Bedsprings - The Collector's Edition by Megan Reilly, Char Hall, & Vickie Moseley CONTAINS: BEDSPRINGS I By Vickie Moseley & Charleyne Hall [vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net] ______________________________________________ BEDSPRINGS II: Adamantine Poison By Char Hall & Megan Reilly [drakkar@bconnex.net & eponine@prodigy.net] ______________________________________________ BEDSPRINGS III By Char Hall & Megan Reilly [drakkar@bconnex.net & eponine@prodigy.net] *Authors notes [VM]: Once upon a time there was a girl in Ontario and one in Illinois who had waaaay too much time on their hands. And they liked to write. And one day, one of them (and I'll be darned if I can remember which one) said, 'let's write something together'. And this is the result. It is a relationship story. It is an alternate universe story. It's an angsters paradise. It brings in a couple of new characters who we hope you will learn to love as much as we have. And it spawned a whole new set of questions : ) But we had a blast doing it. NO SPOILERS (it took us so long, I think we might have started it before season three premiered) Some parts are rated mild R--really really mild R--and the rest is PG. Oh, we do use a couple of nasty words, but only in context. Char, do you want to say a few words? (make it brief, kid. The natives look restless) *Authors Notes [CH]: Uh, is there anything left to say? Oh yeah, Vickie lied, there are a few spoilers, I think. At least a few from the beginning of season three. Tunnels, Vick... Anyway, you can debate that between yourselves. Brief? You write half a page and I get to make mine brief? Okay... Uhm, it's been a pleasure working with Vickie. She's the second person I've ever written with and I must say I'm delighted the way this has turned out. It was a long time in the writing but worth the wait (well, for myself, anyway) so I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it... Hey! Put those bloody spears down... Okay, shutting up... *Disclaimer: We wouldn't infringe for the world! We love you CC and we are more than willing to let you make all the money in the world off these characters. And when I get more than one client, I (vm) plan on buying stock in FOX so that I can say I own a little piece of them, too :) And now, on with the show: T h e - - \ / X BED SPRINGS / \ By Vickie Moseley & Charleyne Hall - - vmoseley@fgi.net F i l e s drakkar@bconnex.net Part One ----- Kingsley Hotel, Conference Wing Washington, DC August 17, 1996 It was unbelievably warm in the auditorium. He couldn't concentrate on the speaker. He couldn't concentrate on anything. He was too worried about the sweat that seemed to drip endlessly from his brow, threatening to land on his tuxedo, staining it. He wiped his forehead with a small handkerchief and strained to pay attention. ". . . And as a pleasant surprise, we have some positions opening up this year that are open to our best field agents. . ." the man at the podium said. Fox Mulder just couldn't stand it any more. He muttered something to the woman next to him, an agent he'd never seen before, and carefully made his way down the row of people to reach the exit. He pushed out the door and stood for a few moments, letting the silence of the room envelope him. He was in a bigger room, a lobby, which had several other rooms and hallways that branched off in all directions. He released a sigh and ran a hand through his neatly kept brown hair. He took a few breaths, then made his way to a table which held cups of drinks in Dixie cups. He smiled and took a glass of water. The coolness of the liquid over his tongue made him feel much better. He paused one more time, drinking down the last of the water, before returning to the auditorium from which he had just come. He took a seat near the back of the room, so that if he had to leave again, he'd be able to make a hasty exit. He paid closer attention to the speaker this time, while looking over the crowded room. It was filled with FBI agents from all different fields, all dressed immaculately and all sitting patiently, waiting to hear who would get the next award, promotion or commendation. There were a great many female agents, as well as male, most dressed formally. He glanced about the crowd, looking for his partner. When he didn't see her, he assumed that she'd left the room for some air, just as he had. He stopped searching and turned his attention back to the speaker, but soon after he had finished talking. There was no mention of his name or his partner's. He was glad in a way. He knew they should have been rewarded in some way for the most recent case they had solved, but he didn't want a public display. It was all too fresh in his memory and he didn't want to relive it in front of a roomful of strangers. The auditorium quickly began to empty, tired and hot agents streaming out. Mulder walked casually among them, then found a spot near the wall where he could stand and drink his water in relative peace. Before long, he found himself getting bored. He watched, with an amused grin, as the Assistant Director of the FBI began to walk towards him. When the man reached him, he held out his hand. "Agent Mulder," Walter Skinner said as Mulder shook his hand. Mulder was somewhat confused as to why the FBI A.D. would be so boldly shaking his hand. "Sir?" he asked. "Have you seen Agent Scully?" Skinner asked, scanning the room for the woman Mulder himself had been looking for, earlier. "No, sir, I haven't. I don't even know if she's here," he said. It was unlike Dana Scully not to show up to a mandatory awards ceremony, and Mulder began to feel a pang of worry, although he quickly pushed it away. Scully could take care of herself. "All right. Well, when you see her, I need to see the both of you." Skinner's frown was replaced by a smile as he nodded to Mulder, then made his way off to congratulate some of the other award winners. Mulder watched the tall, balding man for a few minutes, then decided it was time to leave. He searched his pockets for his car keys and then slowly began to walk to the door, clutching them in his hand. ----- FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC Mulder breathed a sigh of relief as he walked into the dark office. Dark, except for the glowing monitor in the far corner of the room. In the glow, he could see the silhouette of a person. He smiled then. "Scully?" he asked, closing the door, removing his coat and blindly hanging it on the coat rack beside the door. "Mulder," she said. He took a moment to turn and flick on the light of the office. For a moment his eyes needed to adjust, he blinked. When he opened his eyes, he could see Scully sitting behind the console. She wore a green strapless dress, that fit to her body perfectly. Her auburn hair was shiny and curled, locks of it hanging in her green eyes. Mulder suppressed a reaction that had triggered deep in his stomach and had tried to work its way through out his body. He sighed, pulling at his bow tie, as he crossed the room to sit in a chair next to her. "So, what are you doing?" he asked, puzzled. "Working on the report we were supposed to file yesterday," she replied, then turned her gaze to him. "You didn't go, did you?" The look on her face told him the answer already. "No. I didn't feel like going. I got all dressed up, then decided that I wasn't going to go. Besides," she tapped the monitor. "This was really supposed to be in." "Scully, maybe you should stop working for just a moment," he said, then he reached for her hand. "What's really bothering you?" he asked. He thought he saw her curse under her breath, but she only gave him a weak smile. "Mulder, I'm just not feeling so well," she said, but he knew she was lying. "Have you eaten anything tonight?" He allowed the lie slide. "Not yet but--" "But nothing. Since we're both all dressed up, we're going out for dinner. I'll buy," he said. Scully gave him a grin. "Well, if it's your treat, then I can't pass that up," she reached forward and tugged at his tie. "Need any help with that?" she asked, indicating the tie that hung loosely around his neck. There wasn't a mirror that he could look in to do it up again. "I suppose," he said, standing up and moving back so that she'd be able to reach. He watched as she got out of the chair in a liquid motion, the green pumps on her feet adding a bit of height. She reached forward and gently tied the tie. As he felt the closeness of her, that feeling rose again. This time he allowed it to linger longer, before pushing it to the side and washing it away with thoughts of their friendship. "Did Skinner talk to you yet?" she asked as she stepped away to look at his tie, making sure it wasn't crooked. "About?" "Well, I'm not sure I should--" she said, then stopped. Mulder stepped forward and gripped her bare shoulders gently. "Believe me, if I'm getting into trouble again, I'd like to know about it." He fixed her with an unnerving stare, hoping to get her to talk. He knew she'd tell him anyway, but he liked to make her feel intimidated. "That's just it, Mulder. You're not getting into trouble," she said. The unnerving stare wasn't working so well. It sounded as though she wasn't going to tell him. "Well, then I guess I can wait for Skinner to tell me," he said, although he would try other tactics later, when she least suspected it. She nodded, picking up her purse and jacket from the back of her chair. "You're going to get it for not showing, Scully," Mulder teased as they left the office, heading for the fresh night air of Washington, DC. ----- Dana Scully picked at the salad, watching as Mulder devoured his steak. She didn't feel much like eating. In fact, she was so torn up inside that she really didn't even feel like being with Mulder. Their last case had been so big, so intense, that neither had gotten much sleep or, for that matter, time to do anything. It had all paid off, though, that being the reason she was so torn up. Skinner had called her at home, the day after they wrapped up the case, to talk. At her home, was the key, that meant something big was happening. She had listened quietly as he used small talk to work his way up to what he really wanted. She remembered back to the conversation. "Hello, Agent Scully?" The man had asked, in an unusually cheerful tone. "Yes?" she'd asked, almost too exhausted to talk to him. She had been lying on her couch peacefully watching an old black and white, soundless movie. "I wanted to congratulate you on your recent success," he stated flatly. "Thank you, sir," she yawned. "Actually, I called for another reason as well. I know I should have perhaps done this in my office, one on one, but it can't wait until your holidays are up." "Sir?" "Well, Dana," he said, using her first name. "There are a few positions opening up that need to be filled as soon as possible..." he trailed off, she could almost picture him pondering what to say next. "The director and I have discussed it. We would like to give you and Agent Mulder the chance to move up in the Bureau," he finally said. Scully had sat up then, turning the annoying television off. The images had begun to hurt her eyes. "Sir, that's great! I'll talk to Mulder and see what he says," she offered, but Skinner had refused. "I prefer to talk to Agent Mulder myself. I will do it at the annual awards service. However, I want you to consider carefully and let me know," he said, then after a few more words had hung up. From that night on, Scully had felt both happiness and a dire sadness. A hand was waving in front of her face. She smiled, focusing on Mulder's face. Just the sight of him made her shiver with an excitement. She pushed the feeling aside, then smiled at him again. She liked it when he dressed formally. It impressed her, as well as others around them, to see *Spooky* Mulder dressed up. His black tuxedo seemed to hang on his body perfectly. His brown hair was brushed and slightly gelled, a few stray strands hanging over his eyes. Even his big hazel eyes had a special allure when he was dressed in such a formal matter. Even though Scully knew that he hated to be dressed like that, she thought he was perfect for it. No other man suited a bow tie like Mulder did. She watched as he played with it now, knowing that he couldn't wait to get out of it. "Did I tie that too tight?" she asked, and he instantly dropped his hand to the table. "Nah, just hate these things." She nodded, then finally stabbed a piece of lettuce and put it into her mouth. As she chewed, she decided that she would tell Mulder she'd been offered a promotion. "Mulder, can we talk for a minute?" she asked, after she'd chewed the lettuce. She wasn't feeling like eating. She pushed the plate away, and set her elbows on the table, folding her hands beneath her chin. "Sure, what's up?" A look of concern crossed his face. You should be concerned, she thought, rather selfishly. "Well, I was talking to Skinner the other night and he mentioned something to me. . ." she trailed off, looking for the much needed words to explain. She knew that telling him about the offer of promotion would upset him. It would mean that she would be leaving the X-Files, probably for good. The fact that he would soon be offered a promotion too, somewhat eased her pain, but she still felt miserable. "And?" he probed, hoping that she would continue. "Well, Mulder, I've been offered a promotion and I'm heavily considering it," she finally blurted, deciding that the best way is the straight way. "Scully, that's great!" he said, not a hint of remorse was in his voice. A great weight lifted off her chest and she found herself breathing a little easier. "Mulder, I thought you'd be upset. . ." "Scully, it's what you've wanted for so long, why would I be upset?" he asked, fixing her with one of the happiest smiles she'd ever seen. There seemed to be something wrong with the picture, but his happiness really looked genuine. "I just thought--" "Scully, believe me, you thought wrong. If you have the chance to move up, then by all means take it! It's the best thing for you. I'll be able to handle the X-Files, heaven knows I've done it before." She smiled then, his words made her feel so much better. "I guess I wanted you to be a little upset," she said, smiling. He looked at her with a puzzled expression, but she waved it off. "Mulder, I'm just so glad that you're okay with this, because I'm seriously considering it." ***** End Part One T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net ----- Mulder's Apartment September 1, 1995 9:37 pm It had all happened so quickly, it still made his head swim. They had both received promotions. Nice hefty promotions that gave them good salary bumps, more vacation days and offices that had heat, and windows. Even though Scully was all the way over in Quantico, and he was still in Headquarters, they ended up at all the same staff meetings, all the same briefings, and managed to talk on the phone to each other about a dozen times a day. In short, it was exactly what he had been hoping for. He closed his eyes for a moment and the image flashed in his mind again. He saw the gun fire, saw the killer's face twist into a sneer as he knew that the bullet would hit his target. He heard himself screaming and pulling his own gun into range and firing before he even saw her fall. And then the killer was down, and Mulder dropped his own weapon, ran over to Scully and was positive he would find her dead. Tears were already streaming down his face as he saw all the blood, the bullet had torn right along the hairline. He was trembling as he lifted her into his arms and he was sobbing and suddenly . . .she was struggling! "You're hurting me, Mulder," she had rasped as she tried to sit up, still dizzy and woozy. "And you're getting my blouse soaked. . ." The bullet had glanced off her temple. The blood was actually much less than it could have been, but seemed ample enough to Mulder. He had practically carried her to the ambulance and strapped her down on the gurney. All the while she was being checked out, he was vowing to himself And this time, he would make it stick. A couple of phone calls to the Hill and suddenly, it was 'Skinner's idea' to promote them to the new positions. His Hill contacts were only too pleased to get Mulder into a 'safer' position. Even Senator Matheson had pointed out that it was hard to 'find the truth' from a grave. Judging from the last year, there were far too many close calls to ignore the wisdom of that statement. He shifted positions on the couch and his gaze fell on the picture of Samantha. He never looked at that picture without a twinge in his heart. "I'm not giving up, Sam. I'm not. It's just that I can't risk Scully's life anymore! Too much has happened, too many times we've been too close and one of these days. . ." he let his voice trail off. "But I'm not giving up. I'm just changing my position on the chess board. I'll be in a different spot, more authority, more responsibility. More like a knight than a pawn. Closer to the top. It can only help me find you, find the truth. I promise." The ringing of the phone broke him out of his reverie. "Mulder." "Are we still on for tomorrow?" asked the all too familiar voice on the other end of the line. "Scully, I don't know. I mean, this is a big step for me. Maybe we should just slow down, let me get used to the idea. . ." "No way am I going to let you out of this now, Mulder," Scully growled into the phone. "It is not healthy for you and you know it. Besides, who ever heard of an ASAC who didn't own a *bed*! If word ever got out. . ." "Okay, okay, point made. But I don't want to spend all day looking at furniture. I'd rather have my teeth drilled. How about a movie or two or three after we make this momentous decision in my life," he teased. "ONLY if you actually BUY the bed, Mulder. That can be your reward. I'll be by at 9:30 to pick you up, so be ready, okay?" "Yes, master," he said in a zombie voice. "See you tomorrow morning," he added and hung up the phone. As long as he still had Scully in his life, the changes he was making were really superficial. It would all work out, he was sure of it. ----- The shopping mall was crowded and Mulder couldn't help but feel a little self conscious. He towered over most of the people, including his friend who now stood beside him, tapping her foot impatiently. "Come on, Mulder, now's not the time to ponder over which pillow case you want," she said, grabbing at the bag which held a plain blue set of pillow cases. "Scully, I thought this was all part of buying the bed. . ." he said, trailing off and looking around the huge department store that she had dragged him into. She smiled at him, waving her hand and indicating the large selection of beds for him to choose from. "Why don't we worry about getting the bed first, then you can dress it on your own!" she said, tossing the pillow cases back onto the rack. She gently took hold of his arm, pulled him to one of the beds then pushed him back onto it. He flopped onto the soft mattress, losing his balance. She towered over him, grinning. "It's perfect, I'll take it," he murmured. "Mulder," she rolled her eyes. "You've at least got to try a few others first!" "Why? I'll never use it," he said, sitting up and bouncing lightly on it. Then a grin crossed his face and he perked up. "Why don't you," he said slowly, then he reached out and roughly pushed her in the stomach, sending her backwards, toppling onto the bed across from him. ". . .test that one out for me?" He watched her bounce. "Hey!" she cried, sitting up and laughing. "Not fair!" Mulder smiled, he didn't know he could have so much fun shopping. He and Scully checked out a few more beds, before deciding on the first one that he'd tried. Mulder pulled out his credit card and paid for it, arranging to have it delivered the following day to his apartment. The clerk who took his card smiled at him, then noticed Scully who was over looking at the pillow cases again. "Don't let your girlfriend pick those for you, you'll end up with pink ones," he said, winking at Mulder. "She's not my--" Mulder began, but then the clerk laughed, as Scully picked up a bag containing pink pillow cases. Mulder turned back to the clerk. "I won't let her buy those. It's bad enough that she's making me get the stupid bed!" he said, reaching out and retrieving his card. He turned and walked away before he could hear the clerk's laugh. "Well, good luck, my friend," the clerk said, and went to help another customer. Mulder smiled as he slowly walked towards Scully. She smiled, holding up a set of blue pillow cases. This was definitely a different Dana Scully. This was not the person who had stood at his back a thousand times, gun drawn, ready to blow away some particularly nasty killer or mutant or whatever they had encountered. This was too much like. . .what had the clerk said? Mulder reminded himself. He shook his head violently. his inner voice chided. His thoughts demanded an answer. Scully had put down the blue pillow cases and had just picked up a set with Marvin the Martian emblazoned on them, proclaiming, "Greetings, Earthling." Her face broke into one of those rare and precious smiles that had welcomed him back in Alaska. She looked up at him, still smiling and holding out the pillowcases for him to see. he answered the inner voice. Mulder grabbed her arm, releasing a chuckle. "Let's just get out of here, Scully. I've had enough shopping for one day." "You did good. I guess I have to keep my end of the bargain: rent some movies and have you over to my place for spaghetti, huh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Nah, Scully, I don't feel like it. Now that you've bullied me into getting a bed, I want to go home and relax on my sturdy old couch," he said, shrugging. "But I am willing to let you rent us some movies and buy us some Chinese take out." "Mulder," Scully began, rolling her eyes. He laughed, then took her arm in his and began to lead her out of the department store. "Scully, I really have to get out of here, before I shoot myself," he complained as they made their way to the car. Scully smiled, feeling the weight of his arm against hers. She almost didn't want to let go when he walked her to the passenger side of the car and waited as he opened the door. ----- FBI Headquarters J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC 7:30 AM Michael Callavelo stood looking around the office. Not much was left from the previous owners. A few posters here and there, two desks and a bunch of filing cabinets which were empty now. A 1994 calendar, resplendent in the fact that most of the women pictured were clothed in little more than enlarged pieces of hardware and tools, was still denoting the month of November. Mickey asked himself. On one corner of the desk was a coffee machine, which was now brewing a pot. He sighed, running a hand through his thick dark hair. Mickey was still a little peeved at ending up here. More punishment, obviously. It was amazing that the same Attorney General who could so blatantly forget the actual events that led up to the Waco fiasco, as the press referred to it, could have such a long memory over a mere slip of the tongue. If FBI agents weren't supposed to talk to the press, why had the PR department set him up with that damn interview to begin with? He pulled open one of the file drawers. An empty folder stared up at him. It had the markings of an X file, blue and white stripes ran the length of the folder. It was empty, waiting for some unexplained occurrence to fill it with paper and photos. What on earth was an X-File anyway? He growled and slammed the drawer shut, venting some of the anger he felt. A low whistle behind him made him gasp and turn around. "You should watch your temper, Big Boy," the tall woman that stood in the doorway said, as she approached carrying a large brief case and a few file folders under her arm. "Chloe Grant, your new partner," she continued, putting the briefcase down and offering her hand. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled, checking his anger slightly. "Michael Callavelo, but you can call me Mickey," he was surprised by the power in her grip. That was generally a good thing. He quickly released her hand, taking a moment to look over her. She wasn't overly beautiful, but she definitely wasn't nasty to look at. She had long locks of sandy blond hair, which she wore loosely pulled into an elastic, wisps hanging behind her ears. Her eyes matched her light azure blazer. She wore a pair of dress pants and some comfortable looking loafers. In other words, the image of a typical agent. Finally he smiled, feeling most of the anger he had previously felt, draining out of him. He looked to the coffee pot and then nodded. "Coffee?" he asked. "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got some Ginseng tea that I'm going to brew up a little later," she replied, picking up her briefcase again. She made her way to the other desk, putting down the file folders and looking around a bit. "Nice office," she said, smiling. "Yeah. Guess who had it before us?" "Spooky Mulder?" "Yup. That's him. He and Doctor Dana Scully had worked here for four years before getting promoted. Now it's ours." "So we can continue on the X-Files. . ." She said, nodding at the small office. "Listen, I don't know if you could tell, but I'm not really all that happy about being here. I'm not even sure just what an X- File is. I mean," he paused, gathering thoughts and trying to assemble them in a reasonable fashion. "I mean, I know they have to do with paranormal but I just don't see--" He stopped, frustrated that his words wouldn't come out. "Mickey, I want to show you something," Chloe said, pulling up a chair and opening one of the folders that she'd carried in. She spread a bunch of black and white photos out on the desk and moved back, allowing him to study them. "What is this?" He asked, swallowing nervously. The grin had long since faded from her face. "Our first case," she said, leaning back in the chair and putting her feet up on the desk, hands linked behind her head. As he studied the photos Mickey began to feel sick. Each photo showed a young child, between the age of eight and twelve. Six in all, and most of them were females. He couldn't tell, just by looking, what had killed them, but he was sure that the report would detail that much information. He raised an eyebrow and picked up one of the photos for a closer look. He looked to his new partner, wondering what she thought of the situation. She stared forward, towards the door, no expression on her face. He put the photo down and cleared his throat. "Uhm, where's the autopsy reports?" he asked, picking through the folder. "Right here," she said and flipped to the very last page of the file. She looked up at him then, a grimace on her face. "I don't know what you believe about human DNA testing, but this case is clear cut. Those children were used in some sort of experiments. Their circulatory systems have been completely changed. The blood is not red, it's green." "G-green?" "Yes, green." "That's impossible." "I know, but this is the X-Files. I've been told to expect anything." "But this is our first case!" "I know, that's what I thought, but apparently they aren't going to let us get used to this stuff. I'm supposed to have a meeting with Agent Mulder to discuss this case, but frankly that man scares me," she said, tilting her head forward and groaning. "Would you like me to go with you?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside her. "I wouldn't mind. I just don't know what to tell him. We've been here for less than an hour and we're already onto our first case. No time to prepare. Nothing!" she cried. "Maybe he can give us some advice to get us going," Mickey suggested. