was that of someone nearly twenty years younger.
There was a certain sensitivity about the woman, a gentleness in the way
she spoke to Scully, that endeared her to Mulder despite the awkwardness
of their meeting.

 "Pardon my interest," said Lucy, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm a
writer, and as I said to Lisa before, I'm curious by nature.  I just was
wondering about y'all -- don't see many like you in here."

 "Many like us?"  Scully put words to the question in his head.

 "Yeah," Lucy's tone was probing, inquisitive.  "Something different about
you two."  Mulder shifted uncomfortably and she rushed to continue.  "But
don't get me wrong -- I like different."

 Scully laughed again and Mulder was again struck by how happy she seemed.
 "Good," she said.  "Have you had dinner yet, Lucy?"

 "Come to think of it, I haven't," Lucy answered, "unless you count
margaritas as regular food."

 Mulder picked up Scully's cue, although he wasn't sure why.  "Would you
like to join us?" he asked, half-hoping the woman would decline.

 "I'd be delighted," came the response, and he resigned himself to her
company.
 
 

The food was delicious, but then again it always was.  That was why Lucy
frequented Mr. B's as much as she did;  the place always provided her with
a firm foundation for the long night of drinking that inevitably followed.
 The couple across from her had consumed their food with a ravenous
intensity that reminded her of a time when her life had been ruled by
sensations and cravings and desires, instead of needs and responsibilities
and debts.

 There was something about this couple that awakened passions in her that
she thought had vanished long ago.  The man was so tender with the woman,
so soliticious with her blindness.   Lucy had been careful not to say
anything about the woman's condition, sensing instantly that it was a
topic best avoided, although it was hard to ignore.  The woman's eyes were
a startling shade of blue, and it was jarring to see nothing emerge from
beneath that brilliant wash of color.

 The waiter brought their coffee and Lucy took a long sip, knowing that
despite the intake of caffeine she had more drinking left to do before she
called it a night.  But for the moment she enjoyed the rush the dark
liquid provided, savoring the rich flavor.  She pulled the pack of
cigarettes from the pocket of her skirt and fumbled for the matches on the
tabletop.

 "Mind if I smoke?"  she asked as she struck the match.  They shook their
heads in tandem which made her smile;  their synchronicity was so perfect
as to be almost comedic at times.  Despite her best efforts, she hadn't
been able to get much out of them during the course of the meal.  In fact,
she herself had done most of the talking, fueled by the alcohol and her
own storytelling nature.  They had both been evasive, deliberately
answering questions with questions.  It was time, she thought as she took
a long drag, to focus and get some work done.

 "Looks like you're in the midst of quite a journey," she offered by way
of conversation.

 "What makes you say that?"  asked the woman, curiosity in her voice.

 "Oh, I can tell these things,"  Lucy answered.   "It's in your energy --
it's just a question of being able to sense it.  I'm actually quite
practiced at the art of divination."

 "Divination?" the man questioned, a skeptical expression on his face.
Sensing a challenge, Lucy reached into the big leather bag that she kept
at her side.
 
 "Tarot," she answered, pulling out the worn deck of cards.  "Interested
in a reading?"

 "No, I don't think so," the man replied, just as the woman chuckled.

 "Why not.... Rick?"  she asked, a smile on her face.  "Did our experience
with Mr. Bruckman scare you off?"

 The man didn't answer, just took another sip of his coffee.  Not hearing
a response, the woman continued.

 "Lucy," she said, "I'd like a reading.  I think -- I think it might be
fun."

 Lucy smiled at the woman, although she knew the effort would go
unnoticed.  "You got it darlin'," she answered, beginning to shuffle the
cards.  After a moment, she took the woman's hands and placed the cards in
them.  "You play with these a minute -- get your essence inside them."
The woman nodded and began to shuffle, returning the few cards that
escaped her grasp into the main section of the pile.
 
 

Mulder drank his coffee and watched Scully, surprised at how nimbly she
managed to shuffle the deck without being able to see the cards
themselves.  Practice, he mused, thinking of the long plane trips and
stakeouts that had obviously honed her skill.

 After a minute or so, Lucy stopped Scully's motions with a gentle touch
on the wrist.  "That'll do," she said, taking the cards away.  She put out
her cigarette and then shuffled the cards again herself, then cut the deck
twice before putting the cards back within Scully's reach.

 "Now," instructed Lucy as she fanned the cards out face-down in a row on
the table, "you pick out ten of these cards for me.  Just give the ones
you like a little tap."

 Scully nodded and moved her hands lightly across the cards, touching one
from time to time with the tip of her index finger.  She bit her lower lip
in concentration and Mulder gave a little half-smile, amused to see her
taking this so seriously.   Lucy's expression was equally intense and
there was something about it that suddenly reminded Mulder of Scully's
sister Melissa.  She had been a believer in tarot, and astrology, and all
of the other harmonic convergence stuff that Mulder himself classified as
New Age mumbo-jumbo.  Remembering that, it was suddenly clear to him why
Scully wanted to have this reading.

 When Scully finished, Lucy gathered the cards she had chosen and put them
aside before collecting the rest of the deck.  "Alright then," she said,
"let's get started."  She began to arrange the cards in a pattern on the
table.  "Since you didn't ask me a specific question, I'm doing a Celtic
cross spread.  Give you a general read on what's happening."

 Once the cards were arranged to her satisfaction, Lucy began to study
them, lighting up another cigarette to help her think.

 "What's happening?"  Scully whispered impatiently near his ear.

 "She's reading," Mulder answered, admiring the hand-drawn artistry of the
cards.

 "Shhh..." admonished Lucy, giving Mulder a stern look before turning back
to the cards.  "I need a minute."

 The minute passed, as did several others, before Lucy was ready to speak.
 "Some interesting stuff, here."

 "Interesting good or interesting bad?" Scully questioned, leaning forward
to better hear the answer.

 "You tell me.  When's your birthday?" asked Lucy.

 Scully hesitated for a moment before she replied.  "February.  The 23rd."

 "Well that makes sense."  Lucy tapped one of the cards.  "This is you --
the Queen of Cups.  A woman with an air of mystery about her, who is apt
to conceal many of her thoughts and feelings."  She cocked an eyebrow at
Mulder and asked, "That true?"

 "Definitely," he responded, and felt Scully punch him in the arm.

 "Is not," she denied with a smile.  "Keep reading, Lucy."

 "Well, that's not all we know about you.  This card here, the Chariot?
It's in the personality position.   It tells me you have a strong sense of
direction -- you know what you want and how to get it.  You have the
skill, courage, determination and will to surmount the obstacles in your
path."

 Truer words were never spoken, thought Mulder, and he put his arm around
Scully,   placing a kiss on the top of her head as she leaned against him.

 Lucy touched the next two cards.  "King of Cups reversed represents your
obstacles, and the next card, the Hierophant reversed, represents past
influences.  The two together -- well, the King represents a man, perhaps
a business associate, who cannot be trusted.  Someone who uses his
intelligence and privilege to his own unscrupulous advantage."  She shook
her head.  "You need to beware of this one -- conventional means of
dealing with the situation aren't going to help you, either."

 Mulder glanced at Scully.  She was nodding, her brow furrowed as she
listened closely to the words.

 "Now this...the Nine of Wands..."  Lucy looked at Scully and Mulder
caught a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.  "Past events.  You've
suffered much to get to this point;  many problems, many obstacles, much
danger.   And you are going to need all of your courage to move forward
from here.  You're in a strong position at the moment, but you should
anticipate further jeopardy.  Be on the defensive, and use what you have
learned from your previous mistakes."
 
 

Suddenly Scully wasn't sure she wanted to continue the reading.  Although
she didn't really place much credence in the tarot, Lucy's observations
were almost eerie in their accuracy.  Especially considering how little
she and Mulder had revealed to her over dinner about what had brought them
to New Orleans.  Feeling anxious to finish, she asked, "How many cards are
left?"

 "Five," Lucy replied, her tone lighter now.  "Now these two -- these are
good."

 It was Mulder who spoke next.  "Knight of Swords, Two of Cups," he read.
"What do they mean?"

 Scully heard Lucy chuckle.  "Funny you should ask," she drawled. "The
Knight is a man in Lisa's life -- might be you, but the placement
signifies a future influence, so maybe not.  Someone intelligent,
courageous and capable, who deals with problems swiftly and effectively.
Someone who will be a strong ally for her down the road a ways."

 "I don't think it's you, Rick," Scully teased, glad that the mood had
lightened. "Doesn't sound like you at all."

 She heard him laugh in protest as Lucy continued.  "Doesn't matter," she
said.  "This one is the both of you, without a doubt.  Two of Cups
signifies a close and supportive partnership, a relationship of equals,
built on trust and mutual reliance."

 Scully smiled and found Mulder's hand under the table.  She took it in
hers, savoring the warmth of his touch.

 "Last three," Lucy announced, her voice darkening a bit.  "Ten of Swords
reversed, in the future position.  Means that a bad situation is likely to
grow worse;  the crisis point has not yet been reached, so you need to be
prepared for further trouble."

 "What kind of trouble?"  Scully questioned, feeling a queasy rush of
anxiety.

 "Can't tell from this.  It's only a general read."  Scully heard Lucy
slide a card across the surface of the table towards her.  "But this card
-- Justice.  In the space identifying your hopes and fears.  That's what
you're after, isn't it?"

 After a moment, Scully nodded, but said nothing.

 "Trying to right a wrong.  Never an easy task."  Scully thought she
detected a bit of admiration in Lucy's voice as she continued.  "Well, it
seems as though you may succeed in your goal.  The last card -- outcome --
the Six of Swords.  Means you're moving away from danger.  It's going to
take a while, and not all your problems will be resolved at once, but the
potential exists for improved circumstances and eventual success."

 There was a long silence then, which Lucy finally broke.  "You have any
questions?"

 "No," Scully answered slowly.  "I don't think so."

 She heard Lucy begin gathering the cards back up into a pile.  "Just
remember," she advised, "the spread only gives you general information.
You have to interpret the rest for yourself."

 A moment or two later, Scully heard the scrape of the chair against the
floor as Lucy stood up from the table.  "Now you two get on home -- it's
late, and I've kept you out far too long."

 "We still need the check," said Mulder, with an audible yawn.

 "Forget about that," Lucy ordered.  "Southern hospitality, remember?"
She laughed.  "Besides, I'm a regular here, with a very healthy tab."

 "Lucy --"  Scully started to protest but was stopped by the firm clasp of
Lucy's hand on hers.

 "I insist," she said in a firm tone that brooked no argument.  "Now you
go on, and take good care."  Scully felt a quick warm kiss on her cheek,
and then Lucy was gone.
 

X-5            X-5
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (6/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:40 -0500
 

This is part six of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

AT THE BLUE HOTEL (6/12)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 
 

Scully had been unusually quiet from the time that they left the
restaurant, answering his questions with nods and monosyllabic responses.
Mulder respected her silence, knowing without her telling him that she was
reflecting on the tarot reading, thinking about where they had been and
where they might be headed.  He sat quietly next to her in the taxi, her
hand in his, watching as the streets rolled by in a blur of traffic.

 They were halfway home when she finally spoke.  "Rick... we never really
talked about what you found out today, at the library."

 "Nothing really," he replied.  "Just a lot of the same old stuff.  We can
talk about it in the morning."

 She shrugged, leaning her head against his shoulder as she did so.
"Anything worth bringing up now?"

 Her words were typically calm and composed, but he sensed an urgency
beneath, an attempt on her part to put her mind on other things.  Acceding
to her silent request, he pulled the small notebook from the pocket of his
jacket and began to flip the pages.  In a whisper designed to conceal
their conversation from the driver, he began to read her the list he had
composed based on his search.

 Scully listened as he read, one name after the other. "Doraphen, doxidan,
doxycycline, doxylin."  She shook her head after each, indicating that
neither the name nor the appropriate abbreviation struck a chord in her
memory.

 "Are you sure you want to go over this now?" he questioned, his tone one
of concern.  He could tell from her expression how tired she was.

 "No time like the present," was her answer, so he continued.

 "D-penamine, dramocan, dronabinol, droperidol, droxomin, d-thyroxamine
--"

 "Wait a minute," she interrupted quietly.  "Go back.  What were the last
few?"

 He repeated the words, more slowly this time.  "Dronabinol, droperidol
--"

 "Droperidol," she echoed.  "Droperidol.... what was the abbreviation?"

 Mulder frowned as he checked his notes.  "Nothing listed," he replied.
"All I wrote down was that it was a type of opiate."

 Scully nodded, lost in thought.  After a minute, she spoke, her words
cautious and measured.  "It *could* be abbreviated as DPD, don't you
think?"

 "Is that what you remember?" He couldn't keep the excitement from his
voice.

 "I'm not sure...." her words trailed off.  "But tomorrow.... you should
check that one out further."

 He nodded, then gave her a reply.  "Definitely."

 They were silent for the next few blocks as the cab negotiated its way
through the crowded streets.  Soon enough they arrived in front of the
guest house, and Mulder busied himself with helping Scully from the taxi
and paying the fare.  He guided her through the door and up the stairs
that led to their apartment.  She clutched his arm as they made their way
down the corridor, only releasing her grasp to allow him to put the key
into the lock.

 Once the door swung open Scully moved ahead of him, more confident now
that they were back inside the apartment.  She paused just inside the
threshold, her nose crinkled as she took a deep breath.

 "Mulder," she asked, "what's that smell?"

 He pulled the door shut behind them and took a deep breath of his own.
All that he could smell was the overpowering sweetness of the gardenias
that he had placed in a jar on the counter.  "The flowers," he answered.
"Remember?"

 Scully shook her head as she stepped further into the room.  "No... not
that.  It's a.... spicy smell.  Like.... like cheap aftershave."

 Her expression was so set, so positive, that he took another deep breath
in response.  Still the only scent that filled his nostrils was that of
the copious white blossoms.  "I don't smell it, Scully," he told her.