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a package of Certs. "Mint?" he asked. She shook her head, and sighed. The two of them studied the case, discussing possibilities and leads, uncomfortable with such a strange case to start off their work. What neither knew, was that the cases would only get stranger. ----- Grandure Cafe Quantico, VA 12:34 PM "Here. Take a look at this," Fox Mulder said, tossing a picture towards Dana Scully. She eyed him curiously for a moment. Both were seated outside at a cafe, beneath a big umbrella. Scully sipped at a root beer, Mulder an iced tea. "Mulder," she said, glancing at her watch. "It's almost time for my classes to start again." She picked up the picture and glanced at it. She raised her eyes. "So?" She asked, putting the picture down again and pushing it across the table towards him. "So? Scully, this is the most recent X-File." "Mulder, we're not part of the X-Files anymore," Scully pointed out. "I know that. The agent who's now in the department called me up this morning. Name's Chloe Grant, her partner's Michael Callavelo, anyway, she's new to this sort of case and she wanted a little advice. I told her that I would meet with her at three today and help her out a bit, but you've got to take a look at the autopsy report." "Mulder, I have to teach in twenty minutes, I don't have time for this," she said, pushing back her chair. "Please?" he begged. She stopped as she had begun to get up, and leaned across the table, putting her face just inches from his. "Forget it," she said. "You made me get that damned bed!" "Which has absolutely nothing to do with this." "I need your help." "It's not your case." "They'll fuck it up." "Mulder, stop it! You're going to have to accept that the X- Files aren't yours anymore. You gave them up in order to further your career. I gave them up so that I could go teach, which is what I'm going to do." "The autopsy report, it's on your desk. Take a look at it." "I'll see," she said as she walked away from the table. As she passed the waiter, she gave him a few bills, covering her meal, and walked quickly away. Mulder watched as she disappeared into a crowd of people on the sidewalk. He smiled when she was gone, musing that she could be so stubborn, but he guessed it was his own fault. He had arranged for the promotions and now he had to live with the consequences. But that didn't mean that he had to completely give up the X-Files. While he had faith in the new agents, he knew he would be able to pull their strings from his new position. His grin increased as he began to think about all the things he could now do. ***** End Part Two T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Three ----- Quantico FBI Training Facility Quantico, VA Offices of Dana Scully 2:00 PM Dana glanced at the file folder that had been left on her desk. After looking at that picture today, she found herself wondering just what was in the file. She hated the way Fox Mulder could make her do anything he wanted. She hated to feel that vulnerability. She glanced around the office. She had been given a large office and she even had a secretary. A secretary, a wonderful young man who seemed pleased to be working for her. For some reason, a male secretary seemed out of place, but she supposed it was part of the evolution of the male dominance thing. Scully put her hand on the folder, then it finally called to her one last time. She pulled out her glasses and slipped them on. "Fine, Mulder, just this last time!" she mumbled to herself, eliciting look from her secretary, who sat at his desk just outside the open door. She smiled and waved at him, then gingerly opened the folder, almost afraid to see what was inside. Before she could begin to read the first line, she heard muffled voices. She looked up to find a very tall, blond haired woman and a slightly shorter black haired man, standing outside the door conferring with her secretary. She frowned, stood up and went to the door, watching the exchange. She cleared her throat and watched as all three turned in her direction. "Is there a problem here?" she asked, using an authoritative voice. "No, no problem--" the secretary began, but the tall woman, who's eyes had lit up and widened, stepped forward and pushed her hand toward Scully. "Dana Scully, I'm so very pleased to finally meet you!" Scully glanced over the woman and her expression softened. She didn't know this woman, but was impressed by the aura that she presented. She reached out and gripped her hand. She glanced to the man beside the woman, who was standing very straight, in a professional manner. He, too, gave her the impression of being a take-charge kind of guy. Her gaze returned to the woman as their handshake ended. "Forgive me, but should I know you two?" Scully asked, nodding toward the man. "Oh, my God," the woman said, and the man cringed slightly. "I completely gapped. I'm Special Agent Chloe Grant and this is Special Agent Michael Callavelo. We're in charge of the X-Files department." It finally dawned on Scully, and she nodded, smiling. Mulder had done it again. "Agent Mulder sent you here, didn't he?" she asked, stepping aside and allowing them to enter her office. Scully smiled as they walked past, shrugged to her secretary then followed them in, closing the door behind her. "Actually, no. Agent Mulder hasn't seen us yet," she said, and then Scully remembered that his appointment wasn't until three. "I see, well, what can I help you with?" Scully said as she took a seat across from them at her desk. "To tell the truth, I had to meet you. I followed your work all through Quantico, hoping that I'd get the chance to finally meet you. Acquiring your old department has given me the excuse to introduce myself to you. I'm sorry, it seems a little out of hand, but I just love the work you do," Grant said, smiling. Scully was awed. No one had ever seemed to take an interest in her work. Despite herself, she felt that somehow without having known each other, they had bonded. There was just something about the woman that reminded Scully of her sister Melissa, something that made her feel like protecting the younger agent. "Well, I'm flattered," she mumbled, not knowing what else to say. The man beside the woman looked up and grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. "Something wrong, Agent?" Scully asked, leaning back in the chair. "Oh, no. Nothing. I'm sorry, just clearing my throat," he said, without looking up from his hands which were twisting in his lap. "He's just sore that I dragged him out here," Chloe said, and gave Mickey a smile. He just smiled sarcastically at her and shrugged. "That's not it at all. May I be frank?" he asked, straightening his back even more. "Always," Scully said. She wasn't used to this treatment, especially from other agents. After all, she was still an agent, it wasn't as though she were his superior. "Well, to begin with, I've never followed your work very closely and I'm not sure what your role as Mulder's partner was, but I just seem to have this old fashioned Italian opinion that women are supposed to be at--" He stopped, a glare from Chloe cutting off his sentence. Scully watched as Grant cut him into pieces with her eyes, and she nearly burst out laughing. "Michael," Scully began. "Mickey, please." "Fine. Mickey, I want you to understand that I'm not insulted by what you're trying to say. It seems to me that you've insulted your partner even more than you have me, but as Mulder's partner, I was an equal. We both had our share of work and we both did things that might have seemed incorrect. You'll find that with the X-Files, no matter how hard you try, there will be instances when you just cannot follow the rules," she stopped, allowing them to process what she was saying. Grant seemed to be beaming, while Callavelo realized his bias and backed off a bit. She knew he hadn't meant any harm, probably part of his upbringing. She didn't know much about either of the agents, but they both seemed suitable for the positions they had been awarded. She could tell just by looking at them that they weren't getting along too well. Grant struck her as no-nonsense kind of woman, while Callavelo too appeared to have strong leadership skills. Together they would be able to make impeccable decisions, however, unlike Mulder's split-second ones. It would be good for both of them, and they would be less likely to get into any trouble. "I know that you requested Agent Mulder's help in your first case, which I admit seems a little off, and I'm sure he will be of great service to you," Scully added, then glanced at her watch. "Is there anything I can help you with?" "Well, Agent Grant has discussed your forensics capabilities with me, and I must admit your credentials are excellent, so I wonder if you could possibly look over the autopsy report and give us a little input," Mickey said quietly. He looked Scully in the eye, as if trying to determine her reaction. "I'd be happy to. In fact, I have it right here; however, I have another class that I am supposed to teach and I must get going. Is there somewhere I can contact you?" She asked. After exchanging business cards, Scully walked both agents out of her office. It had definitely been an interesting meeting. To top it all off, Scully was surprised when Grant asked if she could sit in on one of her classes, explaining that she had minored in forensics. After seeing Mickey to his car, Chloe had slipped into the classroom a few minutes after the class had begun and sat patiently listening, a perma-smile glued to her face. Scully definitely liked this woman. ----- FBI Headquarters Washington, DC 2:35 pm Fox Mulder was almost ready to cry. The pile of folders on his 'new' desk easily surmounted any he had accumulated on his 'old' desk in the basement. The difference being the old folders were files that held his interest. The new folders were cases that belonged to someone else, some other agent, under him in the chain of command, who was the designated agent and had done the work, dug out the clues, figured the puzzle. His only purpose in the whole process was to read the file, decide if the proper procedures were followed, and recommend whether the investigation was complete (ready for prosecution), incomplete (returned to the agent for further investigation) or 'unsolved'--one of his formerly beloved X-Files. It was a growing temptation to label ALL of the files with an X, but even Mulder had to answer to someone, and he didn't think the response from above would be favorable. He stared out the window and didn't even notice the petite brunette who entered the room and gently place more folders on the corner of his desk. "Sir, should I 'file' some of these for you?" a voice asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Not till I actually finish with one of them, Tracy. I think that's the general point here, that I finish them and then give them to you. Did I miss something in that procedure?" he replied, more gruffly than he had intended. Her face fell and he was sure she was going to bolt from the room. He immediately regretted his comment. "I'm sorry, Tracy, I didn't mean that. I just. . .I just hate paperwork, that's all. So much paper, so few matches, you know what I mean?" he grinned, trying to make it up to her. Tracy gave him a knowing smile. "It's not what you thought it would be, is it, sir?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. Mulder was a bit taken back. "I am that obvious about it?" he whined. "No, but I notice that Dr. Scully's number is the first one on your speed dial. And you do seem to put off reading the files that you have to pass along. And I catch you staring out the window about 50 times a day. That isn't the image of the 'workaholic Spooky Mulder' that I was expecting my first day as your assistant." One thing she had figured out about him, you didn't lie to Fox Mulder and stay in his good graces. Tracy didn't pull any punches with him, and he hadn't for her, either. "One time, when I had finished a profile and the guy got caught, Reggie Purdue told me I'd make ASAC before 35. I didn't want to believe him. I couldn't imagine a worse fate. So here I am, 35 and an ASAC. It's scary. But it doesn't get the work done, does it," he smiled, but it didn't make it all the way to his eyes. She gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and went to the doorway. "It will grow on you, sir," she smiled at him. "Like nose hair?" he quipped in reply. "Or athlete's foot," she joked in return and closed the door behind her. Mulder reluctantly picked up the folder on the top of the pile and put on his glasses, starting to read. "Use the damn spell check, next time," he groused at the absent agent who had written the report. Once he got started, he actually managed to finish several files before Tracy was at his door to interrupt him. "I know how 'engrossed' you are right now, sir, but Agent Callavelo is here to see you," she said with a wink. Mulder broke into a grin and handed her the files he had completed. "Get these out of my sight, before I declare all of them unsolved," he whispered. "And send Agent Callavelo in," he added. Mickey Callavelo took a deep breath and walked into the office. He extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Mulder." "Now, would that be because we're both pariah in the Bureau, or because you can't make heads or tails out of your first case, Callavelo?" Mulder replied with a grin, shaking the younger man's hand firmly. It took him about two seconds to size up Mickey. What he saw was a lot like looking in a mirror. "Well, it's always nice to meet ALL the local outcasts, sir. Especially the ones who've managed to hang on long enough to get windows in their offices," Mickey shot back. "But actually, I'm here because my partner, Agent Grant, seems to think you can help us with this investigation. What gave her the idea that you're even interested in the X-Files anymore is beyond me." "Oh, I'm interested, Callavelo. In fact, I think you've got yourselves a doozy in this one. But you've been through the Academy. You must have some first impressions. What are your thoughts?" Mulder asked, directing the conversation away from a dangerous topic--his interest. "Quite frankly, it looks like a serial killer, in my opinion. One who preys on children. Not all that unusual," Mickey answered truthfully. "Until you get to the part about 'green blood'," Mulder interjected. ". . .until you get to that part, yes sir," Mickey said as a frown crossed his face. "But then, that could be a hoax," he added. Now it was Mulder's turn to frown. "You think a licensed Medical Examiner would go along with a 'hoax' like that one, Callavelo? Where did you grow up, Chicago?" Mickey shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "Yes, sir," he said tersely. "Well, maybe the ME in Cook County is willing to go out on a limb, but if you talk to a good pathologist. . ." "Like Dr. Scully?" Mickey interrupted. Mulder shot him a fierce look. Mickey noted to himself. "Yes, like Dr. Scully," Mulder intoned. "You would understand that draining a body of all its blood and substituting another substance usually leaves some kind of damage. And from what I remember of the report, that damage was not apparent. That blood was in those children's bodies BEFORE they died, Mr. Callavelo. If you have a hard time dealing with that, well, this is going to get to be a REAL rocky road before this investigation is over." "Besides, somebody would have picked that up before they shoved it down in the basement," a female voice chimed in from the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt, Agent Mulder. I'm Chloe Grant, Mickey's partner. I was just with Dr. Scully. She took a few minutes out of her schedule to read over the autopsy reports. She doesn't feel the blood is a hoax. She mentioned some files in a tunnel, if you have any idea what she was referring to," Chloe added. "Come in and take a seat, Agent Grant," Mulder offered. he thought to himself. "So, I take it that you are more willing to go beyond the realm of normal science to figure out what happened to those children before they were murdered, Agent Grant?" "It's my understanding that if these cases could be explained using conventional methods, they wouldn't be 'unexplainable' to begin with, sir," Chloe said, staring him directly in the eye. Meanwhile, Mickey coughed loudly into his hand. "And you have another opinion, Mr. Callavelo?" Mulder asked, a bit amused by Mickey's reaction. "I've seen things get overlooked, sir. And sometimes, the label 'unexplained' can cover a multitude of sins," he said, not backing down an inch. "Sins, Agent? Whose sins?" Mulder asked. "Sins of the investigators, sins of an ASAC who could really give a damn. . ." Mickey retorted. "Well, I see we've strayed into some shark infested waters, here," Mulder said, taking a deep breath. "First, let me tell you that Bureau procedure may not be up to your ever exacting standards, Mr. Callavelo, but it's still pretty damn good. And if a field agent files the report properly, the man or woman above him then makes the decision where it goes next. ASAC's don't grow on trees, Mr. Callavelo. They aren't in their positions by the Peter Principle, either. They are field agents who have earned their place. If the procedure looks sloppy, it's just as easy to dump it back on the agent's lap than it is to shove to the basement. And it's usually frowned upon to have too many X-Files, anyway. They're generally considered 'unseemly'," Mulder let the words drip with acid. For the briefest of seconds it occurred to him that he was _defending_ the chain of command. he wondered, but quickly returned to stared Mickey in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, Agent Mulder," Mickey interrupted. "I know there are strange things in this world. And I'm ready to accept that sometimes science does not hold all the answers. But if I was condemned to the basement because I am expected to believe that little green men. . ." "Little gray men," Chloe and Mulder interjected in perfect chorus, then looked at each other, surprised. Chloe blushed and bit her lip. Mickey closed his eyes and shook his head. Mulder took pity on him. "Not every case will have 'little gray men', Agent Callavelo. You just got lucky the first time out. But I think Dr. Scully might have stumbled onto something when she mentioned the 'files in the tunnel'," Mulder said, turning the conversation back to the case. "Is that like the 'White Lodge' on Twin Peaks?" Mickey muttered under his breath. Mulder shot him a look, and Mickey, for once, used good judgment and shut up. The discussion last the better part of an hour. It was finally decided that only going out to the crime scenes and starting the real work of investigation was going to get them anywhere. Mulder dismissed them both, waited for them to get out of earshot, and picked up the phone. "Well, what do you think," he asked, not bothering with such trivial things as greetings. "About the case or about the Bobbsey twins," Scully asked lightly. "I can wait to hear what you think of the case, I've just gone toe to toe with Callavelo. What do you think of the . . . who the hell are the Bobbsey twins?" Mulder replied, putting his feet on the desk and getting comfortable. "Never mind," Scully giggled. "I've got a class in 5 minutes. I spent my break time with Chloe. How about you come over to my place after work? We can finish off that pizza from Sunday and hash this thing out, since you refuse to let it alone," she teased. "Hey, it's my job to keep on top of the agents under my direct chain of command," Mulder said, trying to sound official. "So that's what their calling 'sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong' these days?" Scully laughed. "Just for that, I'm not helping with the dishes," he threatened. "So what else is new? See you around 6:30," she laughed and hung up. ----- End Part Three -- T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Four ----- FBI Headquarters Basement office 4:05 pm Chloe hadn't said a word to him all the way downstairs. She would occasionally look over at him with an expression of frustration and exasperation. Upon entering their office, she immediately set to work making travel arrangements for their trip and continued to ignore his existence. Mickey had kicked himself all the way downstairs. he had assured himself. He looked over at Chloe. Chloe--'green sprout', the Greek word sprung into his head. Jolly Green Giant seemed more appropriate. His sisters were tiny little things who all married big burly football types. His own mother barely hit 5' 2". But for all that height, his partner had the word 'sucker' permanently tattooed on her forehead, he decided. 'Little GRAY men', what was that all about? Green, gray, what difference, the idea of ET coming down and substituting kids' blood still made no sense at all to him. And then Mulder had backed her up. Told them both that finding out what caused the green blood could very well lead to who was killing those kids and why. It was a link, and certainly strange enough not to be just a coincidence. This was nuts. he decided to himself. Chloe hung up the phone and looked over at him. She had to admit, he looked miserable. she mused. But for all his abrasiveness, he didn't seem stupid. He had held up his end of the debate, and against the BOTH of them, Chloe and Mulder. He had even had some decent ideas, mixed in with all the nay-saying. Chloe sighed. Her gut was telling her to give this guy a chance. And her gut was rarely wrong. "So, what did you study in school? Diplomacy?" she asked out of the blue. He seemed shocked to hear her voice. "Ah, no. Sociology. And theology," he added softly. "Oh, you _should_ have studied diplomacy, then," she said. "It's usually considered bad form to piss off everyone you meet, you know," she added, but there was humor in her voice. Mickey looked up from his close examination of the top of his desk and stared at her. She wasn't really mad, he decided. Sort of ready to strangle him if he pulled a stunt like that again, but not mad enough to request a transfer, or maybe another partner. "Yeah, well, where I grew up, diplomacy was for sissies," he grinned. "It shows," she retorted. "But it doesn't help us solve this case, so, let's start over. I've got us on a 7:35 flight out of National tomorrow morning. What say we knock off a little early so we can pack and get some shut eye. I'll meet you at Gate 15 at five after seven. Okay?" "You go on home. I want to sort through some stuff here first." Chloe shrugged and gathered up her things. As she was almost out the door when he called to her. "Ah, Grant. . ." "I prefer Chloe," she said quietly. "Chloe, then. Ah, I was a real jerk today, and I apologize. I'm just. . ." "Over your head? Completely blown away? Ready to escape to wire tap surveillance?" she interrupted, trying to be helpful. Mickey started to get angry, but caught himself and chuckled a little. "Well, not quite ready for wire tap, YET. But you have to understand. . ." "You like things neat, orderly and to make some sort of sense?" she interrupted, again. "You're going to keep doing that, aren't you?" he grinned. "It seems safer than letting you complete your own sentences," she teased. "Look, I understand. Just promise me one thing. . ." "And that is. . ." "Try and keep an open mind. I don't care if you go looking for the 'conventional' explanation all the time. But when it doesn't fit, promise me you won't just throw up your hands and give up looking. Deal?" "Deal. Partner," he added sheepishly. "Sure looks that way," she smiled in return. "See you in the morning." ----- Annapolis, MD Apartment Of D. Scully 7:45 PM Scully had long since decided that Mulder wasn't going to show. She paused before the telephone wondering if she should call him, but decided against it. It was fine with her that he hadn't shown up. She was exhausted after having taught three classes that day. Not to mention the bombardment of questions from Agent Grant. She waved a hand in the air above the phone and padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where she slipped out of her clothes and into a housecoat. She then proceeded into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Discarding the house coat, she stepped into the shower and blessed the warmth of the water as it drilled onto her aching back. She sighed, turning over the events of the day in her mind. She focused especially on the autopsy. She didn't know what to tell Mulder. It seemed like one of the cases they had run into in the past. The phrase "Purity Control" came to her mind and she considered possible connections to the case. She frowned as she remembered how one of their most trusted informants had lost his life during that case. The only apparent connection was the 'green' blood. Scully would definitely have to see more information to come to a certain conclusion, however from the looks of it, it was one of the cases that Mulder would definitely have an interest in. It suddenly occurred to her that he just might try to somehow gain a little control of it. For his own good, she vowed that she would prevent him from doing so, even if it meant following along with him until she had a chance to deter him. She sighed, scrubbing the last of the soap from her hair, adding conditioner and finally shutting off the water. She pulled back the shower door, grabbed a towel and began to dry her hair. She stepped out, finding another towel to cover her soaking body, as she stepped into the hall. She padded to her room and was just about to begin dressing when a sharp, loud knock came at the door. "Mulder, you pick the damnedest of times!" she mumbled to herself, then shouted, "Hold on!" as she secured the towel a little tighter against her body and went to the doorway. Out of habit, she peeked out the peep hole and discovered that it was indeed Mulder. She sighed, shaking her wet head, droplets of water spraying in every direction. She unlocked the door and opened it a crack. "You're late," she said. He nodded, pushing the door open further. "I know and I'm sorry," he said, as he stepped inside. He took a moment to regard her, a smile creeping across his face. He nodded at her, and she sneered. "Just a minute. Make yourself at home while I go get changed," she said, feeling a little self conscious. "Do you have to?" he teased, playfully tugging at the edge of the towel. "Mulder!" Scully cried, swatting at his hand with her one free hand. The other grasped the towel, holding onto it for dear life. "I should have known better," she mumbled, stepping away. "Okay go! Go on. But I can't say that I'll like it," he said, trying to look sad. Scully laughed and quickly disappeared down the hallway. Once in her room, she leaned against the door, allowing herself to calm down. For some reason his meaningless teasing had made her feel warm. She paused, deciding what would be good to wear. She finally decided that a pair of loose jeans and a sweat shirt, would suffice. She pulled the clothes gratefully on, and then joined Mulder in the living room. Fox Mulder glanced up from the medical journal he held in his hand when she entered the room. He sighed, wishing she'd perhaps worn something a little more revealing. He surprised himself with these thoughts, but he'd been suppressing them for years and he knew he was sick of it. He also knew that Scully wouldn't purposely wear something provocative, especially after the way he'd teased her. It just wasn't her style. He smiled, returning his gaze to the journal. "So, what's your excuse? You were supposed to be here around six thirty. . ." "Scully, I was at the office getting a copy of this," he said, reaching behind him on the couch and presenting her with a rather fat looking manilla folder. "And this is. . . ?" "That is all the current information gathered on the case." "Mulder, you have to at least give them a chance!" she said as she crossed the room and sat in an overstuffed chair across from him. She drew her legs up beneath her and put the file primly in her lap. Once again his thoughts strayed to her appearance. He allowed them to linger for just a moment before pushing them away. He was supposed to be in a professional mode right now and those thoughts were definitely not in that category. "A chance, Scully? They're getting their chance, but I'm going to be there just to help them along." "Did you ask if they wanted your help?" "No--" "Well, then forget it! You can't continue to do this. If you really wanted to hold onto the X-Files, you shouldn't have accepted the promotion." Scully's words bit into him like a hot knife into butter. He resisted the urge to become upset and scream. She was right, of course. He had no one to blame but himself. As the words flowed from her mouth, her expression suddenly changed to one of pity as she realized the grave mistake she'd just made. "Mulder, I'm sorry! I--" He waved a hand. "Don't worry, Scully. I deserved it," he said, dismissing it, although it still hurt. "How about you just tell me what you thought of the autopsy," he continued, ignoring the previous conversation. "As I mentioned before, I'd have to say it's definitely something that we've seen before. But I can't seem to put it all together. Anything we've seen before has mostly involved adults et cetera, not younger children." She shifted position, the file sliding on her lap, then continued. "I mentioned to Grant about the files in the tunnel, hoping that you'd explain further. Did you?" "Yeah, I quickly outlined what we found for them and gave them the ID number for the X-File case they could find more information under." Mulder sighed. He wasn't sure if he should mention something he'd been thinking about earlier that day, or if he should just let it go. She certainly didn't like the idea of his poking into the case. "Mulder?" Scully asked. He realized he'd been staring off into space. He decided he had better tell her what he was thinking, instead of trying to hide it. He knew that sooner or late she'd figure it out. "Scully, I've been thinking. I don't know how to say this but, well, I think this case has something to do with the disappearance of my sister. If not, then I think it's similar," he whispered, silently praying that she wouldn't discard the idea. She looked shocked, then her eyebrows knit together as she considered the idea. She closed her eyes and Mulder felt his heart sink. "I thought about that too, Mulder. I just didn't want to get your hopes up," she admitted quietly. He almost didn't catch her words. He regarded her for a moment, then she slowly opened her eyes and showed him a sadness that ran deeper than simple sorrow. "I think you should let them take care of it, Mulder," she whispered. "I can't do that! I have to find out for myself! It's got to be the key. We were so close to finding out what happened after my father died but we lost everything!" It had been over a year since his father had died, and her sister too. Both for the same cause and both in the wrong. "You of all people should understand that," he said, fighting to hold back the tears. "I do understand. . . It's just that. . . Well, to put it mildly, I don't think that we'll find Sam." "How can you say that?" he asked. "Mulder--" "No. Listen, we've got to take this case. You've got to help me. . ." "You're not understanding what I'm saying. I'm saying no. For once, why don't you just accept that! Accept the fact that I can't follow you around on a case that you'd be stealing from perfectly competent agents. Mulder, no matter how much it hurts me to say this, I think it's time to let go. It's time to start your life again," she said, untucking herself from the chair and walking over to grasp his hands. "Mulder, for me, for Agents Callavelo and Grant, let this one go. . .Please?" she nearly begged. "I can't, Scully," Mulder said, breaking free from her grip. "I can't do that. I've got to find out for myself." In the pit of his stomach he felt he'd been betrayed by the last person he trusted. He couldn't stay here. "Look, I've got to go." "Mulder, please. I'm sor--" she began, standing aside as he abruptly stood. "Don't apologize, Scully. You've spent the better half of the evening apologizing. You've told me how you really feel, now I've got to accept that and move on," he said, grabbing his coat which he'd shed and placed on a chair beside the entrance. He reached the front door, yanked it open and stepped out into the hallway. "Mulder! Let me explain!" she cried as his footsteps echoed down the hallway. He did not turn around to glance back. Dana Scully slammed the door shut, kicking herself for destroying any hope that she had of keeping Mulder out of the case. If anything she'd made it worse and she'd perhaps destroyed any trust they had shared. She hadn't realized it, but tears of hot anger were streaming down her face. She hadn't meant to ruin a perfectly fine evening. She cursed herself, walking into the kitchen and pulling out a shot glass. A shot of her favorite liqueur would hopefully dull some of the pain. Perhaps enough to sleep. ----- End Part Four -- T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie M. & Char H. vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Five ----- September 2, 1996 8:15 AM Mickey watched the clouds float lazily by as he fought to keep himself awake. Airplanes always lulled him to sleep. The view out the window wasn't helping much, however. Finally he decided it was hopeless to even bother trying. He shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He breathed heavily. Beside him, Chloe afforded him a look. He could feel her eyes on him. He smiled, then turned his head toward her, opening his eyes. "Problem?" he asked, gently. "Uh, not that I know of," she said, a slight blush coming to her cheeks as she looked quickly away. He smiled, closing his eyes again and attempting to get more comfortable. "Actually--" His eyes snapped open. "What?" "I've been thinking about this case. . ." she trailed off, biting her lower lip. "What about it?" he asked, sitting up. Perhaps she'd be able to keep him awake. "Well, Mulder seemed a lot more interested in the case than he was letting on." "And what has that got to do with anything?" "Doesn't that seem odd to you? Shouldn't he be more worried about his current position than what we're up to?" "Old habits die hard?" "Come on, I'm being serious. I think he wants this case." "He's not a field agent anymore." "It doesn't matter." "Sure it does," Mickey was beginning to feel a little annoyed at her line of thought. If Mulder had wanted their case, he would have asked for it, or reassigned it. "What you're suggesting doesn't make sense. Why would he want our case anyway? He's probably sick of the X-Files by now." Mickey shrugged, looking out the window. "You're not understanding what I'm saying. Fox Mulder took care of the X-Files for years. I think you were partly right about old habits dying hard, but I think there's more to it." She sighed, dropping the subject at Mickey's obvious denial. "Let me ask you a question," he said, looking into her azure eyes. She nodded, matching his gaze. "Do you think we're going to get along at all?" "Oh come on! I thought we already went over this! I think we're just going to have to adjust. I have the perfect idea! You'll have to wait to find out though. . ." she said, giving him the most mischievous smile he'd ever seen. "Okay, I'm sorry. It's just that every time one of us mentions something we end up arguing," he said quietly. "That's what being partners is all about," she smiled, patting his shoulder gently. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Besides, you're cute. I wouldn't give you up for the world." With that he felt his cheeks burn as the blood flowed to his face. He inched away. She smiled at making him uncomfortable and he realized he'd made yet another mistake. He'd revealed another part of himself to her ever watchful eye. he chided himself. He sighed, swearing he would get her back. He wasn't comfortable at having her make even playful passes at him, but he would definitely have something ready for her the next time. ----- Washington, DC Offices of Fox Mulder 9:30 AM "Good morning, Tracy. Is Mulder in the office?" Dana Scully asked his assistant. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, not sure how Mulder would react that she had come here, after having upset him so badly last night. She felt terrible about it and had hoped to make amends by telling him that she would help him out, despite any misgivings she had about it. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder just left to catch a flight to South Carolina," the brunette answered. "Dammit!" Scully cursed, winning a startled look from Tracy. "Sorry, it's just that I need to speak with him. How long ago did you say he left?" "About an hour ago. His flight was for ten o'clock this morning," Scully cursed again, silently. "Thanks," she said, before turning on her heel and quickly leaving. She rushed away, meanwhile pulling out her cellular phone. She impatiently waited for the elevator, dialing Mulder's number. "You have reached the Motex cellular phone system. We are sorry to say that the client you are currently trying to reach is not available. Please hang--" Scully growled, pushing the END button on the telephone and placing it back into her pocket. She checked her watch and found that she only had a half an hour to find Mulder. When she reached the airport, Scully rushed into the terminal, keeping her eyes open for Mulder. She made her way to the ticket booth and purchased a ticket for South Carolina using her VISA. She stationed herself near the exit gate for their flight and it wasn't long before Mulder wandered around the corner. He didn't see her until she stepped in front of him, holding her hand out. "Scully," he sighed, looking away. "I don't really want to talk to you right now." "I know, Mulder. I have to say this though. You're right, I think this case is important. I considered it all night last night and I decided that we better take a look at it," she said, putting her hand on his chest. He still would not look at her. It was almost as if he hadn't heard her. "Listen to me, Mulder. I know I hurt you last night, but you have to understand my viewpoint as well." "If you came here to stop me. . ." he said, raising his eyes and finally locking her in a painful stare. She held it. "I'm going with you," she said quietly. His face softened and he regarded her carefully. "No, you're not," he said. "Don't you dare argue with me. I fought with myself all night about this and nothing you can say is going to stop me from going with you," she said, putting both her hands on his shoulders. His stern look slowly faded to one of happiness. "But first, I need your forgiveness, Mulder. I shouldn't have said a lot of the things I did, and I know that it's going to hurt for a long time now, but I need to know that you've forgiven me." "You know, Scully," he whispered, his face close to hers. "It's awfully difficult to hate your best friend longer than a day." He smiled, weakly. "I've had some time to think about it too, and I think I was wrong to get as upset as I did. You're forgiven." She smiled with relief and on the spur of the moment reached up and enveloped him in a quick hug. He hugged back, pulling her close to him. He released her a short time later, glancing down at her. "Where's your luggage?" he asked, knowing that she'd decided to go with him. She smiled, holding up her VISA. "Right here," she said, putting it into her wallet and patting it softly. He laughed and began to walk towards the exit, as the final call for their departure flight rattled over the system. ----- End Part Five -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. That goes for parts 2-5 too. I forgot to include the disclaimer on them. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Six ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina 12:00 noon Finding Orangeburg had been easy. The town was right off Interstate 26 going south from Columbia. Finding the police station was another matter. It soon became apparent to Chloe that Mickey would have difficulty finding his way out of a paper bag. "I suppose it would crush your male ego to stop at a gas station and ask directions," she hinted, not really wanting to upset him, but getting pretty upset herself. "We told the Chief of Police we'd be there half an hour ago when I called him from the airport." Mickey shot her a glare. "I'm sure he'll wait. It's not like we're keeping them from dinner or anything," he told her. "Besides, these small towns all look alike to me. I can never figure out where they hide the police station." "You might try the building across from the post office and next to the fire station," Chloe suggested helpfully. Sure enough, the sign out front proclaimed the police station of Orangeburg. She smiled innocently at him. He shook his head in disgust. "Okay, Agent Smartypants, next time, YOU drive in the small towns," he grumbled. She smiled triumphantly. "Don't worry, Mickey. I'm sure you do SOME things VERY well," she teased and had to stifle a giggle at his immediate blush. This was too much fun to be true. The small police station was fairly typical. The dispatcher sat at a desk in the corner, a receptionist sat at a desk in the front. No bullet proof glass, no indication of high traffic in the dregs of society. Just an office. Off to the back was a door proclaiming "Chief". Mickey walked up to the receptionist, an older heavy set black woman with warm eyes and a big smile, and he introduced them. "Hello, Ms. . ." he checked the nameplate on the desk. It said 'Rosy'. "Ah, Rosy. We're Agents Callavelo and Grant, with the FBI. We're here to see. . ." Rosy cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Y' all here to see Charlie. I'll git him." She turned in her chair and put a hand to her mouth. "Char-LIE, the F B I is here," she shouted. "Finally," she added, under her breath. Then she looked up at Mickey and Chloe. "He'll be right with you," she smiled. The door in the back swung open and a tall black man in his mid thirties came out with a scowl on his face. "Aunt Rosy, when are you going to learn how to use that intercom I got you for Christmas?" he grumbled. He only needed to take a couple of strides to reach them. Eyeing them both, he held out his hand. "I'm Charlie Russell, Chief of Police. You must be Callavelo and Grant." He looked each agent in the eye as he said their names. Chloe noticed that he got it right, the first time. "C'mon into my office. Aunt Rosy, git us some of that coffee you made me buy this morning. And this time, lay off the chicory!" Once seated in the office, Chief Russell pulled out a file from the standing file on his desk. He sighed heavily and handed it over to the agents. "I sent all this up to DC, but here's the original. I gotta tell you, this is the first time I've been up against a serial killer. I mean, I took that 6 weeks course up in Virginia when I got this job, but I never thought we'd have to deal with that in Orangeburg. I know a lot of cops don't like having the FBI messing in their pastures, but I'm damn glad to see you two and I intend to cooperate in any way I can." "All six of the children came from the area," Chloe noted. She had read the files so many times she could quote them, but she wanted a place to start. "Any idea if they are connected in any way--aside from the. . ." "The blood," Russell cut in. "Well, yeah, there is a connection. Each of those kids came from a foster home. Not the same foster home, mind you. They were all wards of the state of South Carolina. Couple of them, the 13 year old, Nancy Kohl, and the 10 year old, Jaime Porter, they were orphans. The others were just. . .abandoned." "Had they lived in Orangeburg all their lives?" Mickey asked, taking notes. "Nah. They come from Columbia, Greenville, Spartanburg, Charleston. Most of them probably had druggies for mamas. The state got 'em when they were little and never allowed 'em to be adopted. Damned shame, too. Poor little guys were just throw aways in the system. Never had a chance." He stared off into space for a moment. "Did the children 'interact' in anyway? Go to the same school, perhaps?" Chloe asked. "There's only one school in town, Agent Grant. It's got Kindergarten to High School. But aside from being in the same school, there wasn't any 'interaction' that I could find. None of 'em were in any clubs, 4-H or the like. None of 'em were that smart, though little Nancy was in the church choir. She had a voice sweet as honey, that one. Other than that, they went to school, some rode buses home, some walked. No patterns that I could find. They didn't even follow the same routes to school." He looked closely at Chloe. "You're thinking it might be somebody at the school?" "We have to look at all the possibilities, Chief. There is a lot of documentation of cases where a school employee, a janitor or such, has committed crimes against the children there. I understand the last two victims are still at the morgue. Do you think we could go over there and see them?" Chloe asked. Russell checked his watch. "Doc Marburg usually takes his lunch about one. He's the coroner. Mebbe Aunt Rosy can catch him." He reached over to his phone and punched a button. "Aunt Rosy, git Doc on the phone. These folks want to see the bodies." Mickey and Chloe both had to suppress grins when the shouted answer came back a few minutes later. "Meet him at the clinic in 10 minutes, Charlie," Rosy hollered through the closed door. Russell shook his head in disgust. "Can't teach an old dog. . ." he muttered. The ride to the coroner's office was short, just four blocks. Chloe couldn't help but notice the look of apprehension on Mickey's face. "You okay, there Mick?" she asked, not sure what could be bothering him. "Is it the case?" she asked, before he had the chance to answer the first questions. Mickey squirmed in his seat. "Not exactly," he replied, avoiding her eyes. He was silent for a minute before he spoke again. "You might as well learn this now as later. I'm not exactly, well, 'comfortable' around dead bodies," he admitted. "What do you mean, 'comfortable'?" Chloe asked, a bit concerned. "I, ah, sort of, ah, lose things," he answered, cryptically. "Lose things? What sort of things?" Chloe asked again. "Oh, you know, my cookies, consciousness, stuff like that," he said so softly she had to strain to hear him. Chloe put her hand up to hide her giggles. "How on earth did you make it through the Academy, then?" "Well, the first class, I was carried out. The second class, the teacher had to be carried out. Seems he was great with dead bodies but had difficulty with stomach contents of the living. After that, I sort of got excused," he nodded as the memory replayed in his mind. Chloe couldn't hold it any longer. Now she was laughing out loud. "Which teacher?" she gasped between breaths. "Raffle." Her eyes lit up. "You mean *you* were the one they were talking about. . ." and dissolved in giggles again. "It's not like I'm proud of it or anything! And I was really worried for a while. I thought it was the boot, you know. But I found out later that I'm okay at crime scenes. I just can't handle it when they, you know, weigh stuff and crack stuff and poke around and rearrange. . ." he let his voice trail off and was already turning pale at the thoughts running through his mind. Chloe finally caught her breath and reached out. "Hey, tell you what. You talk to the coroner, go stand in the hall, do what ever you need to, okay? I'll handle the open bodies." He shot her a look that told her he wasn't fond of that idea. "Mick, don't sweat it. I *like* this stuff. I wish I had gone to medical school, like Scully, you know. I just didn't have the patience, I guess. But I don't think it a good idea to *not* look at the bodies they have, you understand?" He nodded in agreement and looked relieved. The morgue was in a small back room of the doctor's office. It seemed fairly well equipped, for a town the size of Orangeburg. Mickey leaned gracefully against the far wall while Chloe and Dr. Marburg opened the door to the refrigeration unit in the wall and pulled out the sliding metal drawer that held the body. Even from that distance, Mickey groaned inwardly. He had seen dead bodies, but this one was so. . .small. It was the first time he had been this close to the body of a child victim, and it was disturbing in its own right. Chloe was disturbed, too, but on several levels. It bothered her that the victim was a child. She had always considered those to be the worst. But as she spoke with the doctor, other things caught her eye. This child had been murdered, but she hadn't been that well to begin with. She was painfully thin. The ribs along her sides showed clearly through the thin layer of skin. And her eyes were sunken, and not just from the violent death. Chances were real good that this child might not have made it to adulthood regardless of the senseless act that terminated her life. Chloe's stomach made a leap to her throat as she thought of that. The cause of death was grotesquely apparent. The throat was slit from one ear to the other. Beyond that, there were no marks on the body, no sign of struggle, no sexual abuse. Someone came up behind this little girl and slit her throat and she probably never knew what happened. Chloe shut her eyes for a moment in gratitude for this small measure of mercy. When she opened her eyes, she realized Dr. Marburg was speaking. " . . .in a vial over here," he was saying, moving over to a small refrigerator in the corner of the room and removing a small test tube like vial. He handed it to Chloe, who held it up to the light. "Every drop of blood in her body was like that. At first, I thought the guy might have tried to embalm her. I couldn't figure it out. Then, once I got into the autopsy, I realized there was no indication of damage to the veins or arteries. That substance, whatever it is, was there all along. I sent a sample up to Columbia to the University for them to analyze, but I haven't heard back yet." "We'd like to send some up to our labs, in DC, if you don't mind," Mickey said, finally letting his growing curiosity overcome his hesitation to get closer to the body. He walked over to Chloe and she handed him the vial. In the sunlight streaming in through the single high window, the substance seemed to glow. Mickey stood, transfixed by the green liquid. Chloe touched him lightly on the arm to bring him back. "Well, I think I've seen enough here," she said to him. She turned to the doctor, "Thank you, Dr. Marburg. We may be calling on you again, if that's all right?" "Any time, my dear, any time. I wish I knew what happened here, what's been happening. This is a quiet little town and these murders. . .well, they have folks pretty shook up. I just want you to catch the person responsible and let us get on with our lives." The scene of the murder was some eight miles out of town, on a hilly stretch of road not accessible by the main highway. Mickey drove, as much to give himself something to do with his hands as anything else. Chloe watched him, sensing that something in his mind was sorting, trying to work with the pieces of the puzzle they were being fed one at a time. Her own mind kept trailing back to the body of that small girl, so frail and sickly. There was no mention of abuse in the file, but Chloe wasn't so sure that might not have been an oversight. The girl looked like she was on the verge of malnutrition. As they reached the sight that Chief Russell had described, the yellow crime tape guided them to the exact spot. Mickey was out of the car in a flash, pulling on rubber gloves as he walked, determined, over the low undergrowth. All around them towered old growth trees, majestic in their height and power. Chloe took a quick minute to change shoes and then hurried to catch up with her partner. Mickey had taken on an entirely different persona. He reminded Chloe of a bloodhound. He he seemed to be almost sniffing out the evidence. Not a single leaf escaped his examination. He carefully avoided the areas he knew had been trampled by the local officials. He moved the yellow tape to go beyond the cordoned-off area and try and reconstruct the murder in his own mind. Chloe watched him for five full minutes, then couldn't resist the urge to giggle. "Something funny, Agent Grant?" Mickey asked sarcastically, without even looking up from the dirt he was examining. "I was just wondering when you were going to start chewing on the tree bark, to see if it had been affected," she shot back. "You aren't going to find anything, you know." "Oh, I guess autopsy wasn't the only class I missed at the Academy. There must have been one on reading crystal balls, too?" he countered. "No, I just don't think we're going to find anything out here. It's been too long and there have been too many people tramping on the evidence. If you find anything, it will be the print off a good deputy's boot, by my guess," Chloe said nonchalantly. Mickey was still inspecting the base of a tree not ten feet from where the body was found. He stubbed at something with his toe, then bent over and picked it up. It was a button, metal on plastic, with the US Navy insignia on it. It was fairly new and still shone in the late afternoon sunlight. "Don't think I've ever seen one of these on a boot," he commented, gingerly picking up the button and placing it in an evidence bag. He gave it to Chloe to examine. "But you're right, we might as well go on back to the hotel," he added, making a bee line for the car, leaving her to stare at his back in mild confusion. ----- End Part Six -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Seven ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina Queen's Motel 2:32 PM Dana Scully stepped eagerly out of the rented sedan. She had been sitting still for over an hour while Mulder tried to navigate the small town's poorly laid out roads. It also didn't help that they didn't have a road map. Mulder had forgotten to get one in his haste to get there. However, they had finally arrived and Scully was glad, she hated sitting in the car, especially when Mulder insisted that he drive. She let out an exasperated sigh, observing the motel before them. The older building looked as though it would fall apart the minute someone touched it. To begin with, it was just an old house which had been converted into a motel for visitors that would only be staying for short terms. The shingles on the roof looked as though they needed to be replaced, the white paint on the front of the house peeling and blistered probably from the constant exposure to intense sunshine, even the door looked about to fall off it's hinges. "Don't judge a book by its cover," Mulder said with a grin on his face, as he came around the car to join her. He must've read the slight scowl on her face. "Oh, I won't. Are you sure this is the place? It hardly looked like this in the brochure," she said, teasing him about his choice of lodging. Mulder shrugged and tugged on her sleeve, causing her to follow him in. Inside she was shocked. Everything looked brand new and polished. The small reception area was set to the right of the entrance. To the left was a lobby that seemed cozy, a fireplace and bookshelf lining the wall. Scully was awed despite herself. She followed Mulder as he stepped up to the reception desk, pulling out his wallet. The woman, whose gray hair and clouded blue eyes reminded Scully of her grandmother, smiled up at them. "Kin I git you two a special suite?" she asked, casually mistaking their relationship. Mulder laughed, earning a stern look from Scully. Scully shook her head vigorously and the woman nodded. she thought to herself, then wondered where that thought had come from. She didn't continue the line of thought, but instead turned to Mulder, while speaking to the woman. "Actually we'd like two separate rooms, please," she said, eyeing Mulder to see if she could catch a reaction. He only nodded in agreement, keeping all expressions from crossing his face. "Okee, then. Here ya go. Will that be caysh or credit?" the woman said and for the first time Scully noticed her accent. She reached into her coat for her wallet, which contained her VISA, but Mulder put a hand on her arm, producing his first. "Credit," he said, grinning and handed her his card. Scully shrugged, hoping Mulder wasn't going to charge it to the FBI, but then she remembered that he couldn't. They were here on unofficial terms. After the woman got his signature, she handed them both keys and smiled, a lopsided toothless smile. "Third door to the right for the young lady and for you, sir," she nodded down the hallway. "Fourth door to the right," she said, smiling. Scully almost had an odd feeling that the woman was trying to set them up. She shook her head as she walked behind Mulder, heading to their rooms. ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina Crime Scene 1:47 PM "I'm driving," Chloe said, snatching the keys to the rental car before Mickey could object. He didn't seem to care, though. She smiled, thinking finally she wouldn't have to be bored out of her skull. Mickey nodded absently as he turned the button over and over in his hand. She shook her head, wondering what he could be thinking. She waved a hand in front of his face. "Yeah, fine," he said. Chloe shook her head, laughing. He looked up as she unlocked the driver's side of the door and slipped in behind the wheel. When Mickey got into the car, she made a big show of adjusting the seat to make due for their height differences. Mickey looked at her, frowning at her unsuccessful attempt at intimidation. She sighed, adjusting the mirror. "Mick, talk to me. What's going on in that ole noggin' o' yers?" she asked, tapping lightly on his forehead and using the accent of the townspeople. He looked up at her again, shrugging. "It's what it looks like, a military button. But I wonder what it has to do with anything. I suppose we'll have to check it out, but for right now I need to get to the motel to relax. It's been a hell of a trip and I'm sure we'll get a better start after a bit of rest." "You said it!" she said, starting the car and gently putting it into drive. She didn't want to scare Mickey on his first time witnessing her driving skill. She was actually a cautious driver, which some of her friends had commented didn't fit her personality. They'd always assumed that she would be a reckless driver, however her slate was clear,her with excellent insurance rates. Not that it mattered, the FBI covered the costs anyway. Mickey was silent for the better part of the drive, holding the button as though it were the key to his heart. Chloe sighed, wishing he was more of a conversationalist. Finally she couldn't handle it any more. "So, tell me a little about yourself," she said, affording a quick glance sideways at his handsome face. "There's not much to tell," he said, shrugging and finally setting the button down on the dash. He put his head back against the seat and took a deep breath. "I grew up in Chicago. My dad was a cop for the Chicago PD, and an Italian at that. My mother was Irish. It was pretty tough, I mean, living as an Italian in the Irish part of Chicago wasn't the worst of it, it was being a copper's son that was the difficult part. I went to a Catholic school then moved up to Loyola University for my bachelor's in sociology and a masters in Social Work. After that, I entered the Mundelein Seminary--" he stopped, she was laughing at him. "The Seminary?" she asked between giggles. "What's so funny?" His pride had been hurt. She immediately stopped, feeling bad that she'd laughed. It wasn't that she thought joining the Seminary was bad, it was just that he didn't seem to be the type. "I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't mean to--" she began. "No matter, I didn't stick around for ordination. Joined the FBI instead and here I am," he grumbled. "I see," she said, growing totally somber. She nodded and a dark red came to her cheeks. She'd managed to insult him once again and for some reason she felt really bad. "So, what's your story?" he asked, staring at her. He seemed a little less bothered now. she thought, then smiled. "I don't have a story." "No story? Wow. Not as exciting of a person as I at first had thought," he said, smiling. She looked at him again and nodded. She deserved that. "Fine. I'll tell you my *story*. I was born in Orlando, Florida. I had an all American family. I was spoiled rotten and I got away with a lot. Learned how to manipulate people so that I'd always get my way," she said, glancing at him. She found he was listening intently, his eyes partially closed. He looked exhausted. "So anyway," she continued. "I went to a normal All- American public school, then moved on to attend Clemson University, here in South Carolina, majoring in Computer Studies and minoring in forensics. I felt that the FBI would be a good way in order to use my capabilities to the fullest and I joined right away," she said, pushing a hand through her blond hair. "Sounds like it was fun," he commented, rather sarcastically. "You bet it was," she said, nodding as she glanced at the road. She'd been driving for a while now. She looked over the road and sighed. "Uh, Mickey, did I miss the turn?" she asked, glancing at him. Suddenly he sat up straight and looked around. "I think so," he said, shrugging. Then he added, "Trust a woman to mess up the directions." Chloe had been about to say something, but that was his pay back for her comment about the Seminary. She snarled playfully at him, then sighed. "Alright, well I guess I better turn around," she grumbled, gently turning the wheel and making a U-turn in the middle of the deserted rural road. Pressing the gas, she felt the car surge forward, then she eased up a bit. She heard the car rev again and felt it gain speed. "What the hell!?" she gasped, causing Mickey to look over at her worriedly. His eyes widened as he watched the speedometer climb steadily. Chloe took her foot of the gas completely, applying the brakes as she did so. "What's going on?" Mickey asked, startled. He checked his seat belt and frowned, grabbing the handle on the door. "I'll be damned if I know. The only thing I know is that I can't stop the car. We're picking up speed and I have no brakes," she said, a little worried. She could feel the gravel of the road pulling at the wheel as the car raced past the sixty mark. "Chloe!" Mickey screamed, his face contorted into a grimace. "Well, at least I know you won't be able to handle roller coasters," she said, not taking her eyes off the road. "This is no time to joke," he said through clenched teeth. Chloe nodded in agreement, her head racing for a way out. Suddenly the wheel yanked viciously to the right as they hit a bit of loose gravel. "Hang on!" she cried as the car headed for the ditch. Chloe could honestly admit that she was definitely scared. The last thing she noticed in the blur of the spinning car, was a large tree looming before them. ----- End Part Seven -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Eight ----- 2:32 PM Mickey Callavelo stirred out of the blackness. He felt something snagged on his shirt and wondered what the hell was going on. He groaned, attempting to open his eyes. They were glued shut by a sticky substance. He wanted to cry out but his throat was constricted in fear. He coughed, spitting out a slight metallic taste. His lungs burned and his chest hurt. As far as he could tell, nothing else was wrong. He tried once more to pry open his eyes, this time ungluing them with a sickening pop. He grimaced as the sunlight assaulted his sensitive eyes. He blinked them a few times to clear the remaining junk out, adjusting to the sunlight. He moaned once more. Then the rest of the feeling came back to his body and he cried out in pain. He moved his head a little so he could see. He was hanging upside down in the car, held in place by the seat belt. He tried desperately to remember what had happened and within a few seconds mostly all of it flooded back into his clouded brain. Chloe had been driving... The car wouldn't stop... He remembered now. Gingerly testing his muscles, making sure nothing was broken, he was glad to discover only a few bruised things. He glanced around a bit more, while feeling for the seat belt release. It was awkward, as he was hanging in an odd position. He found the release and clicked it off, crying in anger as he instantly dropped. Squirming around a bit, he managed to get himself into a position to kick the battered door. He eased himself out through the shattered window, trying not to lodge any of the glass in his already tender skin. Once outside, he stumbled to the ground, laying in the ditch face down. He fought with waves of nausea, knowing that he needed to find out if Chloe was alright. He groaned, pushing himself to his hands and knees, his head aching tremendously. Somehow, he found his way around to the driver's side of the car. He was shocked to find that it was almost completely flattened. "Chloe?" he cried, fumbling in his jacket for his cellular phone. He numbly dialed 911 with his bloody fingers, holding the phone shakily to his ear. Finally the operator answered. "This is FBI Agent Mickey Callavelo, I've just been in a serious car accident and I need assistance right away," he managed calmly. He listened for a moment as the operator asked him a question. "I'm sorry, I don't know where I am, you're going to have to trace my cell phone," he said, then he threw the phone down, inspecting the car for any signs of Chloe. He needed to know if she was all right. Before long, however, the blackness enshrouded him again, causing him to sink into unconsciousness. He managed once more to call her name before he succumbed completely. ------ Orangeburg, South Carolina 3:15 PM Fox Mulder sat in the passenger seat, tapping his finger on the arm rest beside him. He and Scully were on the way to the crime scene and Scully had insisted that she drive. Mulder had agreed, figuring she might hurt him if he didn't. He grinned as she cast a confused look at him. "Mulder, did I miss the turn?" she asked, glancing in the rear view mirror. Mulder glanced down at the map the sheriff had drawn, which was in his lap. "Uh, I don't know," he said, picking it up. He couldn't tell what was what. "That's because it's upside down, idiot," she said, laughing. Mulder smiled at her remark, turning it right side up. "You should talk, idiot! You're the one who missed the turn," he retorted, but Scully wasn't listening, her gaze was transfixed on something in the distance. Mulder followed it and discovered a bunch of vehicles-- police cars and ambulances-- further up the dirt road. "Wonder what's going on," she mumbled, as she sped up. "Maybe we can help out." "I doubt it. They look like they're doing a pretty good job," he said, sighing. Scully shrugged, pulling the car to a stop several feet away, to be sure they wouldn't be in the way. Both of them stepped out, Scully instantly reached into her coat for her badge as one of the officers came over. "Good afternoon folks, I'm sorry but--" he began but Scully smiled, holding her badge under his nose. "FBI," she declared in a serious tone. "I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder. I'm a doctor, can I offer any assistance?" she asked, observing as the officer's jaw dropped and he looked relieved. "No ma'am. There's nothing you can help with, however I'm glad you two are here," he said, nodding for them to follow. Mulder deftly stepped around the car and followed the officer and Scully to the sight. He looked it over. It looked like a pretty bad crash had occurred. The car was flipped on its roof, the entire driver's side crushed in. The front end was also condensed, apparently having hit the huge tree before them. He was wide eyed as he watched the police and firemen working with large metal cutters to open the driver's side door. "What's going on?" Scully asked, concern written on her face. Mulder thought that perhaps she felt the strange aura he was feeling. "Well, you two are FBI? Seems that we have two other agents. A man by the name of Michael Callavelo and the woman, trapped in there is Chloe Grant," the deputy said. Scully gasped. "Are they alright?" Mulder heard her ask in a frightened tone. "Mr. Callavelo is fine, a mild concussion and a few scrapes and bruises. As for Ms. Grant, we couldn't tell you. You can see we're still trying to get her out. She is alive however, she's been talking deliriously on and off," the officer said, looking sadly at the door. "What happened?" Mulder asked, wondering how Grant could have gotten into an accident. He knew it wasn't impossible but FBI agents usually had pretty good control over their vehicles. "Mr. Callavelo says the car must've been sabotaged. We're going to look into it as soon as Ms. Grant has been evacuated and taken to the hospital," the officer shrugged. "Can we see Mickey?" Scully asked, hoping she could talk to him. "He's already been taken to emergency just to be sure that he'll be all right. Anyway, if you'd like to go to the hospital that would be okay, because we have a lot of work to do here and I don't mean any disrespect, but it'll be easier if you two aren't getting in the way," he said, his tone sorrowful but commanding. Mulder nodded, putting a hand on Scully's arm. She was engrossed in watching the men working at getting the car door off. Mulder wondered why she seemed so worried about Grant, but he guessed that she had just grown attached to her, even in such a short time. He could understand, he'd felt the same attachment to Scully when she first joined him with the X-Files four years ago. "Let's go see Mickey," he said softly. She nodded, turning just as quickly and heading back to the car. She tossed Mulder the keys and sank into the passenger's seat. Mulder mumbled another thanks to the officer before getting in the car and pulling away from the horrid scene. ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina County Hospital 8:12 PM She was sitting on the bed, rubbing her hands together, when he entered the room. A scowl on her face. She looked up when she realized he was standing there looking at her. "Mickey, how nice of you to come and see me," she said, smiling. He nodded, looking over her. Her hair was still in tangles, covered in dirt and sweat. She obviously hadn't had a chance to do fix her appearance. Not that it mattered to him, he was just her partner, concerned for her well being. Mickey shrugged, stepping closer to the bed. "How're you feeling?" he asked, standing beside the bed and gazing at her, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Like I've just driven a car into a huge tree," she said, rubbing her head. Mickey smiled, amused that she was making jokes. "Beside that, I think I've faired pretty well," she mumbled, sliding off the bed to stand uneasily. Mickey lunged forward, but she waved a hand, stopping him. "I'd say so," he said, standing away again, trying to give her some space. "So, you've just got a few bumps and bruises, huh? I'm surprised." "A few bumps and bruises? And a broken finger," she held up the bandaged pinky finger, which he hadn't noticed. "And a mild concussion. I hear you came out pretty close too, huh?" she said, smiling. Even when she had been hurt, she was using her humor to lighten the situation. Mickey was impressed. He shrugged again. "Yeah. I'm just glad you're not hurt. By the way, Mulder and Scully showed up," he said, his expression turning puzzled. "You didn't ask them to come, did you?" he asked. Chloe shook her head, then grimaced, waves of nausea flowing through her body. She sat down on the edge of the bed again and waited for them to pass. "I didn't ask, but I knew Mulder would come. I am kind of surprised to learn that Agent Scully came with him. . ." she said, resting her head in her hands. "You should rest. I'll come back later," he said, turning to leave. "Wait! You can't leave me here. I don't want to stay here," she whined. He turned to her and released a grin. "Tough. This is one time in your life that you aren't going to get what you want," he said, opening the door and exiting into the quiet hallway beyond. Chloe Grant sat on the bed, angrily wondering why Mickey wouldn't let her go with him, but she supposed it wasn't up to him. If he could have, he probably would have let her go back to the motel. She sighed, swinging her feet up and resting back against the pillow, wondering how long she'd have to stay here. It wasn't as if she were dying or in critical condition, it was just a few minor injuries. She paused on that thought, wondering what had really happened. The car had definitely been sabotaged, but she couldn't-- no matter how hard she tried-- come up with a good reason for it. It wasn't as if they had any solid leads, which might turn up something, causing someone to want to kill them. She groaned, pushing the thoughts out of her head. She needed to get some rest. The pounding in her head persisted, causing her to wish she'd never survived. ----- End Part Eight -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Nine ----- Scully closed the door quietly behind her and almost bumped directly into the tall figure standing in the hall. "Mulder!" she hissed, annoyed. "You scared me half to death! I thought you were on the phone to the mechanics." "I was. I'm finished. How's Callavelo?" he asked, taking her elbow and leading her down toward their rooms. "Banged up, exhausted. Asleep, at the moment. I must say, Mulder, he's a bit more resilient than others I could name," she grinned at him. "He's got a nice sized knot on his head and two bruised ribs. A mild concussion, but not enough to keep him awake for the night. They wanted to keep him but he talked them out of it. Unlike Chloe, he's been awake and alert since the paramedics showed up. I gave him some Tylenol and he crashed like baby. I should check on him later, just to make sure he's okay." "So, how much do we charge for baby-sitting these two, Scully? A buck fifty and hour just doesn't seem sufficient, somehow." Mulder unlocked his door and waved her in. She walked into the room, identical to her own, and sat at the small cherry desk by the window. The room was in line with the lobby, cheery, nice decor, comfortable. All the money spent on this hotel seemed to have gone toward the interior decoration and certainly not the outside maintenance. "So what did the mechanic say," she said, ignoring his comments. "What happened to that car?" "And what makes you think our young Agent Grant didn't just fancy herself as Bobby Unser at Indy?" he asked derisively. She gave him The Look and he nodded. "You're right, of course. Accelerator was set to jam at 55 mph. The brake lines had a trip mechanism that caused them to fail at about the same time. Sort of like the bomb on 'Speed', if you're into the romance of Hollywood. There was no way she could have avoided a crack up. They're just lucky they made it out alive." "No prints, I presume," she added glumly, toying with the notepad on the desk. "Clean as a whistle. Not so much as a fiber, the good Chief assured me. He's a little upset at the moment. First time he calls out the Federal Hounds and they almost get killed in his own backyard." "So who did this, Mulder? I mean, this was a serial killing they were investigating. I know the killer probably isn't too keen on being discovered, but why kill the investigators, especially when they don't have any leads? Wouldn't that lead to possible exposure?" "I don't know, Scully. It has me puzzled, too. It doesn't seem to fit my profile. . ." he looked over at her and cringed. He had walked right into that one. "So, you got bored and decided to write your own profile, huh, Mulder?" Scully asked, the accusation as sharp as the daggers in her eyes. "Scully, back off, huh? I just sort of. . .doodled my way into a profile. . ." "Already finished the Sunday Crossword puzzle, I suppose. Honestly, Mulder, that is not your job, and you know it!" she stormed. He swallowed and sat on the edge of the bed. "OK, so maybe it was out of line. But this one is really eating at me, Scully. I don't know why, it just won't let me alone. I'm not messing around in it officially. I just. . ." "You just flew down here to check up on the agents of record, wrote a profile separate from the official record, what's next, Mulder? You going to run off and track the guy down yourself, then bring him in, ALL BY YOURSELF? I ought to pack you up and drag you back to DC by the seat of your pants!" Scully huffed angrily. "If you want, you can go back to DC. I won't try and stop you," he said quietly, staring at the floor. "No, Mulder, that is not what I want," she said, trying to be patient. "I want you to tell me what is going on here," she sighed. "One minute you are all hot to move up the Bureau ladder, get us into new positions, promotions that neither of us thought possible 6 months ago. Then suddenly, you want to get back in the action. I feel like I'm at a tennis match, and I'm the ball! Will you tell me what is going on in that pointed little head of yours?" She got up from her chair and walked over to sit next to him on the bed. "Do you hate your new job that much?" she asked, absently rubbing his shoulders. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. Suddenly, realizing that he was enjoying this entirely too much, he sat up straighter and looked at her. "I don't hate it that much," he protested. "I just. . .Scully, I just can't help it with this one. I have to be here. I don't know how else to explain it. I'm not trying to be difficult, really. I just. . .need to be in on this one. Do you understand?" He was pleading with her and she couldn't refuse. She sat there next to him, not knowing what to say to him. Finally, she gave him a smile. "I'm here, aren't I?" she whispered. He reached up and touched her cheek, a gesture that made her close her eyes for a second before opening them to regard him. his mind was yelling at him. it added. He dropped his hand, but not before he noticed the smallest glint of disappointment in her eyes. "Hey, I'm starved. There's a diner a couple of blocks from here. My treat," he said lightly, trying to move on as quickly as possible. "Hmmm, let's see. Central South Carolina. Lots of grease, salt, and cholesterol. Just your speed, Mulder. Sure, let's go," she laughed. The diner was exactly as Scully had predicted, 'home cooking' which meant bacon grease in everything, but even Scully had to admit that it tasted pretty good. She ordered ribs and salad, he had the 'Blue Plate Special' of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans with bacon and onions, and a healthy slice of pecan pie. "I've got my Pepto Bismol waiting for that to hit your stomach, at about 2 this morning, probably," she said, motioning to his overloaded plate with her fork. "Cast iron, Scully. My stomach is cast iron. This is nothing," he countered. "Oh, yeah? Well, for your information, even cast iron has been know to 'rust' with age, and you, Mulder, are not getting younger," she teased. "Nope, I'm just getting better," he teased in return. It felt so good to be on the road with her again. Times like this, during a case that was beyond befuddling, having a few minutes to joke over dinner, that's what he missed about his new job. That, and being able to look over at her at any time of the day and just watch her at her desk, typing, writing, lost in thought. his inner self chided. "Earth to planet Mulder," she was saying, waving a hand in front of his face. "You still with me, here, Mulder?" "Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry, Scully. My mind was just wandering," he said with a faint blush. , was actually responding to him in a. . .. He put his hand up to release her hold on his neck. "I don't know, Scully. Is this such a good idea?" he asked, his breath coming in little short gasps that revealed exactly how much of a good idea *he* had thought it was. "Mulder, what are you afraid of? We aren't 'partners' anymore. This isn't forbidden anymore. I've been trying to figure out why we went through all this promotion crap if you hadn't thought about this. So what's the problem?" she asked, getting an annoyed tone to her voice. He pushed up again, this time she let him. He had a confused look on his face, like he had just walked through the looking glass. "You mean, you. . .you thought. . .I mean. . .Scully. . ." he stammered. She sat up next to him. "Mulder. Why did you kiss me?" she demanded. He looked even more perplexed. "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time," he admitted, sheepishly. She chewed on her inner cheek a moment. "It *seemed* like a good idea, *at the time*," she said forcing the emphasis on the words between her teeth. "It SEEMED like a good idea AT THE TIME!" she concluded, getting a bright red flush to her face. "You have not TOUCHED me in all the years we've been together and tonight, while trying to get me to give up a remote control, you kissed me like I have not been kissed in YEARS because it seemed like a good idea at the time!" she hissed. "YOU are HOPELESS, Mulder! Totally hopeless." She was still seething, but she sat a while and just stared at him. "Mulder, how do you really feel about me?" It wasn't a question, it was a demand. And he felt completely unprepared to respond to it. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin, hoping she wouldn't hear him. "I love you, Dana," he whispered. "I guess I've always loved you. But I don't deserve you," he continued, still not opening his eyes. "You deserve somebody who's sane and stable and doesn't wake up at all hours of the night with cold sweats and screams, someone who isn't obsessed with a search that began over twenty years ago, someone who can love you and keep you safe and not put you in danger for his own agenda. That's why it was a good idea at the time, and I will treasure every second, but it's also why I have to get the hell back to my room as soon as possible or things are going to get completely out of hand." Two small, soft hands encircled his neck again and two even softer lips gently grazed his. He opened his eyes to gaze into eyes of the most breathtaking blue. "Too late, Mulder. Things are completely out of hand already," she murmured, pulling him down to the bed and this time, he didn't resist. She pulled him down on bed again, this time moving slowly, gently. He had a look in his eyes that reminded her of rabbits in the forest when they realize they are trapped with no escape. "Mulder, you never did answer me. *What* are you afraid of?" she whispered. "I promise, I won't get mad. I want you to tell me, what are you afraid of?" She was gently caressing his cheek and looking at him with those eyes that he had come to love and trust so much. He had to tell her, but he wasn't sure of his reasons himself. "I don't know, Scully. I'm afraid. . .well, now that we don't really work together, I'm afraid if we went any further, you'd decide I wasn't what you're looking for and then we'd drift apart, and. . .and then I'd lose you." He said the words so softly that it tore her heart. "Well, you know, there is another possibility, here. We could take our relationship a little further, since we're already friends and we trust each other, and we could actually get something neither of us have had much experience in," she said while running her fingers through his hair. He looked at her, confused. "Something neither of us have had. . .such as?" "A life, Mulder. We might just give each other a life," she said with confidence and leaned over to kiss him. "I love you, Mulder. And I've missed you. I'm used to seeing you 16 to 18 hours a day and I really miss that. I don't like being apart. If we can't be together at the office, can't we at least be together the REST of the time?" She kissed him again, a little deeper, and it lasted a little longer than the last time. "You really don't have to be alone, Fox. And neither do I. You just have to believe." And finally, like a dam breaking, Fox Mulder drew Dana into his arms and sighed. "I believe. . ." The morning broke with sunshine through the window, making lazy patterns through the lace curtains that cast shadows on the quilt. Mulder shifted, so he could look down at the red haired woman sleeping in his arms. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. She stirred and snuggled closer into his embrace. "Hey, sleepyhead, you gonna wake up soon?" he chuckled. "I suppose I have to sometime, huh?" she yawned. "You know, Mulder, after this case, do you think we could take a REAL vacation? Someplace where there aren't FBI agents, local cops, yellow crime tape. . ." He reached up and ruffled her hair. "What, and miss all that glamour and excitement? Come on, let's move it. We have to wake up Callavelo and I need to stop by the front desk." "What for?" she asked, slowly extracting herself from his arms and the covers. "There is no way I'm paying for two rooms when one seems to be all we need," he said, searching the covers for his boxers. She smiled all the way through her shower. ----- End Part Nine -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net @ drakkar@bconnex.net Part Ten ----- September 3, 1995 Queen's Motel 8:55 AM Mickey Callavelo finally knotted his tie, after having unsuccessfully tried six times. His head hurt a lot, but he was bound and determined to get this investigation over with so he could get himself back to Washington. He didn't like the fact that someone out there had tried to kill his partner and himself. He was just glad that Chloe wasn't dead, simply because he was beginning to feel the tendrils of attachment creep around his heart. Chloe Grant was the type of woman that wormed her way into anyone's heart. She was deeply admirable and very interesting, despite how much he'd tried to deny it. He was just glad that he hadn't ended up with a total flake as a partner and he knew he could count on Chloe if he ever got into a serious crunch. She'd be there for him and he had decided that no matter what, he'd be there for her too, despite the arguments they seemed to be having. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, checking his tie once more to be sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him and then walked to the door, picking up his wallet from the table as he passed. He clipped his gun into its shoulder holster and took the jacket from the closet. He opened the door and was startled to find Agent Scully standing there, her fist raised and ready to knock. "Oops, sorry," she said. Mickey instantly noticed a strange grin that was plastered to her face. He would have thought that if anything, her face would have shown fatigue, but it didn't. It looked as though she'd slept incredibly well. He sighed, wishing he could say the same. "Hey, no problem. I was just coming to wake you two up anyway. I think I'm going to go over to see if they'll let me have Grant back. I know she's suffering miserably in there," he said, stepping out into the hallway beside her and allowing the door to close and automatically lock. She nodded, then smiled again. "Okay. Well, I think Mulder and I have some things to take care of. How about we meet you at the hospital in a half an hour?" "Good idea. See you then." ----- County Hospital "Hey," he said as he walked into the hospital room. He noticed that Chloe Grant's appearance had changed completely since yesterday. She'd showered and had gotten all the dirt out of her hair. He was glad, because now she looked pretty normal except for a small cut that ran down the side of her cheek. "It's about time, homey!" she said, standing up and smiling at him. He was surprised at the amount of energy she appeared to have. "Have they got you on some sort of wonder drug?" "Nah, the pain is still there. I'm just trying to appear as though it's not bothering me," she said, smiling. "Besides, I had to fool the doctors into letting me out of here. So, let's get out of here before they decide they want to keep me!" "Not so fast. Mulder and Scully are coming here in about twenty minutes. I guess they want to talk to you, find out what's going on." "Okay, but at least take me to the cafe so I can get some food into me," she said, patting her stomach and making grumbling noises with her mouth. "They didn't feed you? You poor girl," Mickey teased, holding open the door as she strode out. The cafe of the hospital was rather empty, being so early in the morning. Chloe ordered toast and orange juice while Mickey decided he'd just have a cup of coffee. He wasn't feeling much like eating food. He sat across the table from her, watching her chew thoughtfully on the toast, wondering what she was thinking. Of course, he knew that when he was supposed to know, she'd tell him. Sure enough, he'd been right. She noticed the look on his face and set down her toast. "All right. I have a plan of action for today," she said and watched as he nodded for her to continue. "Let's check out the foster homes where these children were taken from and possibly the schools, see if we can find any sense of connection at all. Anything that might help at least get us started. I'm not sure what that button means but--" "The button! Oh man! I didn't get the button back. I wonder if Charlie has it..." "You'd better hope he does. It's the only thing we have that might be of some use," she said, glancing around the cafe. "By the way, what did the police say about the accident?" "Well, I'm not sure. You'd have to ask Agent Mulder when he gets here. I think he was calling the mechanic when I fell asleep last night." "Agent Mulder..." she said thoughtfully, pulling on her bottom lip. He could tell that her line of thinking was slowly changing. "Listen, Mickey, I want to ask you something but I don't want you to get upset at me, okay?" He nodded, his stomach sinking slightly. "Go ahead," he mumbled, taking a sip of coffee. "Agent Mulder is here because of what I mentioned on the plane. I think he has a specific interest in this case. I think we're going to have to share it with them. I want to know if that's okay with you. I suspect they're here on unofficial terms, but this case means something to him. What do you say?" she asked, her eyes dancing with a strange light. He wished he knew what she was thinking all the time, but Chloe thought in strange ways. He thought about it for a moment, then decided that they would probably be better off if they had the help of the two older agents. "That's fine by me. I'm just glad that we'll be able to call upon their expertise," he finally said. She nodded and sipped at the orange juice. "Good." Mickey noticed as her eyes drifted to the entrance of the cafe where both Agents Mulder and Scully had just appeared. He smiled. he thought, waving at them. "How're you feeling, Agent Grant?" Scully asked as she pulled up a chair beside the blond haired woman. "It's Chloe. And I'm fine thanks." "Glad to hear it. I was afraid you'd be worse off than you were, considering the condition of the car when they pulled you out," Scully said, nodding. "Anyway, I guess you're both wondering what we're doing here, considering we haven't had much time to explain," Scully began, then looked at Mulder. "Well, you see, Agent Scully and I were on vacation and we just happened to be driving down the road and noticed--" Mulder began, a huge grin on his face but immediately stopped when Scully's elbow connected with his ribcage. "Ugh! Scully, you're gonna pay for that," he mumbled. Chloe raised an eyebrow and looked at the two of them. She tossed a lopsided grin at Mickey, then turned her attention back to the two agents. "Actually," Mulder continued, "to tell you the truth, we thought you'd might like some help, so we flew out here to offer our services." "We'd be glad to accept," Chloe said, smiling. She looked from Mulder to Scully then at Mickey. All three seemed to be content. Mulder nodded, almost as though he were relieved; Scully smiled faintly and Mickey just stared straight ahead. She could tell he wasn't really that impressed with the idea, but knew that he was stumped and wouldn't refuse some good help when he got it. They discussed a quick plan for the day, Mulder and Mickey deciding that they would go over to the police station to see what was going on about the accident and to see if they had recovered the button. Scully and Chloe were going to head over to one of the foster homes to speak to the foster parents. The men left the table and Chloe chewed on the last bit of toast, while Scully waited. "Agent Scully, you look a little... Uhm, happy," Grant noted, knowing exactly what had happened the night before. She was very perceptive when it came to those things. She grinned as Scully immediately blushed. "What?" she asked, trying to see if she could get away with false ignorance. "Don't play that game. Don't even go there. I can see it, it's written all over your face," Chloe said, a smile turning up the corner of her lips. She could tell that Scully was hoping that no one had noticed. "Don't worry, I won't tell Mickey. Heaven knows that his opinion of you isn't that great to start with." "Just what is his opinion of me, anyway?" Scully asked, quickly changing the subject. "I couldn't tell you for sure, but I'm pretty sure he's not used to women in the work force, even though he knows damned well we've been here for a long time," Chloe said, biting her lip and trying to think of an easy way to explain the behavior she'd observed in her partner. "He, uh, thinks that we're supposed to do dishes and things like that. I'm not sure where he could have gotten that sort of opinion, but I guess it was just part of his Italian upbringing." "So in other words, I'm supposed to be at home making dinner and having children?" Scully said, laughing. Chloe was just glad that Scully was as understanding as she'd hoped she'd be. "Yeah, pretty much. And you know, for all my perceptiveness, I still can't figure out exactly what he thinks of me." "I think I know. He likes you. I can see it in the way he looks at you. He's already thinking about the future, hoping that your partnership is good enough. I think he's hoping you won't transfer," Scully said with a smile. Chloe nodded. That's what she had thought, but Mickey seemed so strange that she never could tell. They were silent for a few minutes, and Chloe felt an urge to create mischief again. She turned to Scully and smiled. "So, what's he like, Agent Scully?" Scully looked at her curiously for a moment, wondering where the question had popped up from. A smile crept across her features. "Excellent," she whispered, deciding that she could trust Grant not to spread anything like a wild-fire. "Wouldn't surprise me. He kind of reminds me of an old boyfriend of mine," Chloe said, then winced. Scully looked at her for a moment. "You all right?" she asked. "Yep, no physical pain. Just mental rehabilitation," Chloe said, knowing she shouldn't have brought up the subject. Scully shrugged, letting it go. Grant was glad, she didn't feel like explaining her terrible relationship at the moment. "Shall we blow this joint?" Scully asked. Chloe nodded and pushed back her seat. "The toast is lousy," she said, pointing at the tiny crumbs that were left on the plate. She laughed as Scully nodded and said, "I bet." Together the two women walked out of the cafeteria and out of the hospital. ----- Fox Mulder walked into the police station with Mickey trailing silently behind. He smiled at the woman behind the desk, who now looked past him and grinned at Callavelo. "Charlie! Those F-B-I's are back," she hollered. Within a few seconds Mulder heard the reply. "Send 'em in." "You can go on in there. Would you like some tea?" she asked, indicating a pot in the corner. Both agents shook their heads. "No thank you. We're only going to be here for a few minutes," Mickey replied politely. Mulder nodded. Together they walked to the door of the Chief's office and entered quietly. "Agent Callavelo. Agent Mulder. Have a seat," the chief said, smiling at the two agents. "What can I help ya with?" "Well sir, it seems we might have misplaced a bit of evidence that we had in the car at the time of the accident. We were wondering if you had found an evidence bag containing a small button?" "I don't think so. Not off hand. But I can get one of the officers to check for you," he said, looking out the window. He honestly appeared to have no idea. "By the way, how's that partner of yours? She's all right, I hope." "Yes, she's fine. Thanks for asking. If you could check on the button for us, we'd appreciate it," Mickey said, patiently waiting as the chief picked up the telephone and dialed. Through out the whole thing Mulder hadn't said a word. Mickey wondered if he were doing it purposely. Perhaps testing his skills. Maybe he was just going to guide them along after all. Mickey couldn't be sure. He sighed inwardly and hoped he was right by allowing Mulder and Scully to help out with the investigation. He had a feeling if the Bureau ever found out that they'd all be into loads of trouble. One more glance at Mulder confirmed that he wouldn't be saying anything. The man was lost in his own world. "Okay, the officer says that they didn't find anything at all at the scene. I can send someone out there to look for you, if you'd like," the man said, hoping he'd be able to help. "Oh, no. That's allright. Agent Mulder and I will check it out for ourselves," Mickey said, as he got up. He gently tapped Mulder's shoulder and he snapped into life. "Thanks for your time," he said, waiting for Mulder to reach the door. "Hey, what the heck is your problem? You come here to help and all you do is sit in the chair with a nutty grin on your face!" Mickey asked Mulder Mulder looked at the younger agent and decided not to say a word about the night before. He also knew that if he didn't put it out of his mind, Mickey would eventually figure it out for himself. Mulder collected himself and put the thoughts of Scully out of his head. Mulder thought, and then frowned. He would do it now, but if everything worked out he wouldn't have to do it any longer. "Uh, nothing. I'm just thinking about... The case," he mumbled. For some reason, he thought Mickey was going to laugh, but the younger man just smiled and slipped into the drivers seat of the car. ----- Dana Scully looked at the five children seated around the large table happily eating breakfast. She and Chloe had come to the foster home where the latest victim had resided. All of children seemed to be in good shape and most all of them were chatting across the table. Scully wondered why anyone would want to hurt a bunch of innocent children. Her heart went out to them, and she frowned. Scully turned her attention back to the woman who was now answering one of Chloe's preliminary questions. She was a short woman approximately in her twenties. She had brunette hair and gray eyes. Her voice was calm and cool her tone seemed to reflect that she worked with kids, using proper English and grammar. Scully was also surprised to note that she didn't have the accent that most of the people seemed to have. "Well, I think Arthur Grimsby was her best friend. I'll ask him to come over when you're done with me, if you'd like." "That's OK. I'm not sure what I'd want to ask him. But I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about Emily Davidson. Was she a quiet child? Did she have any medical history?" Chloe asked. Scully remained silent, sure that Chloe was asking all that she should be. "That's one thing I noticed about Emily, she never ever got sick. She never complained about being sore or tired. She never cut herself. She was a strange child, actually. She wasn't quiet per se, but she did tend to keep to herself a lot. She had a great sense of humour. It's such a shame..." "We're going to get to the bottom of this, I promise," Chloe said absently, lost in thought. Scully looked over at the agent. Grant seemed to have hit a dead end. She frowned, lines