 He was thirsty and headed for the kitchen as she walked into the main
room, but abruptly reversed his steps as he heard a crashing sound and her
muffled curse.  Glancing into the main room he saw her on her knees next
to the coffee table near the couch.  He ran to her side and crouched down
beside her.  "Scully!  You okay?" The words tumbled from him in a rush.

 "I'm fine," she answered, grabbing his offered arm for support.  Her
voice dropped to a low murmur.  "Mulder.... this table wasn't here when we
left.  Someone's been in the apartment."
 
 There was something about the intensity of her voice that made him
believe her, although to his eyes the room appeared just as they had left
it.  "Stay here," Mulder whispered, pulling his gun from its holster at
his waist.   She nodded and he stood up, moving carefully through the
apartment.  He checked each room, inside every closet, behind every door.
He didn't see anything that was in any way out of place -- nothing that
would indicate the presence of an intruder.

 He returned to where she was seated on the floor near the couch, and put
his arm around her shoulders.  "There's no one here," he said, his voice
strong and steady.  "I've checked everywhere."

 Scully's expression was hesitant.  "Do you have it?"  she asked.

 Mulder's hand automatically went to the pocket of his shirt, though he
could already feel the weight of the small disk against his chest.  "Yes,"
he replied.  "I've had it with me all evening."

 "Good," she answered.  She relaxed a bit, emitting a long sigh.  "There
*was* someone in here," she insisted.  "I know it.  I can tell."

 A wave of anxiety passed over him as he regarded her.  He had spent the
last three years trusting no one but her.  If she said that someone had
been in the apartment, he was inclined to believe her.
 
 "We're leaving in the morning," he announced, saying nothing more.
 
 

Scully lay in the bed, listening as Mulder finished up in the bathroom.
The sound of running water finally ceased and she heard his steps exiting,
followed by the slam of the door behind him.  He moved into the bedroom
and she heard him pull open the bureau drawer in search of some clothes to
sleep in.   Her heart was still beating rapidly -- the idea that someone
had been inside the apartment had left her more anxious than she wanted to
admit.  Yet there was a part of her that was reluctant to give into the
fear, reluctant to leave when she felt that they were so close to
obtaining at least a partial answer to the question that plagued her.

 "Mulder," she began, "maybe we shouldn't leave in the morning."

 He waited a beat before giving his reply.  "Scully.... if someone's been
in here, as you say, we shouldn't wait any longer than we have to."

 "But you didn't see anything," she replied.  "And haven't you always said
it's better for us to travel by night?"

 She heard him shut the drawer with a loud bang.  "Yes.  There are fewer
people around. Less chance of being spotted."

 "So maybe we should wait."  Scully chose her next words carefully.  "You
can go back to the library tomorrow -- look up droperidol.  And maybe some
of the others.  And then we'll leave, tomorrow night."

 The room was so quiet she could hear his breathing as he considered what
she had said.  "I don't know if waiting is worth the risk."

 "Look, Mulder," she reasoned.  "If someone *was* here, they've already
searched the place, and come up empty.   It isn't likely that they'll
return."

 She heard his steps coming towards the bed, and suddenly she was filled
with an anxiety that had nothing to do with the possibility of an
intruder.  There was something about his approach, a fear of his
proximity, that started her heart pounding again.  She barely heard him as
he answered.  "Let's sleep on it," he said.  "We'll decide in the
morning."

 Scully nodded, but said nothing, chiding herself inwardly for her
nervousness.  It wasn't as though he hadn't spent every night these last
weeks beside her, she rationalized.   But there was something different
about tonight, something that put her nerves on edge.

 She heard the click of the switch as he shut off the light, then felt the
covers shift atop her body as he pulled them back to climb in beside her.
He slid underneath, keeping his body close to the farthest edge of the
mattress.  She lay quietly, suddenly short of breath, wishing fervently
that she could relax yet unable to do so.

 A long moment passed, then she felt him moving closer to her.  His arm
made a soft rustling sound against the sheets as it slid beneath the
pillow on which her head rested.  She felt a rush of panic combined with a
twinge of excitement at his nearness.

 "Is this... okay?" he asked, and the tremor in his voice revealed to her
that he was as nervous as she.

 "It's fine," she answered, a slight laugh escaping her lips.

 "What's so funny?" he questioned, sliding imperceptibly closer.

 "Nothing," she countered, acutely aware of the warmth emanating from his
body.  "It's just.... different, that's all."

 He sighed, and curled his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him so
that her cheek brushed against the cotton of his tee shirt.  "It does take
a bit of getting used to... doesn't it."

 She didn't reply, drawing in a deep breath and savoring the scent of him.
 His voice softened, as he continued.  "That's okay.... we have plenty of
time."

 The catch in his voice signaled his intentions before she felt his
fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up towards him.  She felt his
lips close upon hers and shivered, realizing that some part of her had
spent all evening waiting for this touch.  She responded eagerly,
relishing the taste of him, the feel of his tongue against hers.  His kiss
held a wordless promise that she devoured --

 < everything'sgonnabeokayi'mherewithyoubyyoursidenomatterwhat >

-- a promise that she answered with a silent moan, pressing her body
closer to his.

 Too soon, he pulled away, grazing her forehead with a simple caress as he
folded her tightly into his arms.  "Goodnight, Dana," he murmured, his
words a breathy tickle by her ear.

 "Goodnight," she echoed.  Her cheek was pressed against the firmness of
his chest, and it was the solid, rhythmic beating of his heart that
finally lulled her to sleep.
 
 

Mulder entered the library, climbing the steps that led from the small
foyer into the main lobby of the building.  Passing through the metal
detector, he made his way through the people queued up at the checkout
counter towards the connecting series of rooms that comprised the research
center, wondering with every step whether they had made the right
decision.

 They had discussed their options at length over breakfast that morning.
He had managed to scramble some eggs and make a decent pot of coffee,
which they had shared as they talked.  The night had passed uneventfully,
giving fuel to Scully's argument that everything was fine, that she had
made a mistake in her assumption of the previous evening.  He had been
less positive, remembering the look on her face when she insisted that
someone had been in the apartment.  Yet there had been no evidence of an
intruder, nothing out of place as best as he could tell.  The locks on the
door and the windows were in perfect condition, bearing no sign of forced
entry.

 And so, somewhere between his second cup of coffee and his third, he had
allowed himself to be swayed by her remarks and had agreed to postpone
their departure until that evening.  They had spent the first part of the
day packing up their few belongings and studying the road atlas that he
had purchased, choosing their next destination and method of travel.

 "Are we going to buy another car?" she had asked, sitting on the edge of
the bed as he folded a shirt.

 "No," he had answered, "there's no time.  We don't have the money at the
moment -- and it would take too long for the Gunmen use their tricks to
wire it to us at this point."

 She had nodded and then fallen silent, lost in her own thoughts.  After a
little while, she had formed a question as though she was hard pressed for
words.  "Mulder... where are they getting the money?  Our accounts are
frozen."  A pause, and then, "Is it -- is it stolen?"

 He hadn't wanted to answer, hoping to dodge the question as he had for so
long, but she had been persistent, and he had capitulated to her demand
with a long sigh.

 "My father...when he died, he left me a rather large sum of money.  I
took the bulk of it, and put it into a numbered account, under another
name."  He had hesitated, weighing his words before continuing.  "I was
saving it.... for Samantha.  Byers... he knows how to access it."

 In those few sentences, his secret had been revealed.  For some
unfathomable reason, he hadn't wanted her to know.  But now, she did.

 She had made no reply, merely running a hand through her hair with a
resigned sigh.  Then she had risen from the bed and gone out into the main
room.  For a moment, he had been tempted to follow her, but some instinct
had held him back and he had instead finished the task at hand.

 Once everything in the bedroom had been put away, he had moved towards
the bathroom, intending to gather the few items inside, but a glance at
his watch had stopped him.  Instead, he had gone out to find her sitting
on the couch, her legs propped up before her on the coffee table.

 "I should get going," he had said, and she had nodded.  "I figure it'll
take two hours, tops.  Then I'll come back, get the rest of the stuff
together, and we'll hit the road."

 "Okay," she had answered, "I'll be waiting."

 He had taken her in his arms briefly, trying to erase the despondent
expression on her face, to no avail.  "Be careful," she had said, and he
had run a hand gently through her hair.

 "Will do," he had replied, as he headed for the door.  He had been about
to pull it shut behind him when he heard her voice, quiet even in the
stillness of the room.

 "Thanks, Mulder."

 He hadn't known what to say then, all the words that ran through his head
seeming wrong, somehow.  He had finally settled for something simple, if
inadequate.

 "No problem."

 Lost in these thoughts, Mulder walked past the section of reference books
he needed and had to retrace his steps.  Winding his way through the
stacks, he finally found the volume that he was seeking.  He pulled it off
the shelf, wincing slightly at its weight, then crossed the room to the
group of tables on the far side.  He found one that was otherwise
unoccupied and placed the book on its surface.  As he pulled back the
chair to sit, he noticed that the auburn-haired librarian was again at the
counter at the front of the room.  She was looking in his direction, and
he acknowledged her slight smile with a nod of his head, before settling
down to work.
 
 

Scully sat with her legs curled beneath her on the roof, enjoying the wind
as it ruffled her hair.  She felt tired -- not physically weak, but
emotionally exhausted.  Stretched like a piece of elastic pulled beyond
its capacity to near the breaking point.  She took a deep, long breath,
trying to clear her head, and shifted to a more comfortable position.

 Part of her couldn't help but wish that there was a way to end this
madness.  To turn herself in and hope to concoct a story that would
explain away the acts that she had been accused of committing.  To release
Mulder from what she feared was becoming an eternal obligation.  But the
rational part of her mind knew better, knew that without obtaining the
evidence she needed to clear her name, there would be no justice.   There
would be no way of escaping the web crafted by people that she could not
even name.  And, in her deepest heart she understood that even if she
found the truths she sought, it might not be enough.  After all, she had
been close before, but not close enough to make anyone believe her.

 Scully's thoughts wandered back towards Mulder.  He was her friend, her
partner, her staunchest ally.  And now, perhaps, something more.  She had
long been aware that they shared a strong and powerful bond, unlike any
she had ever imagined to exist.  She had spent the better part of three
years relying on his wisdom and his courage, his guidance and his counsel,
as they sought to accomplish the impossible, navigating a course towards
an unknown destination.   She trusted him implicitly, on a level that
transcended words.

 But now everything was different -- their lives had changed, perhaps to
never again be the same.  A change brought about by her actions, her
words, her deeds.  There was no way of taking that back.  And no way of
repaying what she now felt she owed him.

 A short burst of music blared as a car passed by on the street below,
giving her pause in her reverie.  The song was familiar, and she smiled
briefly at the memory of the last time she had heard the lyrics.  It made
her think of home, and she was hit with a sudden, dull ache, flashing back
on the life she had left behind.

 There was nothing of that life here with her now, except Mulder.  The
only person who could understand her alienation, because he shared her
loneliness.  The ache slowly faded as she thought of him, thought of the
strength that he passed to her each time he took her hand.  She envied him
his stamina, his ability to endure, and cursed her weaknesses, the new
frailties she had come to despise.  As much as she needed him, as much as
she wanted to be with him, she was afraid.  Afraid that her being with him
would slowly drain him of his essence, afraid that she had nothing to
offer to him in return.

 Scully was startled by the boy's voice, calling from below.  "Lisa?  Are
you up there?"

 "Yes," she called back, not unhappy about the interruption.  She heard
the crashing sound of his footsteps on the fire escape, and then the
softer sound of his approach.

 "Hello," he said by way of greeting.  "I got a new basket for my bike
today."

 "Really?"  Scully smiled in the direction of his voice.  "How big is it?"

 The boy sank down beside her and sighed.  "Big enough to hold some
things.  There was a bigger one, but it was twenty dollars, and I only had
fourteen."

 "Well," Scully answered slowly, "I don't always think bigger is better."

 She heard the boy's grin in his reply.  "Me neither."

 They spoke for awhile, about childhood things, then sat for a time in a
companionable silence that she finally broke with a question.   "Charlie,
do you know what time it is?"

 "Sure," he said, and she heard a rustling of cloth as he pulled up his
sleeve.  "Ummm.... it's nearly four."  He sighed again, this time with
regret.  "Guess I should go.  Still gotta do my chores."

 "Okay," she answered, and listened as he got to his feet.

 "See you tomorrow," he said, and Scully shook her head to contradict him.

 "No," she replied.  "I won't be here, tomorrow."

 The boy said nothing for a moment, and his disappointment was almost
palpable.  "Well," he finally remarked, "guess I knew you had to go,
sometime."

 "Bye, Charlie," Scully said, reaching out for his hand.  He grabbed it
and shook it once, gently.  Then he leaned down and surprised her by
throwing his arms around her neck with the fierce grip of a child.  She
smelled the faint scent of peanut butter and smiled.  There was something
tender about his sudden embrace and she hugged him back.

 He pulled away after a moment, and his voice was quiet. "I'm glad I met
you, Lisa."

 "I'm glad I met you too," she answered, listening as his footsteps moved
away.
 

X-6            X-6
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (7/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:24:51 -0500
 

We're moving into the second half!  Thanks to you all for hanging in there
with me...  :-)   Anybody who knows me knows I'm a major movie buff, and
two of my favorite actresses are Les Dames Hepburn -- Kate and Audrey.
Haven't yet found a fanfic way to pay homage to Kate, but this is my
second go-round for Audrey. <g>   Though the words of this story and the
situations that follow are =entirely= my own creation, I feel I must thank
Frederick Knott for writing and Terence Young for directing the movie that
inspired me in this direction.   And the biggest thanks of all goAnd of
course to Audrey herself, the original "world champion blind lady"...  :-)
 

This is part seven of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

AT THE BLUE HOTEL (7/12)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 
 

Mulder flipped the page of the journal, rapidly scanning the words before
his eyes.  He had begun his search by looking up droperidol, the drug that
had piqued Scully's interest the previous evening, but had found nothing
out of the ordinary beyond what he remembered.  It was an opiate, and not
a particularly rare one for that matter.  He had moved on to delve further
into the other names on the relatively short list, again discovering
nothing that seemed relevant.

 He had gone back to the shelves, pulling down another volume that was
thicker and better detailed, and had begun again.  It was in that volume
that he found the clue that led him to this journal, to the article that
he now devoured voraciously.

 "An opiate, droperidol is similar to morphine, but is even more powerful
in its effects.  It was used during Vietnam as a method of maintaining
control over prisoners of war, and might also have been used during the
Nazi experiments of World War Two."   Mulder skipped several paragraphs
before he stopped to make another note.

 "If a significant quantity of the drug is ingested, the body slips into a
comatose state that can be easily maintained by subsequent injections.
Unlike many opiates, when administered in small doses, this drug is nearly
undetectable in the bloodstream unless specific tests are conducted.  The
body can be sustained indefinitely in this condition, assuming that it is
connected to some type of life support system.  The danger lies in
maintaining the correct dosage, one which is just strong enough to keep
the body in a comatose state and yet not strong enough to kill."

 Mulder dropped the pen on the table, unaware as it rolled off the edge
and clattered to the floor.  A wave of nausea passed through him, and he
clenched his arms across his stomach in an effort to stave off the
feeling.  He suddenly knew, with a certainty that horrified him, that this
was the drug that had formed part of the compound that Scully had seen in
the lab.

 Part of the compound that they had given to her, when she had been taken
away.

 Part of the compound that had left her perilously close to the edge of
death.

 The compound that they had stopped administering when they abandoned her
in the intensive care unit of George Washington hospital, their tests,
whatever they had been, at last complete.

 A powerful rage seized him then, and he renewed his vow to discover the
truth, to find out who was responsible for what had happened, and to make
them pay.

 Mulder ran his finger down the length of the column, finding the list of
references at its end.  Retrieving the pen, he jotted down the
information, then rose from the table and made his way over to the
librarian at the counter.

 "I need copies of all of these articles now," he demanded, not wasting
time on pleasantries.  The red-haired woman appeared startled, and he
quickly regretted his tone.  "It's important... please."

 "No problem," she answered, taking the sheet of notepaper from his hand.
"I'll be right back."

 Mulder nodded as she disappeared into the back room.  He leaned his
elbows on the counter, burying his face against his palms, as he sought to
channel his fury into something productive, refusing to allow the anger to
shatter his self-control.  By the time the woman had returned, a stack of
paper in her arms, he had regained his composure enough to thank her with
a small smile.
 
 

Scully pulled the door to the stairway shut behind her, listening for the
click before cautiously making her way down the hall.  Her hand trailed
along the plaster of the wall, skimming across the surface past the first
door until she reached the second.  She dug her other hand into the pocket
of her jeans, feeling for the key.  She closed her fingers around it and
pulled it out, then fumbled with the deadbolt on the door a moment until
she found the keyhole.  She carefully inserted the key and twisted it,
listening as the bolt pulled back.  She turned the doorknob and pushed the
door open with a breath of relief. Back again, in one piece.

 As she stepped into the apartment Scully felt for the door, pushing it
shut as she entered.  She had only taken two steps when she smelled it.

 The spicy scent, from the previous night.

 A smell that reminded her of cheap cologne.

 Scully gasped, a sharp intake of breath that left her feeling dizzy.
She could feel her heart suddenly pounding in her chest with an intensity
that chilled her.

 Someone had been in the apartment, again.

 Someone who might be there still.

 As quietly as possible, Scully backed up to the door, feeling for the
knob behind her.  Finding it with her hands, she twisted it silently and
pulled it open, stepping back out into the hallway.  She closed the door
and stood beyond it, trying to calm her nerves enough to think.

 Four o'clock.  Charlie had told her it was nearly four o'clock.  Mulder
had left just after three;  that meant at least an hour before he would
return.  She was afraid to re-enter the apartment, afraid that whoever had
left the trace of cologne in the air was lying in wait inside.

 Fighting a growing sense of panic, Scully made her way to the other
apartment on this level.   Finding the door beneath her hands she knocked
several times, loud insistent raps that demanded an answer, but there was
no reply.   She then moved slowly back down the hall to the main
staircase, descending to the lower level.  She tried both apartments on
this floor as well, but to no avail.  No one responded to her urgent
pounding, and as best as she could tell, there was only silence beyond the
walls.

 Find a phone, her mind screamed.  Find a phone and call him, call for
help. She cursed the fact that there wasn't a phone in their apartment;
they hadn't wanted to risk the paperwork required to install the service.
Scully made her way towards the front door that led to the street,
stopping only when she felt the glass, smooth and cool beneath her hands.
She pushed the door open and hesitated in the entryway, overwhelmed by the
noise outside.  It seemed as though the street was teeming with people
involved in animated conversation, and she could hear traffic passing by
mere yards away.

 Scully debated a long, painful moment about entering the melee,
negotiating the crowd and trying to find a phone or some help.  But the
sounds were deafening and, without Mulder by her side, incredibly
frightening.  What if the man with the cologne was waiting, just outside,
for her to exit?  What if he wasn't alone, if there were others mingling
with the ordinary pedestrian traffic?

 A sudden rush of fear overwhelmed her and she slammed the glass door
shut, leaning against the wall to try and catch her breath.  Think,
dammit, think, her mind raged.  After a moment, the idea came to her with
a sudden rush of clarity, and she started back upstairs, careful with
every step not to lose her balance.
 
 

Charlie pulled the rake through the leaves, amusing himself with the
pattern he created as he moved.  He knew he was dawdling, but there was
something calming about the strokes that he enjoyed, despite the fact that
it made the task longer.  The leaves scattered under the pressure with a
tantalizing crackle and he made a mental note to write down the fact that
fall was definitely his favorite season.

 Having created a satisfying pile at one end, Charlie moved to the
opposite corner, working his way slowly across the yard.  He was halfway
finished with the second side when he heard her voice, calling to him from
the roof next door.

 "Charlie?  Charlie?  Are you down there?"

 "I'm here," he yelled back, a little surprised.  She had never called to
him before.   The thought raced through him that perhaps she wasn't
leaving, after all, and it brought a smile to his face.

 "Can you come back up?"  There was something anxious in her voice that
demanded an immediate answer.

 "Sure," Charlie called back, tossing the rake aside and racing over to
the fence.  He hoisted himself up using the knots in the wood and dropped
down on the other side, bending his knees to ease the impact.   He pulled
the fire escape ladder down using the lever on the side of the building
and then swung himself up onto the bottom rung, climbing quickly to the
top.

 She was waiting for him, and the calm expression he normally associated
with her had vanished.   "Charlie... I need your help, okay?"

 "Sure," he repeated, flattered that she had asked.  "Did you lose your
key again?"

 "No," she shook her head vigorously.  "Do you know the man, the one I
came here with?"

 He nodded, then realized she had no way to know he had answered.  "Yes --
the man with the beard."

 "Good," she answered.  "I need you to find him -- I need you to bring him
back here."

 Charlie paused a moment before replying.  "Well, okay.  Where is he?"

 She took a deep breath and her next words were slower.  "At the
library... the science library at Tulane University."   She frowned and
her face took on a look of concern.  "Do you know where that is?"

 "Of course," Charlie answered proudly.  "I've been to campus lots of
times."

 "Okay."  She nodded and he was happy to see relief replace her look of
concern.  "How far away is it?"

 Charlie pondered the question. "Umm... if you take the trolley, a half
hour, maybe.  But I can make in on my bike in about fifteen minutes, if I
go the short way."

 The woman nodded again and then knelt down beside him, finding his
shoulders with her hands and gripping them tightly.  "This is *very*
important, do you understand?"

 It was unnerving, the way that her eyes stared just past him, but Charlie
forced himself to concentrate.  "Yes," was all he said.

 "His name is Rick -- Rick Wilder.  You have to find him, and you have to
get him to come back.  Right away."

 Charlie hesitated, thinking.  He wanted nothing more than to help her,
but he couldn't avoid thinking of his father.  There wasn't anybody who
could get his father to do something he didn't want to do.  "What if he
doesn't want to come?"  A pause, then, "I mean, he doesn't even know me.
What if he doesn't believe it's important?"

 "He will...." her voice trailed off and he could tell that she was
thinking as well.  After a moment, she reached beneath her tee shirt and
pulled out a small gold cross on a chain.  She fumbled for the clasp at
her neck and then managed to release it, allowing the tiny charm to fall
into her hand.  She found Charlie's hand with hers and pressed the
necklace into it.  "Give him this, and then he'll know you're telling the
truth."

 "Okay."  All at once, Charlie felt important, in a way he never had
before.  He took the cross and carefully tucked it into the front pocket
of his jeans.  "I can do it, I promise."

 "Good," she answered.  "I'm counting on you."  She pulled him into
another quick hug that caused him to flush with happiness.  She needed
him, had chosen him, and he wasn't going to let her down.

 "I'll be right back," he said, and turning away from her, he raced over
to the fire escape.  He took the steps two at a time and when he reached
the bottom he didn't even stop to put the ladder away.   Instead, he ran
over to the shed and pulled out his bike, admiring the new basket as he
leapt onto the seat and began pedaling towards the university.
 
 

Karen flipped the page of her textbook and emitted a long sigh.  The
chapter on cognitive dissonance that had seemed so interesting when she
had begun reading an hour before was now boring her to tears.  She glanced
at her watch again, noting that it wasn't even a quarter past four.  Still
almost three hours until the end of her shift, until she could get out of
there and get the beer that she'd been craving since noon.

 She sighed again and forced her eyes back to the text, but a moment later
they wandered over to the man seated at the table in the far corner.  She
had been pleased to see him come in again today, had harbored brief hopes
that maybe she would be able to convince him to join her in that beer.
But he had been so terse with her when he had come up to the counter that
she had been too intimidated to flirt with him.  Whatever he was reading
had him completely engrossed, to the point where she was able to stare at
him freely without fearing that he would look up and spot her.

 The ringing of the phone on the desk startled her, and it rang twice
before she recovered enough to pick it up.  "Library,"  Karen answered,
listening to the voice on the other end of the line.   The call was brief,
requiring nothing but short affirmative responses on her end, but it left
her extremely irritated.  She took down the message as instructed, and
then put down the receiver, feeling a sudden irrational anger.

 I should have known, Karen thought as she walked around from behind the
counter and approached the man where he sat poring over the articles
spread before him on the table.  Just another example of the maxim she had
come to believe as gospel:  all the interesting ones were either married
or gay.

 "Excuse me."   In deference to library rules and the intensity of his
concentration, she kept her voice just above a whisper.  "Are you Rick
Wilder?"

 The man looked straight up at her and his eyes filled with a sudden panic
that made her regret the peculiar jealousy that had seized her a moment
before.  He hesitated a moment before he answered. "Yes.... why?"

 "I have a message for you," she responded, checking the sheet of paper in
her hand.  "The landlord of your building -- a Mr. Fontaine? -- just
called.  He said that there's been an accident.  Your wife has been taken
to the hospital."

 The man jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair as he did so,
heedless of the paperwork that fell to the floor.  "What hospital?
Where?"  His voice was loud and caused several of the other students to
look up with annoyance, but it was his eyes that stopped her cold.  They
were dark and fierce, sharp with fear, but beneath that Karen detected a
frightening amount of guilt.

 "Baptist Hospital," Karen answered quickly, reacting to his urgency.  He
gripped her arm with one strong hand and she gasped.  "St. John's."

 "Where is it?  How far away?"

 Karen struggled to think, calling up a map of the city in her head.
"Near the river," she replied.  "Maybe ten minutes, by taxi."

 The man nodded and grabbed his notebook, stuffing it into the pocket of
his jacket, oblivious to the mess of papers beneath his feet.  "What
happened?  Did he say?"

 "No," she answered, suddenly wishing she knew more.  "All he said was
that she had been taken to the emergency room."

 "Thanks," he said, the word nothing more than a rush of air as he darted
past her and ran out of the room, crashing into an incoming student as he
did so.  The student's books tumbled to the floor but the man didn't stop,
and a moment later he was gone.
 

X-7            X-7
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: *NEW* - AT THE BLUE HOTEL (8/12) - Nicole Perry
Date: 14 Mar 1996 17:25:01 -0500
 

This is part eight of a twelve-part post.  Author's Note, Spoiler Warning,
and Disclaimer can be found at the beginning of part 1.  Relationship
Warning has been added... If there are problems with the posting (or
comments on the story!) I'm at [email protected].
 
 

AT THE BLUE HOTEL (8/12)
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 

Scully slowly descended the stairs from the roof, both hands braced
against the wall to her right side as she felt for each successive step.
Part of her felt extremely foolish, placing so much faith in a small boy,
but he seemed like a smart kid and somehow she instinctively trusted him.
And, she realized, there wasn't anyone else around at the moment that she
*could* trust.  She wondered for a moment whether she should have asked
him to simply call the police, but she was too afraid of the law, afraid
of being recognized and of the potentially dire consequences that could
bring.

 She reached the hallway once again and hesitated, unsure what to do next.
 If the boy was right, it would be at the very least another half hour
before Mulder's return.  Scully felt extremely vulnerable, standing in the
corridor, but she wasn't sure if she could risk going back inside the
apartment.   A sitting duck, she thought, and a current of fear ran
through her.

 Go back into the apartment, Scully told herself, go back and get the gun.
  Finally, she straightened up with a sense of resolve, the decision made.
 She knew where Mulder had left it, on the counter in the kitchen, and
although she knew she probably wouldn't have the courage to fire it, at
least she could wield it as a threat, some small measure of protection.
Drawing a deep breath, she moved carefully down the hallway until she
found herself back in front of their door.

 Scully repeated the tedious procedure of inserting the key into the lock,
and entered the apartment as quietly as she was able.  The scent was still
there, beneath the sweet odor of the flowers, and despite herself she
trembled.  She stood where she was and listened, listened for any sounds
that were out of place, the sound of someone else's breathing.  A long
moment passed, and then another, and still she heard nothing.

 The apartment was completely silent.

 She made her way cautiously through the main room and into the kitchen,
finding the counter with her hands and trailing her fingers across it.
She reached the place where Mulder habitually left the pistol, but the
counter was blank beneath her hands.  Scully widened her search, passing
her hands across every object that came into her grasp, to no avail.  A
thought struck her, and she went cold with fear.

 Someone *had* been here, and had taken the gun.

 Someone who might still be inside the apartment.

 Scully tried to banish the thought from her mind, listening intently for
any unfamiliar sounds.

 The apartment was still completely silent.

 Had Mulder packed the gun already, or taken it with him?  Questions raced
through her mind as she struggled to remember their last conversation.
Perhaps Mulder *had* taken it, given the circumstances.  She had told him
to be careful;  maybe he had listened, for once, and taken the gun with
him, stashing it somewhere before entering the library to avoid triggering
the metal detector.

 Scully decided to leave, to go back downstairs and wait just inside the
glass door of the building.  Sitting in public view might provide her with
a little security -- it was less likely that anyone would attack with
witnesses nearby.  Then she stopped, remembering her own gun, the gun she
no longer carried but that Mulder had retained as a backup.   She knew,
was in fact certain, that he had packed it that morning amongst their few
belongings.  It was in the bedroom, still loaded, and she could easily
find it.

 With a renewed sense of purpose, she walked as fast as she dared into the
bedroom, finding the duffel bag where he had left it atop the bed.  Scully
pulled back the zipper, wincing at the surprisingly loud sound it made,
then began to rifle through the clothes Mulder had so carefully folded.
It was there, as she had expected, fairly near the top.  She pulled it
out, feeling reassured by the familiarity of its weight in her hand.
Carrying the gun, she carefully moved out of the bedroom and back into the
main room.

 She was halfway to the door when another thought gave her pause. She
lifted the gun and passed her other hand along the pistol grip, finding
the release lever that ejected the ammunition cartridge.  It slid into her
palm and she ran her fingers across it once, and then again, a tremor
coursing through her as she realized that it was empty.

 "Looking for these?"

 The voice barrelled through the darkness to slam her squarely in the
chest, causing her to gasp for breath.  It was immediately followed by
what sounded like an echo of childhood, like a pile of marbles dropping to
the floor with a series of loud plinks.

 "Silvertip hollow point ten millimeter rounds.  Accurate, reliable, and
controllable, with better penetration and stopping power than the standard
nine millimeter load.  Good choice."

 Scully stood where she was, paralyzed by a sudden, intense terror.  The
voice was low and menacing, the voice of a man, and the matter-of-fact
tone of his words only made them more frightening.

 "I'm assuming your partner's gun is similarly loaded," the voice
continued.  "Of course, there may not be as many rounds inside."   Beneath
his words, Scully could hear one of the bullets rolling on the floor where
it had fallen.  Suddenly the noise was halted by a loud bang that made her
jump back with a low cry before she realized it was just the slam of the
intruder's foot on the floor.

 "But even one round is more than you have in your gun.  So why don't you
just put it down, and come over here. We have a lot to talk about, you and
I."

 Scully remained perfectly still, the man's voice almost drowned out by
the rush of blood in her ears.  Her mind was racing, gauging the distance
to the door and her chances of making it back out into the hall.

 Then all thoughts vanished as she heard an ominous click and realized he
had cocked the pistol.  "Don't even think about it.  With a Smith &
Wesson, there's no difference in trigger pull between the first round and
the next.  That means I'll get off three shots before you even find the
door."  The man paused, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its
conversational tone and was harsh with anger.  "I'm not going to ask you
twice.  Put the gun down, and get over here."

 Forcing herself to maintain her composure, Scully bent her trembling
knees and slowly placed the gun on the floor by her side.  She stood back
up, but moved no further, until the voice rang out again.

 "Get *in* here," the man hissed. "Don't make me come and get you."

 With a silent prayer running through her head, Scully took a cautious
step forward.
 
 

Mulder sat on the edge of the seat, one hand nervously clenching the door
handle of the taxi.  It seemed to him as though the vehicle was moving
forward through a sea of molasses, mired in the glut of surrounding
traffic.  "How much further?"  He spoke loudly in order for his voice to
carry through the plexiglass before him.

 "We'd be there already, if it wasn't rush hour," was the cabbie's reply.

 Mulder took a deep breath, trying to fake a calmness that he didn't feel.
 His heart was pounding and his stomach was nauseous, his entire body
tensed with a sickening dread.  He cursed himself for his stupidity, for
the fact that he hadn't followed his instincts and taken Scully out of the
city this morning.  It had been a foolish choice, one not worth the
information that he had gained, valuable though it might be.  If anything
happened to her...

 He tried to banish the horrible thoughts coursing through his brain by
focusing on the cars that passed them at a speed that could rightly be
called slow-motion.  Scully... try as he might, she was all he could think
about.  His mind was attuned to her very being, each breath she took
seeming more than ever like an extension of his.  And he knew, could feel
deep within him, that she was in trouble.  That she needed him.  And once
again, he was a step behind.

 Mulder sighed, a deep breath of anxiety and regret.  Despite her words,
he couldn't help but blame himself for their predicament, thinking that if
he had only been faster, smarter, more capable they would never have been
put into this situation.  And now.... though he wouldn't have believed it
possible, his heart rate accelerated even further, a rapid series of beats
that echoed in his mind.
 <DanaDanaDanaDanaDanaDana>

 Although he was not the kind of man to make friends easily or often,
there was something about Dana Scully that had caused him to open up to
her, to trust her as he had never trusted anyone in his life except
Samantha.  He had confided things to her during their first case together
that he had never spoken of to anyone, and she had never betrayed him.
Instead, she had pledged her support to his quest, willingly putting
herself in jeopardy to find the answers that he sought.

 And had nearly lost her own life in the process.

 The thought made him wince and he closed his eyes, succumbing to a brief
moment of anguish.  She was a part of him now, a part that he could not
lose.  A part that he could never again be without.

 Mulder opened his eyes and banged on the partition that separated him
from the driver.  "How much further?" he repeated, his voice betraying his
panic.

 "Half a mile, maybe.  Straight down to the end of this road."  The driver
glanced into the rearview mirror and Mulder caught his perplexed look.
"Not to worry, I'll get you there."

 The cab pulled up behind a sedan at a red light and Mulder suddenly
grabbed for his wallet.  He pulled a twenty out of the billfold and shoved
it into the silver tray in the partition.  "Thanks," he called as he
pushed open the door.  "I'm fine from here."

 Mulder jumped out into the traffic and darted across the street as the
light turned green.  A car honked as it swerved to avoid him but Mulder
didn't look back, his gait quickening to a run.  He barreled his way
through the crowd of pedestrians, ignoring their agitated comments,
focused only on his goal.
 
 

"No," Karen laughed into the receiver, trying to keep her voice down.
"That is *not* what I said.  Don't worry -- I'll be there.  Just save me a
seat."  She put the phone back into its cradle, feeling slightly guilty
about making personal calls on the work line.  Call me a sinner, she
thought, as she picked up the highlighter and resumed her perusal of her
textbook.

 She looked up a few minutes later to see a small boy wandering amongst
the tables, glancing at the students seated there.  He was carrying a
notebook in one hand and seemed a bit lost, gazing at each of the tables
with a vaguely confused expression.

 "Can I help you?"  Karen asked in her best librarian voice.  The little
boy turned at the sound, and crossed the room towards her.  He was wearing
jeans with a hole in one knee and a windbreaker over a tee shirt that
Karen recognized, advertising the Power Rangers that her young cousins
were so fond of.  His blond hair was tousled and he was more than a little
out of breath.

 "Maybe," the boy answered as he approached the counter.  He was barely
tall enough to see over the top, and he stood on tiptoe, placing both
hands on the surface for balance.  "I'm here to find somebody."

 The boy was so earnest that Karen couldn't help but smile.  "Well, why
don't you tell me who you're looking for and I'll see what I can do."

 "I'm looking for a man named --" the boy broke off, opening the notebook
and checking a crumpled page before continuing.  "A man named Rick Wilder.
 Is he here?"

 Karen cocked her head in surprise at hearing the name again.  "He was,"
she answered.  "But he's gone.  Is he your dad?"

 "No," the boy replied, his eyes wide and serious.  "But I need to find
him.  I have to.  Do you know where he went?"

 Karen hesitated a moment, not certain if she should tell the kid the
truth, but there was something about his expression that demanded an
answer.  "He went to the hospital.  St. John the Baptist.  His wife had an
accident."

 The boy frowned. "Who told you that?"

 "Why?"  Karen's curiosity was really aroused now.

 "It's a lie, that's why," the boy answered in a proper voice that
revealed his disapproval.  He turned away as though to leave, before his
manners caught up to him.  "Thank you," he said, and then took off at a
speed that astonished her.

 Stranger and stranger, Karen mused, thinking that it was long past time
that she get a new job.  Picking up the highlighter again, she plunged
back into the abyss of cognitive dissonance, yet found herself unable to
forget either the little boy or the man he sought.
 
 

Scully had only taken a few steps into the room when she felt a hand grab
her upper arm and she winced at the pressure.  She heard a scraping across
the floor and then the hand pushed her back and she lost her balance,
falling awkwardly into a chair that had suddenly appeared beneath her.

 "Have a seat, Agent Scully, so we can get better acquainted."  The man
chuckled, and the sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
"Perhaps I should be calling you Dana.  After all, you're not an agent
anymore, are you?"

 Scully remained silent, resistant to his taunts, unwilling to become a
player in his game.  She heard the man's footsteps, loud in the stillness,
as he paced around her chair.  He said nothing more, and for a time, all
was quiet.

 "Cat got your tongue?  You're blind, not mute.  And I know you can hear
me perfectly well."

 Still she said nothing, concentrating on taking deep, even breaths.  She
focused on his presence, trying to build an image of him in her mind.  He
was tall, perhaps even taller than Mulder -- she could tell by the
distance of his voice.  He had a slight accent, but it wasn't southern; it
sounded more as though he was from the east coast.  New York perhaps, or
New Jersey.

 Scully broke the silence only when it threatened to become too
oppressive.  "Who are you?"  She was relieved that she managed to speak
the three words in a tone that sounded reasonably normal.

 "Well," the man said, "that's not really important.  Let's just say that
you and I have mutual acquaintances in common."

  "You're not a cop."  Although Scully knew the answer to the question,
she asked it anyway, hoping that the man would reveal more, give her
something that she could use against him.

 "No," the man chuckled again, the sound grating in the stillness of the
room.  "Definitely not.  You can think of me as a retriever, if you'd
like.  It's my job to retrieve things that others have lost.  That's what
I need you to help me with.  Are you going to help me, Dana?"

 Scully didn't respond, her mind whirling, calculating time.  At least
fifteen minutes had passed since she sent Charlie away, fifteen minutes
closer to Mulder's return.

 It was almost as though the man could read her thoughts.  "If the reason
you're keeping so quiet is that you're waiting for your partner, you may
be in for a long wait."

 Scully's breath caught at the sound of the veiled threat, but she stilled
the impulse inside her and remained silent.

 "I wanted to give us more time together, so I've sent Mr. Mulder on a
little errand."

 Another current of fear shot through her and this time she couldn't
contain herself.  "What are you talking about?  What have you done to
him?"  Scully's voice betrayed her anxiety and she silently berated
herself.

 "I haven't *done* anything to him.... yet."  The man laughed again and
Scully was suddenly flushed with anger.  The anger felt good as it washed
away some of the terror and she fought to hold onto it.  "Just sent him on
a little detour.  To the hospital, if you must know.  He's under the
impression that you've been in a serious accident."

 For a moment, her thoughts went to Mulder, thinking of the worry and the
panic that he must be feeling, and she longed to comfort him, to reassure
him that she was okay.  Another wave of fury towards the unknown intruder
pushed those thoughts out of her mind and she forced herself to focus on
the matter at hand.

 "What do you want?"

 "Oh, Dana, I think you know what I want."  Scully sensed the man crouch
down beside her, and a moment later felt his fingers trail down along her
cheek.  She turned her face away, only to hear him laugh in response.
"The disk, Dana.  That's what I'm here for."

 Again she prayed for her voice to be strong.  "I don't know what you're
talking about."

 Scully heard the slap before she felt it, a whistling rush of air
followed by the impact of his palm against her face.  It stung more than
she would have imagined and she couldn't suppress a small moan of pain as
she tasted blood in her mouth.

 "Wrong answer," said the man, his tone as conversational as before.
"Let's try that again.  I'm looking for the disk, the disk that you stole
from the lab.  I know that you have it, and I want it."

 She remained absolutely still, her hands clutching the edges of the chair
on which she sat.  Her silence earned her another slap, on the opposite
side this time.

 "It's not difficult, Dana," said the man.  "You give me what I want, and
I'll be out of your way."

 A professional, she thought, trying to ignore the aching sting of the
slap.  The man was a professional, not one of the government suits that
she and Mulder were so used to encountering.  There was too much pleasure
in his tone;  he derived too much joy from his work.  The knowledge made
her cold, made her realize that perhaps this was an adversary that she
would not be able to outwit.

 Knowing that he expected a response, Scully finally offered the best one
she could.  "It's not here."

 "No?"  The man's voice sounded amused, and he again drew his hand along
her cheek, his fingers stopping beneath her chin and tilting her head up
to face him.  Left hand, left hand, her mind screamed.  It led her to
assume that the gun must still be clutched in his right, and she stored
the information for future use.   "Then where is it?"

 "Mulder has it," she answered, her voice no more than a whisper.  "He
took it with him."

 "Really?"  The man paused, as though contemplating her statement, and she
nodded, slowly.  He moved his hand away from her chin and she relaxed
slightly.

 Without warning, she felt another rush of air followed by a cold, sharp
blow to the side of her head that shot a wave of pain through her and
caused her to lose her balance.  She felt herself falling as a surge of
dizziness overtook her and for a time she knew nothing.
 

 X-8            X-8
 

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