creasing her forehead. Dana felt sorry for her. It was her first case and she was having a bitch of a time. "I really hope you find who's been doing this. These are innocent kids being murdered," the woman said, then pushed back her chair. "Uhm, if you'll excuse me I have to get these kids going. I'll be happy to answer any further questions later, if you like," she said, excusing herself and walking slowly away. Scully looked at Chloe and shrugged. "Well, I guess that's that. Now what?" she asked. "I don't know. I really don't know. I'm stuck. I can't get anywhere and I can't think of anything else to ask." Chloe shook her head sadly. "How about if we go and see the school nurse, perhaps she had the chance to do a blood test on Emily." "Sounds like a plan." ----- End Part Ten -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Eleven ----- "It shouldn't be that hard to locate, Callavelo! I mean, my god, we should be seeing skid marks, crime tape. . ." Mulder was trying not to get exasperated. "Look. I know it's here, but I can't find it! Besides, you were there, too," Mickey said pointedly. "Have _you_ seen any skid marks, crime tape or anything?" They had been up and down the county road almost 5 times. Mulder stared out the window intently, then closed his eyes. He tried to envision the trees, the underbrush, the mile markers, anything that might lead them to the scene of the accident. Then he opened his eyes. "Stop the car!" he commanded. Mickey pulled over to the side of the road. He, too, stared at the area and then slowly opened the car door. Taking his time, he examined the ground at the side of the road. Then, he joined Mulder, who was looking intently at the bark on a tree, flaking it off in large pieces to reveal a scar underneath. "Impressive job," Mulder muttered, almost to himself. "Who would have done this?" Mickey demanded, not quite willing to believe what his eyes were telling him. The scene of the accident, that was less then 24 hours old at this point, looked perfectly undamaged. The tree where the car had been wrapped around was even 'patched' to appear unharmed. Mulder was quiet for a moment. Mickey stared at him, waiting for an answer. Finally, Mulder straightened up and starting marking off the distance to the road. "Well, Callavelo, I could tell you that, but then I'd have to kill you," he teased. Mickey kicked a rotting log in disgust. "You know, Callavelo, it's possible that we've, er, you've stumbled on to something that someone in authority doesn't want to be stumbled on." "Ah, Mulder! Don't give me that government conspiracy crap! I don't buy it. I know this looks. . ." he was at a total loss for words. "Okay, it's a professional job. . .but still. . ." Mulder sighed deeply and crossed his arms, looking like a headmaster about to expel a particularly difficult student. "Callavelo, how many serial killers have you tracked?" Mickey looked at the older agent defiantly. "Just because I'm not the VCS poster boy doesn't mean I don't have a background here, Mulder," he growled. "Okay, so how many serial killers that you've had 'background' in would one, do a professional job on your brakes so that you would almost certainly not survive the crash, and two, clean up the accident scene after the police have already searched the area?" Mulder's tone was challenging. Mickey stood in stunned silence. "Why bother to clean it up if the police have already been here?" he asked, more of the air, than of Mulder. "My point precisely," Mulder exclaimed triumphantly. "Your killer couldn't care less. Any clues leading to him would have been uncovered by the police. Unless, of course, this killer happens to be experienced in police procedures, or was trying to avoid any further investigation. Most serial killers I know are mentally deranged individuals who get their jollies committing untold atrocities or in just plain killing people. They usually don't get involved in 'cloak and dagger' stuff. It's not a part of the game. It doesn't get them off. He hasn't played 'James Bond' at any of the other sites, so why do it now?" "It doesn't fit the profile," Mickey whispered. "And if it don't fit, you must acquit?" Mulder grinned mischievously. Mickey shot him a dirty look and Mulder's grin only grew. "Okay, Callavelo. You don't have to believe me. I can't give you hard evidence that this 'accident' was planned, implemented and 'cleaned up' by a group in any way connected with our government. It could have been a Reticulan operation, for all I know," he said, and watched in delight as Mickey threw up his hands in disgust. "BUT, you have to admit, it was not done by the killer. Am I right on this one?" Mickey chewed on his lip for a moment before answering. "Yeah, you're right, on that ONE item," he added guardedly. "So what are the chances that the 'group that wants you dead' might have found the button that you were holding?" Mulder asked quietly. "Too darn good for my liking," Mickey answered in disgust. "My thoughts exactly," Mulder agreed. "C'mon. Scully and Chloe are supposed to meet us for lunch. And maybe one of Charlie's men located the button by now. At this point, I'm afraid it's our only hope of finding it." ----- Orangeburg Diner Scully and Chloe had just sat down at the booth when Mulder and Mickey walked in. Neither of the men looked entirely happy, and the women didn't seem too enthusiastic at the results of the morning, either. Scully got up to wave them over to the booth. She caught Mulder's arm before he sat down. "You okay?" she asked, concerned at the scowl on his face. He forced himself to smile, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Just peachy," he said, hoping she would understand that it was something he wanted to discuss in private. She did. "So, guys, did you find the button?" Chloe asked, searching Mickey's face for some sign that he wasn't mad at her in particular. "The place had been swept clean," Mickey muttered, almost too quietly for the other agent to make it out. "What do you mean 'swept clean'?" Chloe asked, now scowling almost as much as Mulder had been previously. "Swept clean! As in 'no sign of an accident'," Mickey growled. Sensing her hurt and confused expression, he softened. "They scrubbed the tire marks, they swept the soft ground at the side of the road so no tracks remained, they even went so far as to cover the scar on the tree with fake bark. Somebody did not want that place to be looked at again. And we didn't find the button," he added in disgust. "Shit," Chloe muttered. Scully made a point of exchanging a questioning glance at Mulder. He shook his head, pleading with his eyes that she not ask those questions at the moment. She understood and sat quietly. "Did you find out anything on the Davidson girl?" Mulder asked, hoping to guide the conversation off the topic of the accident scene. "She was quiet, had a couple of friends among the foster children, but none really close and she's not been sick in the 9 months she's been in Orangeburg," Scully sighed, closing her notebook. "And since she's never been sick, and it wasn't the scheduled school year for physicals, there has been no blood drawn on her since her arrival, either," Chloe added. "A few more dead ends and I'm gonna start thinking I'm in a cemetery," Mickey muttered. Chloe kicked him softly under the table and gave him a 'chin up' smile. Mulder had been quiet for some time, lost in thought. "There's still the school. It's possible that someone connected with the school is involved. I have a suggestion. How about you two going over to the school and see what you can find out? You can take our rental car." "And what are you going to be doing?" Mickey asked, somewhat suspiciously. "We're going back to the hotel and check our e-mail," Mulder dismissed him. Chloe couldn't help the knowing smile that played on her lips and Scully saw it. Silently, she pleaded with her for forbearance. Chloe winked and said nothing. Mickey had missed the interchange between the women, but was willing to accept Mulder's explanation. "Sounds like a plan," he said, and picked up the check. "Okay, Mulder, what are you thinking?" Scully asked as they made their way to her room. "How beautiful you look when you're stumped?" he retorted. She playfully kicked his shin. "Ow, hey not so rough! What makes you think I'm thinking?" he continued. "Something is whirling around in that little space you have between your ears, Mulder. I can hear the hamster wheels squeaking," she teased. He tried to look offended, but failed. "It was something you said, Scully. Emily has only been in Orangeburg for 9 months. She's in foster placement from another city, a big city, if what Chief Russell told Mickey and Chloe is correct. So, has anybody run a missing person's on these kids?" "Mulder, they're in foster care. They had abusive parents. They aren't foundlings. What are you thinking?" Scully asked. "All 6 of these kids are from other places. We know that at least the last one came here within the last year. Before that, we know almost nothing about her, except for her considerable involvement with the State of South Carolina's child welfare system. But we don't know her parents, her _real_ parents. That information was not in the files. We'd need a court order to get it, Scully. I'm saying, what safer place to hide a kid than in the child welfare system? They just disappear off the face of the earth. Kids are always slipping through the cracks! It's the perfect hiding place." "Hiding place for whom, Mulder? Who would want to hide these kids?" Scully asked, still trying to figure out what leap of logic Mulder had taken. "Someone who wanted to take previously 'abducted' children and re-enter them into society, Scully," he said and was not at all surprised at the look of exasperation on her face. "Scully, think about it! These kids had 'green goo' instead of blood. They weren't your normal, run of the mill, foster kids. And they hadn't been in any place for more than a year for the last couple of years, I'd wager. So let's pretend that I'm not totally insane, here. Let's pretend that someone, or something, abducted these kids, turned them from normal to abnormal, like those bodies you saw at the Hanson's Disease Research Facility, and then decided to return them to society. They couldn't very well give them back to their parents, now, could they? Parents are going to demand physicals. Parents are going to ask questions. Parents are going to notice if their child happens to bleed green instead of red! So, the kids end up in a child welfare system, away from their homes. We already know that mind wiping is not just for science fiction anymore," he added pointedly. "And then, somebody has decided, for whatever reason, to do a clean up operation. Is that so implausible?" Scully closed her eyes and said nothing for a moment. "Either you are trying desperately to come up with a solid reason to put down on my commitment papers, or you're actually beginning to see where I might be on to something," Mulder said with a grin. Scully licked her lips and Mulder couldn't help but notice how that simple gesture had a very profound affect on his heart rate. he chided himself. Finally, Scully looked down at her hands, breaking their gaze. "Mulder," she began quietly. "At some other point in time, I would have gone to the local pharmacy and prescribed the thorazine myself. But after what I saw in West Virginia. . ." her voice trailed off. She got up and walked over to the window. "I don't think we could ever convince Callavelo of this line of inquiry," she said quietly. "So? We do a little side investigating. It's mostly computer stuff, anyway. It's not like we'd be stepping on toes. We don't even have to tell him until we have some proof." Mulder got up and walked over to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "We don't say anything until we have hard evidence. Does that make you feel better?" She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. "A little," she said with a shy smile. "So what was that little silent exchange between you and Chloe when I said we would come back to the hotel?" he asked, kissing her forehead. Scully was too busy enjoying the feel of his lips on her skin to want to answer, but knew better than to remain quiet. "Well, she sort of, ah, guessed," she said in a husky whisper. He continued to trail kisses over her closed eyelids. "Guessed? Guessed what?" he murmured. Scully was no longer satisfied with just receiving his attentions, so she had started giving his chin some attention of its own. "Guessed about us," she murmured. Mulder pulled back and looked at her with dismay. "Guessed about _us_? As in, what we did last night? How!? How the hell could she. . ." Scully laughed softly at his reaction. "It's okay. She's not going to tell anybody. I guess she noticed that we were both smiling a little too much this morning. Hey, she was the one to bring it up and she was also the one to promise not to tell Mickey. She doesn't think it would improve his opinion of me if he thought I'd slept with you. Or maybe, it would improve his opinion of you, I don't know. But don't worry, she's keeping it to herself." Mulder moved over to the bed and sat down. Scully looked at him, concerned. "What's the big deal? It's not like we're violating Bureau policy anymore. Hell, Mulder, there is nothing to stop us. We discussed this last night, remember?" she asked, annoyed at the obvious backtracking he was doing. Mulder looked up at her, a little stricken. "It's not that. I just, I don't know. I'm not ready to tell the world, yet. I want to make sure it's safe, you know?" "My little paranoid sweetheart," she sighed affectionately. "Look, remember Aubrey, Missouri? You couldn't figure out how I knew that BJ Morrow and Lt. Tillman were having an affair? It's a woman's thing, Mulder. For some reason, we just have radar in this area. Chloe knew it, at least she was honest enough to confront me for verification. And I know, just as surely, that she would never betray my confidence." "Not even to her partner?" Mulder asked pointedly. "Not even to her partner," Scully assured him. "Look, I mentioned the incident in Aubrey to you because it was related to the case. I've noticed lots of little 'trysts' at the Bureau that I've _never_ mentioned to you. It's not that I don't trust you, or that I would lie if you asked me to confirm your suspicions. I just don't divulge all of my knowledge of other people's personal lives." She straddled him, with her hands on his shoulders. "We aren't going to have to go through a repeat of last night, are we? Where I have to practically force myself on you to get you to believe that you're worthy of my affections?" she teased. With one quick twist, he had her flipped onto her back and pinned beneath him. "No, I think we settled that one last night. I just don't want to take out any billboards just yet. I enjoy keeping you all to myself, right now," he growled and slowly began unbuttoning her blouse. "My lips are sealed," she murmured as he leaned down and made sure of her promise. Orangeburg Elementary School 2:15 pm The principal of Orangeburg's only elementary school was a slight woman of approximately 40 years of age. But the look in her eyes showed a strength and determination that reminded Chloe of several veteran agents she had worked with at the Bureau. She stood up from behind her desk and removed her glasses before holding out her hand to the two agents. Chloe mused as she shook the woman's hand and accepted the proffered seat. She noticed Mickey's respectful and attentive manner. He looked like an eighth grader, she thought for a brief moment. One that had been caught smoking in the boys room. She bit her lip to keep the smile off her face. "Mrs. Chaney, we were wondering if we could get a copy of the employment records for the school. We are looking for recent employees, perhaps people who have come on board in the last school year," Mickey said. "Would you like teachers only, or all staff?" Mrs. Chaney asked. "All staff, actually. We don't overlook anyone. There have been several cases where a janitor or even a cafeteria worker has been involved in pedophilia, kidnapping. . ." Mickey trailed off. "I can assure you, Agent Callavelo, we check our people out closely. South Carolina may not be the richest state in education, but we have child protection laws. Our employees, everyone who regularly works with the children, has to undergo a fingerprint analysis, which I believe is conducted through your data bases at the FBI," Mrs. Chaney bristled, somewhat offended at the accusation that had been made. "Mrs. Chaney, that data base contains only people who have been arrested for one of the child endangerment crimes and have been indicted," Mickey said pointedly. "There are still many loopholes in the system. And there are new people on those files everyday. Now, I'm sure you are as interested in bringing the person who killed these children to justice as anyone. Believe me, we aren't here on a witch hunt. We simply want to check ever angle." He gave her his best smile. She relaxed a little. "I'll have Ms. Black make you a copy of our staff listing. Is there anything else?" "We are probably going to interview the Emily's teachers, just to see if any of them might have noticed someone new in her group of friends. And, of course, any one who appears to fit the profile of the killer that we're working from. But we'd like to keep this as quiet as possible," Chloe added. "We have a conference room off the library. It's quiet and not many students go in there. Feel free to use it to talk to anyone in the school. I'll have Ms. Black show you the way," Mrs. Chaney added, flipping the intercom on her desk and summoning her secretary. As soon as the agents were settled in the conference room, Mrs. Chaney placed a long distance phone call to Washington, DC. ----- End Part Eleven -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Twelve ----- Office of Walter Skinner Washington, DC September 3, 1995 "Where the hell are they!?" the man asked, angrily standing above him with his hands palm-down on the desk. "I told you! Both of them decided to take their holidays earlier this year and I feel they deserve it!" Walter Skinner shouted back. He was not impressed with the way the man before him sometimes tried to intimidate him with his glowering stares. The man pushed back away from the desk, reaching into his coat pocket for a package of Morley's. He swiftly pulled one out and stuck it into his mouth. "I want to know exactly where they went, and I want to know NOW!" he growled as he sucked on the cigarette, trying to light it with a match. "I'd have thought you'd have learned by now. I don't give in to your demands," Skinner said, standing up. "And I don' want you smoking in my office!" He snatched the cigarette out of the man's mouth and snapped it in half, tossing it into the ashtray. "Listen to me, you asshole--" "I'd suggest you stop. I'll have you kicked out on your ass so fast you won't know what happened," Skinner said, firmly. He put his hands on his hips and watched as the Cancer Man's scowl deepened. "Now, I've told you before. They're on vacation. I don't know where and I don't care. For all I know they're on the moon sunning it up with aliens," Skinner said, stepping closer. "Now get out of this office, before I have you physically removed!" he finished, using his height as an advantage over the older man. The man's eyes darkened and he turned quickly on his heel, storming out of the office. Skinner sighed angrily, looking at the ashtray where the cigarette butt still glowed red, tendrils of smoke emerging from it. Skinner picked up the remaining cigarette butt and crushed it in his hand, ignoring the burning of his flesh. ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina Elementary School 5:45 PM They had been sitting in the conference room for hours, going over records and talking to some teachers and other staff who seemed to have small inconsistencies in their files. Nothing had been turned up. Mickey Callavelo stretched his arms above his head, locking his fingers and letting out a loud sigh. He pushed back his chair and stood up, going to stand behind Chloe to see what she was up to. She turned her face up at him for a moment and gave him a cocky, tired smile. "Had enough, big boy?" she asked, pushing the book that was in front of her away. He stepped back as she pushed her chair out and stood up. "Yeah. We're not getting anywhere. I haven't seen a loophole in the records for almost an hour and the last person we interviewed was clean. My eyes are getting sore. At this rate I'll develop an incurable headache," he mumbled, angrily. "You *are* an incurable headache," Chloe said and he gave her a sarcastic smile. She laughed and took a hold of his shoulder. "Mickey, loosen up! We're going to find that break, I promise you. Maybe we should try and find out where that button came from. I still think it's the missing link," she said, tightening her grip. He shrugged loosely, and shook his head. "That button could have come from anywhere. Maybe it was even one of the investigating officer's. We have no way of knowing for sure." He hung his head agitatedly. "You're not. . ." she playfully lifted his chin with one finger so that he looked into her eyes. "Giving up, are you?" she asked and he shrugged, breaking free from her grip all together. He paced silently for a few minutes, trying to clear his thoughts and put some order back into things. "I'm not going to give this up! I can't give it up. It's just too. . . I don't know, but I do know that we owe it to this town to find--" Mickey began but he was cut off when the door burst open and a young girl dashed in, tears streaming down her cheeks. She threw herself against the wall and sobbed uncontrollably, obviously she hadn't noticed they were there. Long locks of brown hair cascaded down her back. She looked to be about eight years in age, but Mickey couldn't tell for sure, since her back was to them. Mickey and Chloe exchanged a look before they slowly approached the girl. "Honey?" Chloe said, gently putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. The girl instantly tensed, then slowly turned around. The sobs had been cut off completely and she was shaking in fright now. Chloe knelt down so that she was at eye level with the child. "Honey, what's wrong?" "W-Who are you?" the girl asked shakily. "My name's Chloe and that's Mickey, we're FBI agents," Chloe explained quietly. Mickey was impressed with the way she instantly changed personalities when dealing with certain people. He was awed at how soothing her voice was right now. Mickey thought, as he watched the girl slowly calm down. "FBI? Whoa!" the girl said, then a smile erupted on her lips. Chloe grinned back. "Are you hurt? Can you tell us what's the matter?" Chloe coaxed. "I-I. . . Uhm, hey, how do I know you're an FBI agent?" The girl asked, growing suspicious. Chloe exchanged a glance with Mickey, who simply shrugged. Sometimes kids just said the craziest of things. "Here, I'll show you my badge," Chloe said, slowly reaching into her pocket and pulling out the black case which contained her ID. The girl took it into her hand and opened it slowly. It was almost as if she expected it to snap shut on her fingers. She glared at it for a few moments, then the grin returned. "You look funny in your picture," the girl said, then erupted into giggles. Mickey smiled as he watched and wondered what Chloe's picture looked like. It occurred to him that he still hadn't seen her badge. "I know. But I'm a funny gal. So, now that you're convinced that I'm an FBI. . ." "I just had a fight with my best friend. She makes me so mad sometimes," the girl said. Chloe regarded her for a moment. "I see. That's okay. Friends are allowed to fight sometimes, you know. Actually, my friend Mickey and I always fight. Right Mick?" she asked, and the little girl looked up at him. He nodded, hiding a smile as best he could. "See, it just goes to show how much you care about each other," Chloe added. The girl nodded. "So, what's your name, honey?" Chloe asked. "My name's Samantha." "What a beautiful name! I always wished my parents had called me Samantha, you know," Chloe said, cheerfully. The little girl beamed. "I bet your last name is even better." "I don't have a last name." "What? No last name? Come on, you're pulling my leg!" Chloe teased. "No seriously! I don't have a last name! You see, I live in a foster home across town and I don't remember much about how I ended up there," the girl said, happily relating her life's events as though she didn't care who knew. Finally Mickey stepped forward and tapped Chloe on the shoulder. He turned to Samantha. "Will you excuse us for a minute, Sam?" Chloe patted the girl's shoulder lightly for a minute and then eased herself up from her position on the floor, walking with Mickey to a spot that was out of Sam's earshot. "I think we've got something here," Mickey whispered, staring into Chloe's eyes. "Mick, she's just a girl. She has absolutely nothing to do with this case," she replied, watching as his face clouded over and he threw a glance back at Sam. "You're sure about that?" "I'm pretty sure." "Well, I'm not. I've got a gut feeling about this and I just want you to humor me about it, okay?" he said and for the first time he wondered if Chloe would raise a complaint. She stood still for a moment, contemplating. "Fine, Mickey. If you've got an idea, then we'll go with it. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," she whispered finally and he smiled. He'd won that small confrontation. In a moment, Mickey turned back to the girl and softly explained to her what was going on. He asked her if she would like to see the inside of a police station. She nodded happily. ----- Dana Scully awoke to the sound of a cell phone ringing. She lifted her head away from Mulder's chest and strained to figure out whether it was her phone or his. She eased herself out of Mulder's embrace and reached for her purse, pulling out the cell phone. "Scully," she whispered, trying not to wake Mulder if necessary. If she'd known how that phone call would change his life, she would have awoken him in a flash. "Agent Scully, it's Chloe. Mick and I have found one of the kids with green blood. We're at the hospital." "All right, I'll be right there. Tell them to prepare an autopsy bay for me. I'll be doing this one myself--" "No, that won't be necessary. She's alive." Scully's jaw dropped at the words. She shifted around, drawing her knees up to her chest and sat silent for a moment. "She's alive?" "Yes. Her name's Samantha. She says she doesn't have a last name. Lives at one of the foster home. We've, uh, taken her to the hospital to do a few tests--" Chloe explained, but stopped at Dana's sharp intake of air. To Dana's surprise, her hands were trembling as she held the phone. she thought. Then she felt Mulder's hand begin to rub her back and she tensed completely. Could she get his hopes up like that? "Okay, I'll let Mulder know. . ." she said after a few moments of silence. She'd already decided that she would not tell Mulder the girl's name. If it was Samantha *Mulder*, they would find out together at the hospital. "Thanks. I guess we'll see you two in a while," Chloe said, then hung up. Scully sat quietly for a moment, Mulder's hand reached up to her shoulder as he slowly sat up. "Dana, you okay?" he asked, concerned at her tension. "Yeah, fine. They've found one of the children and she's very much alive. Maybe we can finally get somewhere." "Was she attacked?" "Apparently not. I'm not sure how they found her," Scully said. she tried to convince herself. She knew she wasn't lying to him, but she was willingly keeping the truth from him. her inner self chided. Scully shook her head and slowly got up, heading quickly to the bathroom before Mulder could see the look on her face. She knew it would give it all away. ----- End Part Twelve -- Apologize for the multi-postings. I hate my newgroup reader. *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Thirteen ----- Orangeburg Hospital "What exactly did Chloe say on the phone?" Mulder asked, for possibly the tenth time since they had received the call at the hotel. "Just that they found a child with green blood, alive, and they were here with her," Scully replied, trying to keep her patience. "This could be the break we're looking for," Mulder said, speeding up his steps. Scully's hand on his arm brought him to a stop. "What?" he asked, aggravation clouding his face. "Okay, it's the break *they're* looking. . ." "No, that's not it." Scully sought for the right words. "I just. . . I want you to know. . . I love you, Fox," she said very quietly. He grinned broadly. "I figured that out between last night and this afternoon," he teased. "But come on, now. There's a time and a place, Scully. And now is neither, so let's hustle." Samantha was looking more than a little scared as she sat in the examining room, dressed in a hospital gown. The doctor was nice enough, but she didn't feel sick and she sure didn't understand why the FBI would be so interested in her. She wasn't a stupid child, she had heard the snatches of conversation. And as much as she had been told not to watch, she had caught a glimpse of the blood sample as the technician drew it into the vial. It had been green, the color of the antifreeze her foster father put in his pick up to keep the old thing from overheating. That wasn't right. She knew a little about the body and health and blood, she knew, was supposed to be red. But then, she couldn't remember the last time she had fallen or skinned a knee. It had to have been a long time ago, maybe over a year. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes as she tried to remember what her life had been like before, before she woke up in a foster home, with no last name, no memory of a family, nothing but a little bracelet with the name Samantha engraved on the back of one charm. Mickey and Chloe were standing in the hallway outside the examining room, deep in discussion. "Maybe we should have all the foster kids in the county tested," Mickey was saying sarcastically as Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying that it's a pretty big coincidence that so far, all the victims, and now a totally unrelated little girl end up with green blood," Chloe hissed back. "And I doubt that we could manage to get them all tested. We're just lucky Samantha's foster parents were also friends of Emily's foster parents and seem to care about her enough to have her tested. Otherwise, we'd never have found out anything." She looked up as the big double doors in the middle of the hall, dividing the in-patient rooms from the out-patient exam rooms, opened and Mulder hurried toward them with Scully quick on his heels. "Where is she?" Mulder asked without greeting. "Has she said anything?" "Outside of her name, her first name, she doesn't seem to know anything. Literally," answered Chloe. Mulder shot her a perplexed look, so Mickey filled in the blanks. "She entered the child welfare system almost a year ago. Before she got to her current placement, no one knows for certain where she came from. And for some reason, she's suffering from amnesia," Mickey added, glancing at his notes. "Did anyone search missing persons?" Mulder asked, somewhat lost in thought. "Checked her prints, but found no match among recently missing children. They mentioned a glitch in the system, though," Chloe chimed in. "A glitch?" Scully asked. "Yeah, but it didn't pan out. The foster parents said there had been a match on prints, but the girl whose prints she matched, and not 100% by the way, has been missing a long time. She'd be a lot older by now, in her late twenties or something," Mickey said, dismissing the whole discussion. Scully turned visibly white. "Did the foster parents say they knew the name of the missing girl?" she questioned Mickey. "Nah, I don't think they ever knew. No matter, it wasn't a match, so why bother," he replied. "Can we go in there? I'd like to ask her a few questions," Mulder said looking up and down the hall for doctors or nurses, those people who tended to stand guard over patients. "I don't see why not," Mickey said. "We've been in and out of there for the last 45 minutes and no one has tried to stop us. C'mon, I'll introduce you." He walked over and pushed open the door, knocking lightly as he did. "Sam," he called. "There are some people here I'd like you to meet. They're friends of mine and Chloe's, so you don't have to worry, okay?" "Okay, Mickey," came the soft voice from inside the room. Mickey didn't notice Mulder's reaction to that voice, but Scully and Chloe did. It looked like he had just stopped breathing. In a split second, Mulder had shoved Mickey aside and was in the room. The minute his eyes met the hazel eyes of the little girl in front of him, he lost all color in his face and Scully grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. "It can't be. . .it can't be. . ." he managed to whisper. His eyes searched for and found Scully, standing with the same wide eyed wonder he knew he had to be displaying. Sitting on the examining table was the spitting image of the little girl whose picture rested on Mulder's desk in the office. In front of the them was Samantha Mulder. "We've been fooled before," Scully whispered hurriedly in his ear as she fought to bring him back to reality. It took him a moment, but slowly the more rational part of his being took over. He nodded slowly, but didn't trust himself to speak. He looked over to Scully, pleading for her help. She understood and nodded in return. Scully let go of Mulder's arm and he slid down into a plastic chair in the corner of the room. She made sure he was okay, then walked over to the little girl on the table, who was looking at them with a mixture of fear and curiosity. "Hello, Samantha. My name is Dana. I'm a friend of Mickey and Chloe's. And this is Fox, he's our friend, too," she said quietly, calmly, more calmly than she felt. She watched closely for any reaction Mulder's name might have produced in the girl, but Samantha's expression did not change. "Are you with the FBI, too?" the little girl asked. The more she talked, the more apparent her soft New England accent became. It sounded totally out of place after days of hearing the deep Southern drawl of the residents of Orangeburg. "Yes, we are. Do you know why we're here?" Scully asked. "Because somebody hurt Emily and she died," Samantha answered. "But I don't know who it was. I didn't know Emily very well, she was older than me," she added. "That's okay, Samantha. But we would still like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. Maybe you saw somebody, somebody who likes to talk to the foster kids, at school maybe. Do the foster kids play together much?" Scully asked. She could hear the heavy breathing coming from the chair behind her and knew this line of questioning had to be driving Mulder insane, but she wanted to ease into any other discussions. The little girl looked frightened enough without adding more confusion. "Sometimes we have family picnics," Samantha said thoughtfully. "But we're all in different grades and go to different churches. We don't play together much, except all the kids in one house, maybe. I didn't know who Emily played with," she concluded. "What's wrong with Fox?" she asked suddenly. Slowly, Mulder stood up and walked over to the girl. Scully couldn't decide if she should stop him or let him go on. Finally, she let him go to her. Mulder's eyes were focused on the small charm bracelet on Samantha's left wrist. "Where did you get your bracelet, Sam?" he asked, trying very hard to sound collected. Samantha looked down at the bracelet and frowned. "It's from before," she said simply. "Before what?" Mulder prodded gently. "Before I came here. I don't know anything about back then. Mrs. Dodds says I can't remember because someone hurt me real bad and I'm afraid I'll remember the hurt. But I don't think so. I think," she stopped and took a deep, frustrated breath. "You think what?" Mulder continued. "I think somebody 'stole' them. My memories. I don't think I got hurt. Sometimes I have dreams and they're happy dreams. I had a family, and they loved me. I know kids who were hurt by their moms and dads. They have scary dreams and are afraid all the time. I don't have those dreams. My dreams are good," she added confidently. "I have dreams, too," Mulder confided. "What are your dreams like? Do you remember anyone's face or name?" Slowly, the psychologist's mind was coming to the fore and Scully sighed with relief. It had been close. "There aren't any people in my dreams. Just a house. I'm in my room, but I know there are other people in the house, I just can't see them. They're aren't in the room." "What does the room look like, Sam?" Mulder continued. "It's sunny. There are two beds, with a big book case in between them and two windows, one on the wall by my bed and one on the wall at the foot of my bed. My bed has a really pretty bedspread that's white with ruffles and hearts that are made of that red cloth, what's it called? It has lots of little checks of red and white?" she asked of the two women in the room. "Gingham," came the answer, from Mulder. "The hearts are of red checked gingham." Samantha looked at him and giggled. "Yes! That's what it's called! Gingham," she pronounced it, delighted that he would know. Mulder's voice was growing very tense, but he kept on with the interview. "What about the other bed, Sam? Do you remember it?" The little girl's face screwed up in concentration. "Yes. It's got a blue bedspread. It's not pretty, like mine. It's got lines on it, but they are the same color. The lines make it feel rough when I sit on it." "Like little cords running through it?" Mulder asked. "Uh huh, like cords. And I don't sit on it very much because it belongs to my big brother, and he doesn't like me to mess with his stuff," she admitted. At that small confidence Mulder turned and walked from the room. Scully turned to Sam quickly. "I think Fox must have been paged," she lied. "I better go give him his phone, it's in my pocket," she smiled. Then, in a quick aside to Chloe, she whispered. "Don't let her out of your sight and see if she remembers 'people', Chloe. Anything she remembers about her family. Especially her big brother. I'll be back in a minute." Then she left the room to search for Mulder. It took her a while to find him. He must have started running the second the door closed behind him. He was sitting in the small garden outside the hospital where the smokers went for their breaks. There was no one there but him and he was crying. She walked up to him slowly and sat down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "She got that bracelet from our grandmother," he said between breaths. "For her eighth birthday. And our room was just as she described it. She had this bedspread. . .my God, Scully, Mom still has it. I remember the day we moved out of the old house, she made me take it off and put it in the trunk because she couldn't stand to touch it." He looked at her with stricken eyes. "Could it be? Could that be *my* Sam?" Scully took a deep breath. This was going to be extremely dangerous and her answer had to be exact. She knew how tenuous her partner's hold on reality was at that moment, and the wrong word or action could drive him away from her forever. That was not a consequence she was willing to accept. "Mulder, we can't be sure of anything. I have to admit, though, that she looks just like your picture. And it would be easy enough to examine the bracelet. Regardless of whether she is the real Sam or not, she does seem to be connected in some way." She watched him closely and he closed his eyes and nodded. "So what do we do? How do we find out? And my God, Scully, she's still a little girl. I mean, the clones, at least they were grown women. Could she just be a clone, too, one who hasn't grown up yet? And why doesn't she have any memories? The clone who was killed on the bridge, she knew all about Sam, knew the games we played, knew about me, remembered the night she was abducted." He stopped and looked at her with all the pain and anguish that could his eyes could possibly hold. "I want it to be her, Scully, but I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. . ." ----- End Part Thirteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Fourteen ----- "Chloe?" Mickey asked, uneasily. He had watched as Mulder shot out of the room hastily and had known that Scully lied to the child about the pager. He was missing something. He didn't like to be missing something. "Uh, I don't know what's going on," she whispered in his ear, so that Sam could not hear them. "I suspect that this is why Mulder was so interested in this case. Except I don't think he really expected to find what he was looking for," she explained, going on feelings that she'd been seeing in him ever since she'd met him. She had heard stories about his sister's disappearance but it was only now just occurring to her. This girl reminded him of his missing sister. It all made sense and it all fit into the her puzzle quite nicely. She shrugged at Mickey, then moved closer to Sam, bringing the plastic chair to sit in. "Samantha, can you tell me anything else about your brother?" Chloe asked, using the same calming tone she had earlier when dealing with the upset child. Sam blinked at her for a moment, wondering what was so important about her brother, but shrugged. "I don't remember much. He was pretty tall. Much taller than me. Uhm, he had brown hair and he was skinny. Come to think of it, Fox reminds me a lot of him. The voices I hear in my dreams are always kind. Soothing, like Fox's," she said, and Chloe smiled at her. "Well, honey, Dana thinks it's important that you try and remember as much as you can. Can you explain anything else about your family?" Chloe asked, then glanced at Mickey, who had his small notepad out and was ready to take notes. "Uhm, I really can't. . . Wait a minute. There's one dream I have pretty often. There are little men standing on a board. Red and Blue. It's a game that my brother and I used to play all the time. Sometimes though, the dream changes and the little men are engulfed in light and they float away from us." Chloe looked puzzled, throwing another look at Mickey. He shrugged, writing vigorously as the girl spoke. "This game, do you like it?" "Oh yes. I can remember it being fun. . . I think," she said, hesitantly. "If we took you to a toy store, do you think you could point it out?" Chloe asked, almost at a loss for questions. She wondered if the game was important. "I don't know," the girl said, and shrugged. "I'm hungry, can I have some food?" "Sure, honey. I guess Mickey and I could treat you to lunch, but we'll have to wait for Dana and Fox, they'll be hungry too," Chloe explained, hoping that they would return soon. "How about you lay back and relax. I need to speak to Mickey about special FBI things." "Will there be any more tests?" "No, Sam, no more tests. Promise," Chloe said, crossing her heart. Sam giggled and nodded, laying back on the table and closing her eyes. ----- "You can't promise that there'll be no more tests," Mickey said as soon as the door to the room swung shut. "Oh yes I can. We're finished with her--" "What if they want any more blood tests?" "They'll have to make due. I can't let them take any more. We can't risk her finding out that she's not normal. At least not until we know what's going on." "Sometimes--" he said between clenched teeth. "Sometimes what, Mickey?" she asked. He remained silent. "Sometimes you'd just like to punch my lights out, wouldn't you?" she suggested. "You know, you're right about that. But for the most part, I don't hit women." "I think I'd prefer it if you did hit me, you know why?" Chloe said, her tone softening. They had both been under a lot of stress and now they just needed some sleep. Very badly. "No, why?" "Because then I can trust you not to shoot me when things get really bad. Believe me, this is just the start," she said, easing into a calmer tone and letting some of her humour drip into it. Mickey relaxed visibly and she was glad. Yet again she'd stepped on his toes and she could tell he was getting sick of dancing. "I just realized something," Mickey said, smiling. "You mentioned something on the plane. Said I'd have to wait to find out. You never told me what it was." "Oh, yes. You'll still have to wait. Maybe later tonight I'll tell you," she said and her grin widened as she remembered. ----- Scully wrapped her arms around Mulder and allowed him to let his feelings flow out. His tears dripped on the lapel of her coat, soaking the material and making it appear much darker. He sobbed, shaking against her, she held him tight as if her strength would be passed into him. Finally his tears began to fade and he looked up at her with damp eyes, almost as if he were ashamed. "I'm sorry," he said, using his hand to wipe away the remaining tears from his cheeks. "I just feel so helpless," he said, standing up, his back to her. "Don't be sorry, Mulder. I love you and I'll be here, however you need me," she whispered as she put her arms around his waist again, resting her cheek on his back. She could feel that he was still shaking. His emotions were raw and she knew that he wouldn't be useful for much longer. She should insist that he go back to the hotel, knowing only too well that he'd refuse. "Scully, we've got to talk," Mulder said suddenly, and he slowly turned around in her arms, raising his hands to her face. He peered down at her and his expression scared her. "Mulder, I know--" she said, but stopped as his index finger touched her lips. "Dana, if that--" He caught himself, then started again. "If she's really Sam, then I want to be sure she gets the right things in life. I think. . ." he stopped again. "Fox?" Scully asked, she didn't like where this was heading. "I think, if that is Samantha, I want to adopt her. She's my sister and she deserves to be a part of a real family again." "You call your fish and a well beaten sofa, a family?" Scully asked, her eyes round as saucers. Mulder was talking about adopting a child. It would be someone to care for, someone to show love for. Was he ready to handle having a child in his apartment? "She's a little girl, Mulder," Scully mumbled, unsure of what to say, aware that she was treading on very thin ice. "A family, Dana. You and me and Samantha," he said, after hesitating for a few minutes. Scully stared up at him, stunned, her jaw slack. "Mulder, you're not suggesting. . ." she trailed off. "Listen to me, Dana. I love you. You know I've been searching my entire life for her. We can live together and finally be happy. . ." he said, then noticed that her eyes had darkened. He had suggested the wrong subject way too early. His gravest mistake ever. He leaned forward and kissed Scully on the lips, if only to test her reaction. His guess was correct. She didn't return the kiss with much feeling at all. Was it because she was still too stunned? He didn't think so. "No, no. No. . ." he said, backing away. What had he done? "Scully, I didn't mean. . ." "Mulder, stop. It's okay. I understand what you're trying to say," Scully began, trying to seem like she understood. Had he been trying to propose to her? After such a short time? She didn't know, couldn't know. Scully watched in stunned silence as Mulder ran blindly away from her, his long legs carrying him much faster than she could ever hope to run. She let him go. ----- Mulder stopped running and threw himself on the grass. What had he been trying to tell Scully? He had been trying to tell her that he wanted to be there for her forever. But why had she become upset? Was she scared of sharing him with Samantha? Afraid that his love for his long lost sister would dilute his love for her? Could Dana Scully be that selfish? He hadn't thought so. Mulder stretched himself out on the damp ground, the sun sinking slowly into the horizon behind him. He buried his head in his arms and remained that way for a very long time, just thinking. The tears began to flow again a short time later and he knew that the little girl in the hospital room was indeed Samantha Mulder, his sister. His baby sister. He had waited a long time to see her again. Mulder had come close a couple of years ago when the clones had claimed to be his sister. That little girl in there *was* her, he could feel it. He could tell just by the way she looked at him. The sound of her voice sent chills down his spine. He wanted to bring her back into the family. Could he have them both? ----- Dana Scully slowly dragged herself up the steps to the entrance of the hospital. She felt like hell. There were so many things she needed to sort out. She couldn't figure out why she had been upset when Mulder told her that he wanted to adopt Samantha. She didn't know why the thought of it made her stomach turn and sink slightly. Perhaps it had been because she had received all of his attention for the last five years and wouldn't be used to it being divided. No matter how she tried to deny it, the truth was there, lurking behind it all. She was jealous. She wanted to have Mulder to herself, to explore this new found avenue of their friendship. She realized that by her own jealousy, she just might have driven away the only man she'd loved for the last five years. She was going to have to deal with Samantha, if she was the real Samantha, and accept her as part of Mulder. All part of the package. She pulled the door open and walked down the hallway to the elevators. She waited patiently, thankful that the time would allow her eyes to dry. The tears had begun to fall just after Mulder had run from her. The elevator arrived and Scully rode up in silence, finding a bathroom close to the wing where Mickey and Chloe were waiting for her. She rinsed her face and made sure that there was no trace of the anguish she felt, although she had a feeling Chloe would know the instant she entered the room, without Fox Mulder. She walked slowly, deliberately, towards the room. She pushed through the door and looked at the little girl who was sleeping peacefully on the examination table. "Mickey?" Scully asked. "Could you take her home to her foster parents? Tell them to keep a close eye on her," she said, an even and cool tone escaping her lips. She was glad for that one small savior. "Sure, Agent Scully. No problem," he replied. Chloe looked over Scully. Dana watched as her expression changed, noting that the other woman was taking mental notes, getting ready to ask questions at a later time. Scully found herself looking forward to getting everything off her chest. Chloe Grant was the perfect person to talk to. She seemed so. . . She was just very empathetic. Grant herself had even mentioned a bad experience with a man. Scully would not make a point to dump on the woman, but if she asked questions, Scully knew she'd break down. Perhaps Grant sensed that too. Perceptive. "Mickey, I'm going to go out and get some tea. Make sure you feed that kid, we promised, remember?" Chloe said, then grasped Scully's arm and fixed her with a purely sympathetic look. "Why don't you come with me? You look a little stressed." Scully nodded, unable to say anything, not trusting her own words. "Uhm, I'll see you back at the hotel, then I guess?" Mickey said, catching, for once, the negative vibes that were flowing through the room. He wondered how one person could change moods so quickly. He'd never seen anyone go from being on cloud nine, like Agent Scully had been that morning, to completely stressed. This case was definitely getting weirder and it was almost time he demanded some answers. ----- Orange Peel Coffee House Orangeburg, South Carolina 9:18 PM Chloe Grant sipped at her cup of tea, sitting across from Dana Scully in a deserted coffee shop. She glanced at Scully, who hadn't uttered a word since they left the hotel. Sometimes Chloe hated being so quick to pick up on other people's feelings. Sometimes it played havoc on her own system. "Where's Agent Mulder?" she asked, finally. "I don't know," Dana replied a little too sharply, looking away from her cup, which she had been staring into since they had arrived, and out the window. "Hold on here. Just this morning you were so-- Well, just what the hell is going on here?" Chloe said, sounding angry, even though she wasn't really. She wanted Agent Scully to realize just how serious she was about solving this case, and if the two older agents were going to get in the way, she wanted to get them out. No matter how much she admired Dana Scully, she needed to solve this case. Her first real case. "Who the hell is this Samantha and just what does she mean to Mulder?" Chloe asked, realizing that she'd spoken a little louder than she had intended and had attracted the attention of the stout woman at the counter. she thought. Her muscles were getting sore from the accident and her broken finger hurt and she needed to get some sleep. It had been one hell of a long day. Across from her, Dana Scully's gaze hardened and her eyes glistened. She set her jaw. Her grip tightened on the mug before her, making her knuckles turn white. Chloe had set her off and would probably pay for it with a few harsh words. "Agent Mulder," Scully said angrily, "has decided to play 'disappear'. I don't know where he is and frankly right now, I don't care," the doctor blurted. Apparently Scully wasn't angry at Chloe herself. "Dana, what happened? Between you and me, as friends. Explain it to me. I want to listen. You need someone to talk to," Chloe said, reaching out and taking the older woman's hand in hers. She could feel Scully's hand shaking beneath her firm grip. Scully was definitely using every ounce of her strength to keep from breaking down completely. Chloe let go of her hand, and looked sympathetically at Scully as the tears slowly began to flow down her cheeks. "Fox Mulder lost his sister a very long time ago. That little girl in that room resembles her to a 't'. That little girl *is* his sister," Scully spat out, finally. Chloe nodded as the pieces fell together. Of course, she should have guessed from the reactions. "He wants to adopt her. Wants to let her have a real family. This family, it includes--" Scully stopped, burying her hands in her face. "It includes Mulder, me and Samantha. He wanted to--" she stopped again, but this time did not continue. Chloe nodded. Both women remained silent. Chloe sighed inwardly. Obviously Fox Mulder had no idea just what he meant to Dana Scully. She did not ask any more questions. Dana didn't reveal any more information although Chloe knew that she needed to. Perhaps Dana wanted to deal with it internally. Chloe shook her head, remembering back to her own miserable relationship. She pushed the thoughts from her head. Maybe some day she'd explain to someone. Not tonight. She drank the last of her tea, and waited for Dana. ----- End Part Fourteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Fifteen ----- Orangeburg Hospital Samantha woke up with a start. She had just been having one of her dreams, but this time, at long last, there were people in it. Or one person, at least. Her brother. And it was Fox. Sam searched the small examining room for his face, but found only Agent Cavellelo in the room. "Morning, sunshine. Have a nice nap?" Mickey asked with a smile. This, he could handle. He had little sisters and nieces and 8 year olds weren't nearly as frustrating as women in their twenties. She returned his smile, then looked around the room again. "Where is everybody? Did Dana and Fox come back, yet?" she asked. Mickey took a deep breath, trying to quickly gather his thoughts. "Ah, no, they had some real important FBI stuff to do. They'll see you later, probably tomorrow. Chloe had to go with them. So, I guess that means I get to 'escort' you to lunch, Miss Samantha," he said, with much gallantry. It got the desired effect. The little girl broke into giggles. "Shall we go? Opps Cinderella, I think your ball gown needs some work," he said suddenly, remembering the hospital gown. "How about if I wait outside and you change into the one your Fairy Godmother gave you?" "If I'm Cinderella, does that make you the Prince," Samantha giggled with delight. "Nah, it makes me Nana the Dog, but hey, at least I'm in the story, right?" he smiled in return and left her alone to change. It took Sam no time at all to change and then she was in the hallway, looking for Mickey. "Where do you wish to dine, milady?" he asked in grave tones. "Well, the Dairy Queen is my favorite," she confided shyly. "Then Dairy Queen, it is. But you'll have to direct me. I may look like Bruno, but I lack his directional skills," he confided in return. More giggles and the two left the hospital. "I called your foster parents. I told them I'd bring you home after we have some lunch," Mickey told Sam as they settled into Mulder's rental car. Mickey thought. Whatever Mulder was doing, it was confusing Mickey completely. Here was an experienced agent, acting like a total loon. But that did fit in with the rumours. Suddenly, he was beginning to regret agreeing to have Scully and Mulder stick around. He had a case to worry about, and babysitting a pair of nutcase agents did not figure into his plans. "Turn here at the corner," Sam said, pointing and bringing Mickey back to the present. "Hey, you're good," Mickey said with admiration as they pulled up in front of the Dairy Queen. "You can direct me any time," he added. "I told you, it's my favorite place," she replied and quickly exited the car, racing him to the front door of the restaurant. "Okay, Sam. This is on the government, since you're helping with our investigation. The sky's the limit. What do you want?" Mickey asked, surveying the menu board above their heads. "Hmmmm, I want a double cheeseburger, fries, a chocolate milkshake, medium sized, and a hot fudge sundae for dessert," she rattled off the order. Mickey's eyes grew wide. "Where are you planning on putting all that food?" he exclaimed, noting her tiny frame. Sam giggled again. "I TOLD you I was hungry. I missed lunch at school and I didn't eat much at breakfast. I was helping dress the little kids," she said and then grew quiet. Mickey waited until the food arrived and they had sat down to talk again. "You woke up pretty hard in the hospital. Did you have a bad dream?" he asked. "No. I told you, I don't have 'bad' dreams. It was a good dream. And Chloe wanted to know more about my brother." She grew silent and stared out the window for a minute. "Does Fox have any brothers or sisters?" she asked suddenly. For some reason, she didn't want to tell Mickey about her dream, but she wanted him to answer some questions she had, nonetheless. "He had a little sister once, but she disappeared," Mickey answered truthfully. Samantha acknowledged his answer with a nod. Then brightly asked, "Hey, do you like baseball?" Fox Mulder took a deep breath and walked over to the parking lot. Cavellelo obviously still had his car. He had already checked the room and found that Mickey and Samantha had left and that Chloe and Scully were nowhere to be found. he thought ruefully. From the lookDana's face the last time he had seen her, he wouldn't have been surprised if she were packed and half way to the airport by now. he chided himself. The only option he had left was to go back to the hotel, and figure out what would really be best for Sam. Half way to the hotel, it struck him. Maybe he WAS asking too much. Maybe Dana wasn't jealous, she just wasn't up to taking on the responsibility of an 8 year old child. Sure, she had been willing to help him find his sister. But that was when they thought they would find a 30 year old woman. Someone who might need some emotional support returning to her old life, but who would have at least gone through adolescence. Looking at it from Dana's perspective, he could see why she had reacted the way she did. Now, he had to figure out how to make it right. There were two women in his life suddenly, and he refused to think he would have to lose either of them, ever again. Orange Peel Diner "Look," Chloe said, using her best 'mother hen' voice. "I think you need to go and think this through. Everyone's emotions are riding a little bit too high, right now. You need to be alone and figure out what's best for you, what's best for Mulder and maybe, even, since you are the rational one of this duo, what's best for Samantha. I do think Mulder is right on one score. Growing up in a foster home is not the most desirable lifestyle. If there is an alternative, it deserves to be looked into. But whether or not YOU fit into that picture, well, that's got to be up to you." Dana nodded slowly and started to get up. "Chloe, I . . . I mean, Thank you," Dana said softly. "Don't mention it. Especially since I could be arrested for practicing psychiatry without a license," she grinned in return. Dana smiled for a second and then left for the hotel. The walk to the hotel wasn't far, just a couple of blocks, but it gave Dana a chance to think. she said to herself. She chewed on her lip awhile. she thought ruefully. A child to raise. Of course, Dana wanted kids. She might have put off having them so that she could pursue her career, but that didn't mean she was completely oblivious to her own loudly ticking biological clock. And the man she could most easily envision having those children with was definitely Fox Mulder. she asked herself again. She was Fox's sister. Dana had no part in her, had no connection. She could see herself loving the little girl, simply because she meant so much to Fox. But what would happen when their own children started to make an appearance? How would they fit into to Fox's affections? Would Fox even want other children, since he already had one to raise--the one he had spent 20 some years searching for? She considered for a minute exactly what she was doing. she decided. She knew how loving he was. She knew how much he loved her. She knew he had even traded Samantha for her, once in his life. So why, in the world, did she think so much less of him now? she concluded. In the light of a little reason, what he was suggesting was something she might have suggested herself, given time to think through the options. But in typical Mulder fashion, he was two steps ahead of her thought processes and as a result, she had balked at his suggestion. she had to admit. The only difference now was that their relationship was so much deeper. And so much more emotional. Mulder could accept her questioning his theories on a professional level. But, her reluctance to jump on a marriage proposal, to him, was a rejection of *him*, not just a desire to think it through. she decided. She was almost to the hotel when she saw the lanky form in the doorway. He must have seen her, because he was standing there, waiting. "Hi," he said quietly, trying to gauge her reaction. "Hi, yourself," she answered. "Are you feeling any better?" "Depends," he replied. "On?" she asked. "On how badly I screwed us up," he said softly. She stood there and gazed up at him. "I don't think even you could manage to make me stop loving you, Mulder. If you haven't figured that out by now, I obviously have my work cut out for me." That elicited a small smile. "We still have a lot to talk about, though," she added. "I know," he said. "And I owe you an apology, too. It wasn't fair of me to dump all of this on you so suddenly. That was stupid, and selfish, and. . ." "Typical?" she smiled, just barely restraining a chuckle. "Am I that bad?" he countered. "Sometimes," she admitted. She saw his face fall again. "But not all the time. It's just that, sometimes, Mulder, you forget that you need to let me catch up, you know. You race so far ahead that that I have to run twice as fast to keep up with you. That goes for your mental processes, as well as jogging." "I'm sorry. I'm really very, very sorry. I can't promise I won't ever do it again, but please believe me that I never meant to hurt you or scare you away. . ." he pleaded. She cut him off with a finger to his lips. "I know that. And I may have overreacted a little, too. You have to know, Fox, I meant it when I said I love you. And I meant it when I said I would be there for you, however you need me. But this is a big step, several big steps, really, and I think we owe it to ourselves, AND to Samantha, to sit down and think it through before we rush in to anything. That doesn't mean my answer is 'no'. It means I take this proposition so seriously, that I want to make absolutely sure we are doing the right thing, for all of us. Can you understand and accept that?" "Ever the practical one," he smiled at her. "One of us has to be, occasionally," she pointed out. "So, let's go up to your room and talk it out," he said, opening the door. She hesitated. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't think that's such a good idea. Seems like every time we try to discuss something in that room, we end up not discussing much at all," she said in a low suggestive tone. He had to chuckle. "Okay, then we can go to my room. I have all my files on the bed, so *maybe* we might actually consider talking less work than, ah, other activities," he said and wiggled his eyebrows. She laughed and nodded in agreement. -------- Chloe was waiting for Mickey in the hotel when he returned from dropping off Samantha at her foster home. She had a sheaf of faxes the desk clerk had given her in her hand and a very disturbed look on her face. "What's the matter, now?" Mickey asked, feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland. Every time he turned around, this case just got curiouser and curiouser. "I did a little checking. Seems that Mulder might have been on to something. Apparently, he called the DC office this afternoon and asked to have missing persons run a cross match on all the victims with their data files. Mickey, every one of those kids showed up on a list," Chloe said, handing the faxes over to Mickey. He sat down in a wing chair and read through the pages. "Chloe, some of these kids have been reported missing for . . .my gosh, 20 years! That's not possible! These were little kids, not midgets! What the heck. . ." Chloe stifled a grin. "Cavellelo, do you EVER cuss?" she couldn't help but ask. "Grant, when I'm mad enough to curse, stand back. You won't want to be in the shockwave," he answered with conviction. She eyed him suspiciously and nodded her acceptance. "And looky here," he added, coming to the last page. "Samantha Ann Mulder. Missing since Nov. 27, 1972. Eight years old, brown hair, hazel eyes." The fax contained a picture of young Samantha. "Now, THAT'S 'Spooky' for you!" He handed the pages back. "Okay, so now we have 7 people who never grew up, who have green blood, who were all abducted from their homes as children, suddenly showing up in Orangeburg, South Carolina, some as long as 23 years after their abductions, and 6 of them are already dead. Hey, I'm ready to go back to wire tap, how about you?" Chloe scoffed at him. "Michael, Michael, Michael. . .I never thought of you as a quitter. C'mon, that's what the NORMAL agents are there for! We're the X-Files--ALL of our cases are likely to be like this one! Where is your sense of adventure? As far as I'm concerned, this case is just starting to get interesting! I only wish. . ." she trailed off, looking up the stairs of the old hotel. "Wish we could actually get some assistance from our 'assistants'?" he added, to end her thought. "Yeah, something like that," she sighed. "Well, at least it makes more sense, how. I mean, if it had been my sister. . .I would have freaked, too I guess. But that doesn't really explain Scully's actions. I mean, it's not like they're involved or anything," he said, then caught the look Chloe was giving him. "Or are they?" he asked, this time suspicious. "Are all Irish-Italians from Chicago as dense as you, or did you just fall off the family milk wagon once too often?" Chloe asked, disgusted. "Hey, I lived a sort of sheltered life! Gimme a break here. Besides, he didn't say anything. . ." Mickey tried to defend himself. "And I'm sure when you sleep with a woman, IF you ever do, you go out and blab it to the first person you meet," she shot back. Mickey blanched. Chloe slapped herself mentally. "Oh," was the only word to escape Mickey's lips. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence, when he finally regained his composure. "We better keep an eye on Samantha. We may not know exactly who is after her or why, but I think it's fairly obvious that she is in danger, and at this point, we seem to be the only people sane enough to protect her," Chloe nodded and followed him out the door. ----- End Part Fifteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Sixteen ----- The shifting of the wind was enough to tell him that the fire would burn rapidly through the house. It would definitely be an easy job, especially with the aid of the can of gasoline that he had been given. He silently walked around the building, splashing the gas carelessly over the walls. He made sure that it was thoroughly covered, stepping away from the house and deeper into the shadows of the night. From there, he lit a small piece of cloth, which had been soaked in gasoline too, pushing it into the remainder of the can. He heaved the can up over his head and tossed it easily through the window, smiling at the thrilling sound of glass breaking. As one final precaution, he lit a match and tossed it into a patch of grass which he had made a trail of gas to. It quickly caught fire, traveling quickly up to the walls of the house. He watched as the blaze quickly engulfed the home, then turned and ran away, not leaving any evidence of having been there... Except another tiny button from the military suit jacket he'd been wearing. ----- An affair! Agent Scully and Agent Mulder were having a damned affair and Chloe Grant had known about it. Mickey Cavellelo was furious. Why hadn't he seen it? Why hadn't he picked up on it? And of course, the fact that it was interfering with their work was even worse. As Chloe drove slowly towards the foster home of Samantha Mulder, he sat in the passenger seat, thinking about his obvious blindness. "I can't believe it," he mumbled, staring into the darkness, out the window of the passenger door. "What?" Chloe asked, flashing a quick glance in his direction. Mickey hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud. "They're having an affair," he said, straining to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He should have known better, Chloe picked up on it directly. "Relationship. Neither one is married, so therefore it's not an affair," Chloe corrected, happily. Mickey balled his fist, controlling his temper. "Thank you," he said, seething. "I don't care what they're having, except the fact that they're messing up this case!" he cried. His cheeks flushed red and he stared at Chloe. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? I would never *ever* have agreed to let them help." "Okay, let's get some things straight. For one, I'm sick of your attitude. Mulder was the one who originally had the idea of checking against the missing persons database. Without that, we wouldn't have found out what these children had in common," Chloe said, feeling her own temper rising. Mickey had better watch it, because her temper did not rise often. "Without their help, we'd be back in Washington by now, scratching our heads and wondering what wiretap would really be like." "Chloe--" "And for another thing," Chloe's voice had grown harsh. "If you don't clean up your act, you're going to discover just how good at bone rearrangement I really am!" she said, trying to keep focus on the driving. "You don't have to get so upset, I just don't like the way everyone is keeping things from me," he said, trying to calm himself and his partner down. "Michael, they didn't want to tell you for that *exact* reason. You blew your lid. Besides, it's their life and they can do whatever the fuck they please. Do you understand?" she asked, turning the corner and pushing the gas pedal down. She was still a little weary about the accident that had occurred just yesterday, her concussion hurt, not to mention driving with her broken finger, but she was angry enough not to care. "Yeah, I get what you're trying to say, but this is my first case and I just don't want to mess it up!" "You think I want to mess it up? You're wrong. And you know what, I'm starting to wonder if this partnership is really worth it. All we ever do is argue, all the time!" "Chloe, please--" "What, Mickey? Does that hurt your feelings, that I can't work with you because you're so damned stubborn? You seem to think that women have a place only at the home. I've proven that theory incorrect. Agent Scully has proven that theory incorrect. I'm sick of your bullshit! And your temper, that's another thing entirely!" Chloe said. Finally she slammed on the brakes, too angry to drive. The street was dark, almost all of the lamps burnt out. She threw open her door. She knew now that she was over-reacting. The worst part was that she needed to get it out of her system. Needed to yell at someone. She wanted to put all the blame on Mickey. The accident. The death of the young girl. The loss of the button. And yet, none of those things were his fault at all. She stepped out onto the street and turned her face up to the sky, slowly summoning her courage to help control her anger. Surely, as she regained composure, Mickey was at her side, staring at her. "Chloe?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder, unsure of what else to do. Suddenly, she began to laugh, as if it were all a drama for his benefit. "I'm sorry, Mickey. I'm just so damned tired. Do you think Sam will be alright, at least for tonight?" "I guess so," he said quietly. His hand was still firmly in place on her shoulder. "Tell me something, Chloe..." She nodded slowly. "Did you mean it? Did you really mean what you said about working with me?" "No," she said, reaching up and patting his cheek. "No. No, I didn't. You've got to understand one thing about me. I seem to be very perceptive when it comes to other people's emotions. It's been a curse of mine since I was a little girl," she paused, moving away and leaning against the car. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. "You see, sometimes when a lot of things have happened and a lot of people are on edge, I get filled with, well, 'angst', for lack of a better word. Especially if I'm as exhausted as I am tonight. I'll get irritable and I end up taking it, irrationally, out on whoever is nearest," she said, sighing again. She felt the car move slightly as he leaned against it beside her. He put his arm around her shoulder, causing her to open her eyes. She turned to look at him. "I understand. Like I said, though, I wish you'd tell me these things sooner. I'm not at all perceptive, as I'm sure you've guessed." "I guessed," she said. He nodded, his arm lingering around her shoulder for a moment longer. "Let's go home. I'll get up early and go to talk to Samantha's foster parents. We'll see if they'll let us take her into protective custody at least until we figure this out," he said, pushing away from the car. As he began to walk away, Chloe suddenly reached out and grasped his wrist. He turned to her and looked in the dim light at her. For a moment, he felt something strange pass between? them, but it passed as she spoke. "You're driving. I can't. I'm too tired," she said, letting go of his hand and walking slowly past him to the passenger side of the car. he thought, looking quickly up at the stars. Mickey was acutely aware of just how close he had come to losing the greatest partner. He knew he'd have to clean up his act and watch what he said. No more speculating out loud, that was for damned sure. ----- Queen's Motel 5:45 AM Fox Mulder awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Dana Scully had retreated to her own room two hours after they had returned to discuss things. He wished he could wrap his arms around her body, just once more, but knew that it would be a while before that might happen again. Scully was just a little too weary about the whole thing. He ached to have her in his arms but pushed the thoughts aside, afraid that if he dwelt on it for too long, he'd be unable to stop himself from going to her. Another ring brought him back to life. He jumped off the bed and grabbed the cell phone. "Mulder," he said, sleepily. "Fox Mulder?" "Yes." "This is Samantha's foster father, Richard Jessup," the man on the other end sounded upset. His voice cracked as he spoke, obviously worried about something. "How can I help you, sir?" Mulder asked, vaguely wondering where the man had gotten his cell phone number. "Well, one of the other foster homes has been torched. The house is just up the street from us. I went down when I heard the fire trucks. When I got back to tell my wife, Samantha went into hysterics and asked that I call you. I didn't have your number, so I called the FBI and talked to a man named Skinner. This was the number he gave me--" Mulder was no longer listening. He was panicked. If Samantha was in trouble, he needed to help her. "Sir, has she been hurt?" "Who?" "Samantha. Has she been hurt?" Mulder begged. "No, Mr. Mulder. She's fine. But the other foster home has been completely ruined. The fire marshall has determined that everyone got out safe and sound, but Sam's really scared. I think she's afraid we might be next." "Okay, I'll send one of the other agents over to take a look at the fire, as soon as possible." "One more thing, Mr. Mulder..." "Yes?" "Samantha says that you're her brother. I don't know where she got such a crazy idea, but is it true? Are you her brother?" "Sir, my sister disappeared a long time ago. I have reason to believe that under strange circumstances she was returned here, to Orangeburg, with no memories... In short, yes, I believe so," Mulder said, feeling the pangs of the old memories return to him. It felt so good to know that he had finally found his sister. Samantha had been his everything, his entire life. And now that he had Dana Scully too, his life had just gotten better. With the promotion in the FBI, he felt sure that he'd finally be able to rest. His entire life seemed so pointless now. It felt good. "Mr. Mulder, I'm glad I got a hold of you. Samantha was worried about her friends at the foster home and I'm sure she'll feel better now that you and your fellow agents will be on the case. I think she's grown attached to your friends. She mentioned one, Chloe, I think Sam said her name was. Anyway, I'm sorry I had to wake you up for this, but she just wouldn't go back to sleep." "Thank you for calling, sir. And..." "Mr. Mulder?" "Keep an eye on Sam. I can't afford to lose her again." "Always, Mr. Mulder. Goodnight," the man said, and hung up. Mulder pushed the END button on his phone and sat staring into the night for a few moments. Why had someone wanted to torch the foster home? There were only four or five other children living there and surely they weren't all related to the case. They couldn't all have green blood. Green blood. That was something else, Samantha had green blood. Was it alien? Was his sister an alien? Mulder shuddered at the thought. He wanted to scoop Sam up and get her out of this town, away from all the misery and death. She'd already had one friend cut down by this unseen killer and for all he knew, they still weren't any closer to finding out what was going on. Mulder slipped out of his bed and pulled on a robe, quietly opening the door which joined his and Scully's rooms. He had to talk to her. He needed to take Samantha back to Washington as soon as possible. He wanted to be sure the little girl would be safe. He padded silently into her room, hearing the shallow breathing of his best friend. He reached the edge of her bed, then looked down at the sleeping form. She looked beautiful in the soft moonlight that was streaming in from the single window of the room. Her auburn hair cascaded over the pillow, silky and shiny. Mulder reached out, to awake her, but suddenly a new emotion washed over him. He snatched back his hand, as though touching her might burn his flesh. Mulder gasped, quietly then stumbled back a few steps, a realization hitting his stomach like a rock. Dana Scully was in just as much danger as Samantha was, although not the same danger. Fox Mulder realized that even if he managed to get Samantha back to Washington, they would still come after him. If they came after him, they might try to get to him by using Scully. Tears began to stream down his face. He was in total turmoil. He couldn't leave Scully, but he couldn't leave Samantha either. It was evident that he couldn't have both. It would not be an easy choice, but a choice that he was required to make, just the same. Mulder gathered his wits about him and silently left Dana to her sleep, closing the door softly behind him. He did not awake her to tell her that he was leaving. He did not leave a letter explaining where he was going and he did not take his cellular phone with him. His heart broke in two, one half left in that room with the sleeping auburn haired woman, the other floating out to the little girl who had so much of her life left to live. Fox Mulder had decided. Dana could find other men. She would get over him, but Samantha needed his help now. She was his little sister. The first person he had loved. The one he had been searching for. She needed his help and he had made that choice, no matter how much it hurt. ----- September 4, 1995 Queen's Motel 9:23 AM Dana Scully walked around her room, looking for an earring that she must've lost the previous day. So much had been happening that she didn't even realize it was gone. She shook her head, which was sopping wet from the shower she'd just had. The earring was no where to be found and finally Dana gave up. She guessed that it must've fallen off when she and Mulder... Mulder. She hadn't seen him this morning. Pulling the robe tighter around her body, Scully went to the joining door and knocked. He did not answer. She knocked again. "Mulder, it's me. Can I come in?" Again he didn't answer. Afraid that he wasn't awake yet, Dana turned the knob and pushed into the room. She looked around quickly. Mulder was no where to be seen. His clothes were gone and his files were gone. He'd even made his bed. There was nothing left in the room except for the lone cellular phone. Scully's jaw immediately slackened. Her lips began to tremble, along with the rest of her body. She felt as though she were going to fall backwards. She stumbled towards the wall, leaning slowly against it. "Fox Mulder, you asshole," she whispered. She lifted her chin and set her jaw, trying to figure out just what she'd done to him, to make him leave. She'd thought they'd discussed it all last night. She'd thought that he'd understood when she said that she needed time to consider it. She should have told him that she would marry him. She should have made absolutely sure that he knew she wanted to be with him. she tried to tell herself. she thought. She just couldn't accept that. A sharp knock at the door brought her out of her inner turmoil. She stared at the door, not wanting to answer it. With her luck it would be Cavellelo and then she'd be right up the creek with no paddle. "Agent Mulder?"called the definite male voice. "Damn," Scully muttered, and was surprised when the door creaked open. Mickey poked his head around and was stunned discover Scully leaning against the wall. Her face must've betrayed her feelings because he immediately scooted in, closing the door behind him. "Where's Agent Mulder?" he asked, eyeing Scully. The red in her cheeks and the way she was trembling hinted at what had happened. "Do I look like I know?" she snapped, and regretted it almost immediately. "Agent Scully, what's going on?" Mickey asked. ----- End Part Sixteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Seventeen ----- Richard and Tess Jessup's residence 6:30 am Fox Mulder stood at the door and banged with all his might. After an eternity, Richard Jessup arrived at the door, looking just a little angry, with a shotgun in his right hand. He took in the hyper young man on his doorstep and narrowed his eyes, taking the shotgun into both hands in a defensive gesture. "Mr. Jessup, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder. . .Samantha's brother," he said hastily, holding up his ID for the older man to see. Mr. Jessup studied it and the face of the young man standing before him, then remembered his conversation with the Assistant Director. He relaxed visibly and then opened the screen door. "Mr. Mulder, I didn't expect you by this early. Come on in, I'll put on some coffee." "No, Mr. Jessup, I don't think I can stay that long. I've come for Samantha. I believe that fire last night was set deliberately and Sam's in danger. I'm taking her under protective custody." He chewed on his lip, hoping the older man wouldn't want to verify any of this with the local authorities. He did have the authority to do what he was about to do, but he didn't want anyone alerted to his whereabouts. Especially Scully. For a moment, Jessup looked like he was going to pick up the phone. Then, he thought better of it and simply nodded. "Let me get Tess up. She'll help Sam gather her things." Mulder let out a breath he had been holding and nodded in return. He watched Jessup go up the stairs and almost collapsed into an arm chair in relief. This was going to work. He would leave the rental car up the road and get another under a different name. Then, he and Sam would get the hell away from the state, the country, the continent, if he had his way. No one, not Cancerman, not the FBI, not the killer would find them. a small voice said and a tiny piece of his heart broke off and fell into his stomach. He closed his eyes for just a minute and let himself remember how wonderful it had felt to hold her in his arms, to know that she loved him. He shook his head angrily. Such thoughts were *very* counterproductive at this point. He should be happy that he had been loved by Dana Scully, that they had any time together. He couldn't be with her again, but the last five years had been enough for a lifetime, he tried to convince himself. It was enough that he had found Samantha. To hope that he could have a 'normal' life, a wife, a home, children, that was all too much. That would never happen and he would have to get accustomed to the idea. Samantha needed him, that's all he needed to know. Rest Inn 7:45 am "He's gone," Mickey said flatly to Chloe as she approached the door. He had been standing in the hall, waiting for her since his phone call. He didn't think he could take looking at Dana Scully's face one more minute--it made his head hurt to see the desolation in her eyes. "Well, where did he go?" Chloe asked evenly. "If we knew that, do you think we'd be sitting it out here at the motel?" he asked crossly, then immediately remembered their 'conversation' of the night before. "I'm sorry, Chloe, I didn't mean that like it sounded. No, we have no idea. He didn't leave a note, and he left his cell phone behind. I called the Jessups' house and he showed up there about 6 am, took Sam and some of her clothes and said he was taking her into protective custody. Then they left. Mr. Jessup has no idea where they went. I didn't want to ask too many questions, I think I was beginning to worry him. I mean, it's not like Mulder is the killer or anything. I think the little girl is safe with him. It's just that, well," he stopped talking and turned to look at Scully, still sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's a basket case," he whispered. "I feel sort of like I'm back in college, right after the big Homecoming Game 'sleep over'," Chloe muttered, and walked past Mickey and into the room. "Dana? Hey, you okay?" Dana looked up, as if just realizing that someone was in the room. "Chloe. Yeah, I'm fine." But her eyes betrayed her and the tears were still wet on her cheeks. "He's such a stupid bastard sometimes, y'know?" "Directly related to testosterone poisoning," Chloe said with a grin. She was relieved to see the grin Dana returned to her. "Now, you were his partner *forever*. What would his next move be?" Interstate 26 9:00 am "Fox?" Samantha had been quiet the entire time, not even speaking when he stopped at the very next town and gotten another rental car. Now, they had been driving for almost an hour and she couldn't keep her silence any longer. "What, Sam?" he asked, surprised to hear her voice. "Are you mad at me?" she asked, a frown furrowed across her brow. He looked like she had slapped him. "No! Of course not. What makes you ask that?" "You seem like you're mad at somebody. I just wanted to make sure you aren't mad at me. I mean, for all the trouble I've caused," she said quietly. he thought. "Sweetheart, you haven't been any trouble. What makes you think that?" he asked gently. "Well, we're running away, aren't we? That's why we got a different car. And you haven't called anybody on your phone, to tell them where we're going. You told Richard that you were putting me under protective custody--I saw that on TV. It means that I'm in danger, right? That's sounds like I'm a *lot* of trouble, if you ask me," she concluded thoughtfully. He groaned inwardly. "Sam, we need to talk. Yes, you are in danger. The man that's been hurting those other kids, well, I have very good reason to believe that he wants to hurt you, too. So, we are leaving. We're going to go someplace very far away, where he can't find you. But I will promise you, you will be safe. And . . ." He hesitated just a moment. "And you'll be with me. I'll take care of you, Sammi. Just like I should have been doing all along." "Where's Dana?" she asked, looking out the window at the scenery passing by. He didn't answer at first. He didn't want to lie to her. "Why do you ask?" She shrugged, still looking out the window. "I figured she'd be with us. You know, since you love her and all. I figured she'd be with you, that we would all be together." She turned and looked at him. "I really like her. And you need somebody to take care of you, Fox. If you're taking care of me, *some* body has to take care of you," she said pointedly. "Dana stayed behind," was all he would say and from the look on his face, she was afraid to ask anything else. Rest Inn Chloe's room 11:30 am "Well, I've called in all the favors I have back in DC. We should have the customer list from every car rental agency in the closest five counties within the hour," Chloe said confidently. "But I was hoping to get over to the scene of the fire." She noticed Dana's raised eyebrow. "Oh, it's not that I don't trust Michael," she hastened to add. "I just feel better if I'm somewhere within fifty feet of him. He as an uncanny ability to piss people off," she said with a rueful shake of her head. "I understand perfectly," Dana replied. She had calmed down considerably once it became obvious that they were going to try and find Mulder. There was no way she was going to let him get by with walking out without a word. She would hunt him down like a dog, but she'd find him. It was only a matter of time. "Chloe, why don't you go on ahead over to the house. I can wait here to get the faxes. If I get a good lead, I'll call you," she said, getting up and ushering the younger agent out the door. "You're sure about this? I mean, if you don't want to be left alone. . ." "Don't be ridiculous. This isn't the first time Mulder has run off and left me high and dry. I'm used to it. Now, run along and keep Mickey out of trouble. We still have a case to solve, somewhere in this whole mess." Chloe nodded and left, hoping that she'd get there in time to head Mickey off from whatever rampage he was most certainly engaged in. The phone rang, and Dana picked it up, expecting it to be the desk clerk, alerting her to the arrival of the faxes. "Chloe," a little girl's voice asked. "No, this is Dana Scully. Chloe's not here right now, can I take a message?" "Oh, Dana! I'm so glad it's you." Suddenly Dana recognized the voice. "Samantha, is that you?" she demanded and then softened. "Sweetheart, aren't you with Fox?" "Yeah, we're at a truck stop for lunch. Dana, why aren't you coming with us?" Dana swallowed. "Well, sweetheart. . ." "I really want you to come with us, Dana. I'm scared. I don't want Fox to get hurt. You two are always together. I'm afraid if you aren't here, he might get hurt. Please come with us, Dana, please, please!" Her voice was shrill and frightened and Dana was afraid she might start to cry. "Where is Fox right now, Samantha? Does he know you're calling me?" "No. He's in the bathroom. I told him I had to go, but I didn't. I wanted to call Chloe to get her to call you, but you answered anyway." "Honey, do you know where he's going? Maybe I can meet you," Dana said, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. "He said something about Chicago. He made reservations in the name of George Hale. We're flying TWA out of Raleigh. Flight 431. It leaves at 4:35 this afternoon. I was sort of listening when he called the airlines," she admitted sheepishly. "Dana, can you come to Raleigh and get on the flight with us? Please?" Dana smiled. This was a small miracle and she was not about to let it slip past her. "Yes, honey. I'll have to hurry, but I'll be there. You just get Fox to stay by the TWA gate and I'll meet you," she instructed. Then the thought hit her that 'Fox' might not be so happy about this turn of events and try to bolt. "Oh, and Sam. Don't tell Fox I'm coming. Let's make it our surprise, okay?" Samantha giggled. "Yeah, just us. Our surprise. I'll see you in Raleigh, Dana." Raleigh-Durham Airport 4:30 pm "Samantha, sit down! You're making me nervous. What are you looking for?" Mulder hissed to his little sister. he smiled to himself. Sam chewed a corner of her lip and stared at her brother. "Nothin'. I'm not looking for anything. Just lookin', okay?" she said testily. Somehow, after they left the truck stop at 1:00, she had relaxed and before long the two were talking and laughing and Mulder realized how much he had missed her. He had always known he missed her, but couldn't put his finger on exactly why it hurt so badly. This afternoon had shown him all the joy they had once shared, and it saddened him a little. It would have been nice to have grown up 'with' his sister. But by some twisted universal logic, he was still getting to 'watch' her grow up, and for that, he would thank whatever entity or entities had finally returned her to him. Sam scanned the crowd, this time checking to make sure Fox had gone back to his NY Times Crossword puzzle before doing so. Then, she saw her. She was going to wave, but there was no need, Dana saw them. She nodded and hurried to them, just before the first boarding call was made. Ignoring her brother, Sam jumped up and ran to Dana. She threw her arms around the agent. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it," she cried and hugged her tighter. "I had to drop off the rental car," Dana explained, breathlessly. She returned the hug for a moment, not really wanting to face the man who had slowly gotten up from his seat and walked over to them. Taking a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes. There she saw what she was hoping to find. He wasn't angry, he was looking at her with all the love she had seen just two nights before. Dana smiled in return, hoping she reflected what she was seeing. Finally, Sam let go of Dana and looked at both of them. "I gotta go to the bathroom," she announced. "I'll take you," Dana said absently, not letting her eyes leave Mulder's. Sam put her hands on her hips in a mock show of defiance. "I'm 9 years old, Dana. I can go to the bathroom all by myself! It's right over there, I'll be right back," and she stomped off in the direction she had pointed. "That must be a genetic trait," Dana said with a sheepish grin. "Stubbornness, defiance, going off on her own. . ." Mulder said nothing, just took a step and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly to him as if his very life depended on it. After a second, he whispered in her ear, "How did you find us?" "Sam called. She seems to think that you need someone to look after you. I managed to fit the qualifications," she murmured in reply. "I couldn't think of a better candidate for the job," he said with a chuckle. The world was nothing more than Dana, in his arms, until he felt a gentle tug on his jacket. "Are we gonna go, or not?" asked Sam, who had returned from the bathroom. She was trying to sound annoyed, but there was a grin on her face. "I'm busy here, butt munch," Mulder said, not releasing Dana from his embrace. Laughing, Dana pushed him away. "We have a decision to make," she said, still smiling. "I can't leave you again, but I have to make sure Sam's safe. Can you catch the next flight, we'll wait at the airport for you," he said seriously. "Not a problem--'butt munch'," she laughed, and held up her ticket for the flight just boarding. "I'm across the aisle from you." Harris Family residence Orangesburg 1:30 pm Chloe was frowning as Mickey approached her. "Still no answer," she said tersely. "Maybe she went back to her room," he suggested. "Called there, no answer." "Maybe she's taking a shower? Or the desk clerk called with the faxes from DC and she's down there," he tried again. "Her hair was wet when I got there this morning and I called the clerk, he hasn't seen her." Chloe was staring off into space, obviously trying to figure out her next move. "Let's go back to the motel and check it out," Mickey sighed with resignation. Chloe smiled at him and reached out to ruffle his hair. "You got potential, Callavelo." He shrugged in reply. "But I'm still driving," she added sternly. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he smiled. Their investigation of the fire had produced no additional leads and Mickey was just as glad to be going back to the motel. He wasn't happy with the possibility that the killer was still in town and their 'assistants' were busy playing soap opera style games with each other, when they should have been 'assisting'. He was even less happy when he and Chloe discovered Dana's bags missing. "Oh, shit!" Chloe cursed. Mickey looked up from his survey of the room to find his partner holding up Dana Scully's cell phone. "Well," he muttered. "At least they're predictable." "Yeah," answered Chloe with a grim chuckle, "they both disappeared without a trace." Disheartened, she sat down on the bed next to the night stand. "Then again. . ." Mickey looked over at his partner, a scowl on his face. She was rubbing a pencil over a small note pad that was sitting next to the phone. "You got something," he asked anxiously. She greeted his remark with a broad smile. "Oh, I think you could say that," she said, reaching for her purse and starting for the door. "Where are we going, now," he grumbled. "Raleigh-Durham airport. And we better hurry, their plane leaves at 4:35 and it's a quarter to 2 now." ----- End Part Seventeen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Eighteen ----- Mickey reached out and abruptly grabbed Chloe's arm. "Wait just a minute, Chloe," he said, frowning as she stopped and glared unhappily at him. "What?" she hissed, unintentionally. Mickey drew back at the biting word and let go of her arm. He crossed his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully. "We can't both go, you know. We do have an investigation to take care of here. Remember the case?" he asked. "Well, they've got the only child we can prove has green blood. If something happens to Sam, we'll have lost everything. I think at least one of us should go. . ." "Let me," Mickey said and watched as Chloe's eyes grew wide. "You're offering?" she asked incredulously. "Yes. I know Chicago better than the back of my hand. If I go, at least I'll be able to locate them much faster than you could." "What am I going to do in the meantime?" Chloe asked, wincing at the thought of being left in this town by herself. "Look, why don't you follow up on the missing persons report and see what else you can find out and I'll call you when I can, okay?" Michael suggested and frowned outright. He was not going to enjoy this. "Mickey, I have an odd feeling about this. Something is going on," she said and noticed as he nodded in understanding. She sighed and whispered, "Just be careful okay?" "I will," he said and opened the door. Chloe grabbed his arm this time and leaned close to his ear. "Remember that I'm not there to keep you from pissing anyone off," she warned before letting him go. He flashed her a mischievous smile and breezed out of the room. Once alone, Chloe Grant blew a puff of air out her mouth. She made her way over to Scully's bed and sat gingerly on the corner. She was alone with an investigation that she had absolutely no leads on. With another sigh, she flopped back on the bed intending to get a little rest while she thought about her next move. ----- Raleigh-Durham Airport 4:35 PM Michael Callavelo drew his FBI badge and forced his way to the front of the ticket line. He shoved his badge hurriedly in front of the clerk's nose. "I need a ticket for flight 431, now!" he declared. The clerk smiled at him and opened her mouth. "Don't say you can't give me one. I already know that line. This is a federal emergency and I've got to be on that flight." The clerk jerked her head up and eyed his badge suspiciously before calling over a supervisor. Mickey spent five minutes explaining that he needed to be on the flight and that he didn't have time to argue. They relented and gave him a seat but by then he had to run just to catch the plane. After he had gone, the clerk looked at the supervisor and frowned. "What's with all these federal agents?" "Beats me," the supervisor said with a shrug and turned away. Mickey hadn't bothered to grab his bags on the way to the plane. There wasn't any time. He told the supervisor to have them shipped to the FBI headquarters in Washington and that he'd pick them up there. He would have to make do with the money he had on him, as well as his VISA. He was short of breath by the time he'd boarded the plane. He glanced at his ticket and looked down the row of seats. He immediately spotted Scully in the center section of the plane and beside her to the left were Mulder and Samantha. Sam was sleeping peacefully, her head leaned against Fox Mulder's shoulder. Scully was engrossed in a magazine and Mulder looked lost in space. He started down towards them, coming to a stop before Scully. He loomed over her and smiled when she looked up, startled. "Is this seat taken?" he asked, indicating the seat beside Scully, which miraculously was the seat he'd managed to snag. "Mickey, what are you doing here?" Scully asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "We'll discuss this later," Mickey said as he sat down beside her and buckled his seat belt, preparing for the takeoff. ----- Harris Family residence Orangeburg, South Carolina Chloe Grant frowned as she slipped her sunglasses from her nose. She'd been over the crime scene twice more since Mickey left. She still felt as though they had missed something. The charred ground was only a reminder that they still had no idea what was going on. She wondered if the killer was just toying with them again. She sighed and folded the glasses up, turning towards the entrance of the house. She stared at the remains, black and still smoldering. she wondered for possibly the tenth time. She dropped her eyes to the ground again, her gaze wandering aimlessly around as she tried to think of what to do next. Suddenly something caught the sunlight and seemed to send an SOS to her. She frowned and walked towards the shining in the grass. Bending, she picked up the little button. It was exactly the same in design and size as the one they'd found previously. Chloe whistled. No sooner had she bagged the little button than she heard a strange noise. It sounded like a match being lit. She slowly rose to her feet and turned around, the evidence bag still clutched in her hand. "Find anything?" His voice was gruff and the cigarette bobbed slightly as he formed the words. "Who are you?" Chloe asked suspiciously. She noted his gray overcoat and his salt and pepper colored hair. Her gaze left him and spotted the car that was parked down the street. She swallowed nervously and turned her attention back to the strange man. "That's not important right now," he answered and Chloe narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?" "Where's your partner?" "Questions, questions. I'm not answering anything until you tell me who the hell you are," Chloe said finally, stepping back and putting some distance between herself and the man. She instinctively drew her gun, pointing it at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Agent Grant," the man said as he blew cigarette smoke out his nose. It curled in the air and disappeared leaving Chloe with a feeling of dread in her stomach. Out of nowhere, two more men appeared. Each wore dark sunglasses and a dark overcoat, concealing their identities slightly. Chloe bit her lip and tried to think of what to do. Finally, she slowly lowered the gun and holstered it again. "Okay, let's talk," she said, putting her hands in the air as she noticed that the two men that were on either side of her, held some rather large handguns. "That's it, Chloe, don't put up a fight. It'll be easier on both of us," the man said and Chloe's body tensed at the use of her first name. She was angry that she might be in a situation of bad health and didn't have anyone who could back her up. These thugs could shoot her now and no one would know any different. "How do you know my name?" Chloe asked, not really expecting an answer. "I know all about you, Ms. Grant," he replied, puffing on the cigarette. It bobbed up and down as he spoke and smoke billowed from it. Chloe tried to think if she'd ever seen the man before but her mind was blank. "In fact, I know all about your new friends, too. Mulder and Scully have been acquaintances of mine for years and years now." Chloe's eyebrows raised. She was suspicious but she couldn't think of a way to safely get out of the situation so she pried. "What do you want from me?" she asked. "I want the location of Mulder and Scully," he said, smiling. He walked slowly toward her and frowned when he noticed that she tensed again. It was almost as though she were bracing for a fight or something. "I won't hurt you if you give me their location," he added. "And if I don't?" "I'm in a position to accidentally dispose of you," his answer was to the point and it hit home. Chloe knew this man did not intend to just say "hi" to Scully and Mulder when he found them. She was torn. "What makes you think I know where they are?" "I'm fairly certain," he said and a smirk replaced the tight-lipped smile. "Besides, I have less humane ways of finding out, Mr. Gregg, show her," he said and Chloe turned her attention to one of the men as he drew a long syringe out of his pocket, filled with a light blue liquid. "Oh shit," Chloe whispered. She had already decided to tell him but she felt miserable about it. She still had no guarantee that they wouldn't kill her anyway, but her self preservation was overriding anything else. Besides, at least she might be able to get to Mulder or Scully if she told them and they let her live. "Well? Shall we do this the easy way or the difficult way?" he asked, growing impatient. "What do I get out of this deal?" "A chance to live," he said and his man moved in. He grabbed Chloe's arm and she gasped, staring coldly at the man holding her arm. He held the syringe just above her upper arm, ready to push it right through her shirt and into her arm. It would be painful. "Alright, get him off me!" she cried, struggling to free her arm. "I'll talk! Just get this asshole away from me!" "Okay, let her go." The man let her arm go and backed off. Chloe wasn't sure she was ready to give in so easily now. Her initial fear was gone, replaced by and anger so strong that it pushed her adrenaline level a few notches higher. Unsuspected by any of the three men, Chloe allowed her self defense courses to kick in. She dropped the button and grabbed the man who held the syringe and yanked him towards her, knocking the syringe away as she did so. She twisted his arm behind his back and brought him between herself and the other man who hadn't reacted fast enough with his gun. The cigarette smoking man was shaking his head. "Not a good idea, Chloe," he said. "I just want some assurance that I'll be able to walk away from this," she said calmly, her breath thinning out a bit. She twisted the man's arm a little harder and he grunted in pain. "I already told you we trade Mulder and Scully's whereabouts for your well being," he said, his voice growing angered as he spoke. Chloe had backed herself between a rock and a hard place now. She had no way to escape, even with the hostage. Surely the smoking man would just kill his own man if it meant killing her. She swallowed with difficulty. "I don't believe you," she said for lack of anything else. "You have no choice," the man said and Chloe knew he was right. She would not get out alive now. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone. She released the other man's arm and put her hands in the air. She was surprised her hadn't asked for her gun yet, but as if he had read her thoughts he demanded that she slowly throw it to the ground. Slowly and deliberately, she complied. "I have to admit, Agent Grant, that was impressive," he said. He was smiling again, now that he was back in control. "But you gave up too easily." Chloe didn't speak. She just glared at him and pursed her lips which flattened into a white line as anger swelled inside her. Defeated, again. "I'm sick of games, I want a location," he said. "Chicago," she whispered. "They've gone to Chicago." "Good girl," he said and snapped his fingers. To her surprise, both men began to retreat. The smoking one nodded and held her gun up so she could see it. She watched them bitterly as they headed back to their car. She saw the man drop her gun on the ground outside the sedan and get in. They sped away leaving her to kick herself. She felt as though she should have done more but knew that she couldn't have. At least now she'd have a chance to warn Mulder, Scully and Mickey. She felt her knees go weak and she remembered the button she had found. Looking around for the evidence bag she had dropped, she couldn't see it anywhere. She did see the syringe, however. She slowly walked toward it and picked it up. She pressed the plunger, squeezing a bit of the blue liquid into her palm. She brought her hand to her nose so that she could smell it. It had no odor. She frowned and tasted it. Colored sugar water. "Fuck!" she screamed, hurling the syringe as far away from her as she could. ***** Chicago International Airport Chicago, IL Michael Callavelo smiled down at the little girl who clung to his hand as if it were the last thing in the world. Sam was wearing a huge grin and laughing uncontrollably as Mickey tried to shake her loose. "Come on, Sam, you're cutting off my circulation," Mickey said with a smile. He watched as Scully and Mulder stood a little distance away, looks of curiosity and amusement on their faces. They obviously were content to let Sam try to yank his arm off. People bustled around them, toting luggage, children and various other things that were associated with travel. Mickey sighed deeply and decided to tug Sam along with him to where Scully and Mulder stood watching. He still had yet to explain his unexpected arrival on the plane. Not to mention that he wanted some answers from the two agents. "So," he said as he stopped before them, breathing heavily from the effort of dragging Sam along with him. "What's up with you two anyway?" "Meaning?" Mulder asked, his eyebrows raised. "Meaning, why did you two take off with Sam? Just what are you trying to pull?" he demanded, his voice calm and even. His anger had long since dissipated. Mulder looked at Scully, who in turn flashed a smile at Mickey. "Mickey, there are some things that you and Chloe have yet to learn about," Scully began. She took a deep breath and moved forward to grasp his shoulder. "Now is not the time or place to explain. Let's get Sam to a hotel and feed her, then Mulder and I will try to help you to understand what's going on." "Fine, but we're not letting this go," Mickey said, his eyes narrowing. "No, we're not. You still owe us an explanation as to why you followed us. Not to mention the fact that Chloe isn't with you," Mulder said, and held his hand out for Sam without taking his eyes off Mickey. Sam immediately made a bee line for Mulder, leaving Mickey to flex his fingers to get the blood circulating again. Scully moved her hand down from his shoulder to his forearm and gently tugged him away from Mulder. "Where is Chloe?" she questioned in a hushed tone. "She's back in Orangeburg," Mickey said and frowned. "Why are you whispering?" "I'm not sure yet. I just don't have a good feeling about this. You shouldn't have left her there," Scully said and looked back at Mulder who was finally engrossed in tickling Sam. "I made her stay, we do have a case to investigate, you know." "Look, Mickey, I want you to call her and make sure she's alright, okay?" Scully said, her tone worried. "I was going to anyway, thanks for reminding me." Scully nodded and her eyes held a worried glaze. Mickey knew he was missing something yet again. Something that might be vital. Before he could question her further, Scully had walked away. He stared after her for a few moments, then pulled out his cellular phone, quickly dialing his partner's number. ----- End Part Eighteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Nineteen ----- Orangeburg, SC 7:00pm Chloe stood and stared at the road, trying to calm herself down. As her training began to supersede her anger, she remembered the syringe. Hastily, she ran over and picked it up gingerly and deposited it in an evidence bag. At least she had something. It was better than being totally empty handed. She started to search the area for the button again when her cell phone trilled in her pocket. "Grant," she said after punching the phone to receive. "Chloe, it's Mick. Where are you?" She sighed in relief. "Standing in the middle of a burned out shell of a house, where are you?" she returned. "O'Hare International. I just made the plane." "Then you found them," she asked excitedly. "Oh, yeah, I found them. Of course, that doesn't mean I know any more than I did when I hadn't found them," he grumbled. "We're gonna find a place to stay and get Sam some dinner. Then, these two are in for a good old fashioned 'grilling'--Chicago PD style! My old man taught me a few tricks. . ." "Mickey, wait! Don't go to a hotel. Oh, shit," Chloe said, her mind working at warp speed. "Why not?" Mickey interrupted, and Chloe could almost see the frown chiseled on his forehead as he spoke. she thought to herself. "Mickey, I just had a visitor. . ." "Chloe," he whined. "Don't tell me this. . ." "Mick, get a grip! Now, listen to me. I was out here at the Harris place. I found another one of those button things we found at the car crash. Then, all of a sudden, this old guy was standing next to me. I swear, I've never seen him before in my life. But he had these two thugs with him. He *knew* me, Mick! He knew my name. And he knows Mulder and Dana. Said he was 'old acquaintences' with them or something lame like that." "So? Maybe he's with the local field office," Mickey suggested, still wondering what had his usually calm partner so rattled. At least she had always seemed calm, so far. . . "Mickey, LISTEN TO ME! This guy was NOT FBI! He was, I don't know, he seemed. . .this is gonna sound nuts. Mickey, I just didn't like this guy. He seemed evil or something. . ." she let out a frustrated puff of breath. "*Evil*? Chloe, don't go getting metaphysical on me," Mickey moaned into the phone. By this time Mulder had noticed the concerned expression on Mickey's face and had come over. "Is there a problem?" he asked quietly. Mickey put his hand over the phone. "Yeah, I got stuck with a woman partner," he hissed in a whisper, then turned back to the phone. "Chloe, did this guy give you a name?" Mulder's eyes went wide. "What 'guy', Callavelo?" he demanded. Mickey looked up at the older agent and shrugged. "Some guy Chloe met. Old dude, had two 'thugs' with him. Chloe's scared, for some reason. . ." "Was he smoking a cigarette?" Mulder asked excitedly. Mickey looked at Mulder in confusion. "Hey, Chloe, Mulder want's to know if this guy was smoking?" He waited for the answer then nodded 'yes' to Mulder. "Damn it!" Mulder cried angrily. "Give me the phone." He took the phone out of Mickey's hand. "Grant, tell me everything that happened. Don't leave out a thing, hear me?" Dana and Sam were coming back from a newsstand area when they saw Mulder and Mickey. From the grim expression on Mulder's face, Dana knew immediately there was trouble. "Sammi, sweetheart, you read your magazine for a minute, I need to talk to Fox," she said calmly, handing Sammi her 'American Girl' magazine. Sam nodded and found a seat in the nearby boarding area. Dana met the two men a few feet away. "Now what?" "I knew this would happen," Mulder hissed. "Look, apparently our 'smoking friend' is interested in our whereabouts," he said, trying to keep his voice down so that Samantha would not become alarmed. "Oh, no," Dana moaned. "Yes, and our good friend Agent Grant told him we were in Chicago," he added angrily. Seeing Dana's disbelief, he quickly added, "I didn't mean that as it sounded. It wasn't really Chloe's fault. He had *associates* with him, three against one are not favorable odds. But he knows we're here. So we have to leave." "And go where?" Dana demanded. "Mulder, we have an 8 year old little girl with us! We can't go running off all over the country. Now, let's think a minute. . ." "We don't HAVE a minute," Mulder exclaimed. "I knew this would only get complicated. . ." "Wait a minute," Mickey intervened. "Look, if it's a safe place you want, I know just where to find it. This is MY city, remember," he added with upraised brows. "Trust me," he said when they hadn't answered immediately. The two older agents regarded each other. Finally, Mulder's glare was replaced with a slightly lopsided halfhearted attempt at a grin. "Sure, fine, whatever," he said to Scully, who promptly cuffed him in the shoulder. "Let me get Sam. Mickey, lead the way," she said. Loyola University, Lakeshore Campus Sheridan Road Chicago, Illinois The taxi pulled up to a yellow sandstone building that had all the looks of being abandoned. Mickey tossed the driver a twenty and smiled. "You never saw us, right?" "Saw who?" the driver replied with a heavy accent. "No se hable," he added with a grin. Mickey led the trio up to the steps of the building. "I, uh, well, I told them you were a family. It just made it easier to explain, okay?" he said sheeplishly to Mulder. Mulder looked over to Dana, who shrugged her shoulders. "That works," Mulder whispered. The door to the building opened before Mickey had a chance to knock. A small elderly man, somewhere between 60 and 80, with graying hair fringing a bald dome, immediately took Mickey in a bear hug. "Michael! It's so good to see you, lad," the old man said as he pulled back. "So, the big FBI agent comes home, huh? Well, come on in." "Thanks, Father Dan. It's good to see you again, too," he smiled with affection. "Father Dan Daly, this is Fox and Dana Mulder and Samantha. They're the ones I told you about on the phone." They shook hands. "Anything to help the government," Father Dan smiled and Mulder shot Mickey a confused look. "Now, Dan, remember. Mum's the word. We take the Witness Protection Program very seriously," Mickey said, more for Mulder's benefit than the old priest. "Yes, yes, of course. Just like the old days, providing sanctuary. Anyway, I had Mrs. Mulligan come in and tidy up a bit, clean sheets, fresh towels. We still use it for retreats. The University is talking about putting offices in this building, but the rehab might be too costly. Besides, I always hold out hope that we'll be needing it someday. Maybe you'll change your mind again, hey, Michael? You know you'd make a better priest than a cop," the old priest smiled. Mickey gave him an indulgent smile. "Don't hold your breath, Dan. But thanks for going to all this trouble. I owe you a big one." Father Daly handed him the keys. "Well, I better get going. I'm doing penance service at St. Gert's up the street. Father Heeley's in the hospital again. If you have the time you might stop in. St. Joseph's, you know, just up the road." He smiled when Mickey nodded in compliance. "Oh, there's food in the pantry, if you're hungry. Please make yourselves at home." He reached out and touched Sam on the head. "Good night to you, Miss Mulder. I bet you're tired after your long trip." Sam nodded and yawned. "God bless you," he added to Dana and Mulder and left. "Witness Protection Program?" Mulder asked after he was sure that Father Daly was gone. "Hey, I had to think fast. Besides, Jesuits know all about sanctuary. You're safer here than anywhere on Earth. It's not exactly the Ritz Carlton, but it's clean and well protected. No TV, though. Sorry, it used to be part of the Seminary, until everything was moved to Detroit. There used to be a great library, though, on the second floor." He picked up their meager luggage and started up the stairs. At the first landing, Sam started to wilt. Mulder reached over and scooped the little girl into his arms, carrying her up the next two flights. Mickey opened the first door in the hallway and ushered them in. The rooms are commonly known as cells and for good reason. White walls were adored with only a single plain wooden cruxifix. One small window looked out over Lake Michigan, and was darkening quickly with the setting sun. The single bed was against one wall with a nightstand and small lamp beside it. A small dresser stood opposite. "The bathroom is at the end of the hall," Mickey whispered as Mulder laid Sam down on the bed and Dana pulled the covers up over the sleeping child. Without thinking, Dana brushed the hair off her forehead and gave the little girl a kiss. When she stood up, she saw her partner's eyes shining at her through unshed tears. She reached over and squeezed his hand. The gesture wasn't lost on Mickey and he cleared his throat. "You two are right next door." He led the way and opened another cell. This time, two mattresses had been hastily laid out on the floor. Towels were laid on the dresser. "Good, Mrs. Mulligan fixed it up," Mickey said, his eyes refusing to meet the other two agents. "You two are here, I'm just across the hall. Well, down a ways. These walls are pretty thick. Can't hear much," he rambled, self consciously. "Thank you, Mickey," Dana said with a kind smile. "It will do nicely." He smiled back at her. "Good. Well, I'll be turning in. Oh, if you get hungry, the kitchen's on the first floor. Just off the stairs to the right. It's usually well stocked. I'll see you in the morning," he said and quickly exited, closing the door behind him. "He knows about us," Mulder said flatly. "I'd worry about our recruiting standards if he hadn't figured it out by now," Dana replied and started to pull off her coat. "Do you think it's safe?" "Hey, you're the Catholic. I know nothing of the Jesuits. But I don't think we have anything to worry about tonight. I'm not planning on sleeping much, if that's what you mean." He took off his coat and jacket and sat on the floor, his back against the wall. Dana stood above him, watching him. "You're mad, aren't you?" she asked evenly, trying not to turn this into a fight. He looked up at her, silent. Then he dropped his gaze. "I'm not mad at you. I'm glad you're here. I couldn't live without you. I realized that about 5 minutes out of Orangeburg. But dammit, Dana, it just makes it so complicated. I think we're better off just leaving the country, getting the hell away from here, from them." She walked over and sat down in front of him on the floor. "Well, I'm glad you aren't mad, Mulder. Because I'm mad enough for both of us!" His head popped up and he stared, shocked, into her icy blue eyes. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" she demanded, keeping her voice to a low hiss. "I can't believe you, Mulder. I figured once you found Sam all these 'little road trips' would stop. But no, you decide to run off without me, *again*, and I have to play Columbo to find you! Well, I'm sick of it! And if you think you're gonna pull stunts like this after the wedding. . ." He put his hand on her shoulder, which was shaking. "What did you just say?" he asked quietly, not really trusting either his voice or her answer. "I *said* that if you pull a stunt like this *after* the wedding," she seethed. His raised hand cut off her tirade. "That's what I thought you said. Then you're really going to marry me?" he asked, sheepishly. Her face softened. "Yes, Fox, I'm going to marry you. Somebody has to, you need a keeper! And I'm already trained in the job. But we are going to get a few things straight. You are NOT running off without me. Ever. Is that understood?" She smiled as he nodded meekly. "And you have to realize that just because I don't jump every time you snap your fingers does not mean I reject *you*! If you didn't want to marry a skeptic, you shouldn't have asked me in the first place." That comment merited a brief smile. "And I don't want to leave the country. It's no way to grow up. You don't really want to do that to Sam, or to *our* children, either, now do you?" He was still for a moment, the slowly shook his head no. "But I can't lose her again, Scully," he moaned. "Neither can I. And we won't. We just need a plan, Mulder," she said. "We're smarter than they are. We can do this. I may not blindly believe in all your theories, but I *do* believe in _us_!" "I knew there was a reason I loved you," he murmured and pulled her into his arms. ----- End Part Nineteen -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Twenty ----- Orangburg, South Carolina Chloe Grant scanned the ground for the button again, but it was gone. It should have stood out because of the evidence bag. Cancer Man, as Mulder had called him, must've taken it. Chloe was surprised to learn that she'd just waltzed her way out of a situation with a *very* powerful man. Mulder hadn't mentioned much about the man, however, Chloe could just tell from the tone of Mulder's voice. Her shoulders drooped with defeat and her stomach felt extremely empty. She hadn't eaten much food in the last couple of days and she was beginning to feel the effects. She put her sunglasses back on and slowly walked to where they had dropped her gun. Retrieving it, she sighed and returned to her rented sedan, getting in and locking all the doors. "Since when have you become so paranoid?" she asked herself. She immediately pushed that thought out of her head, unwilling to admit that she was scared of the men she'd just had a close encounter with. she thought, pushing a hand through her hair. She hated being alone now more than ever. She should have made Mickey let her go with him. She decided that she would have to go and get a quick lunch and maybe figure out some things from there. Suddenly, a knock on the window startled her. Chloe jumped and immediately grabbed her gun. She pointed it at the window and saw the reaction of the person there. He immediately stepped back and drew his own gun. "Shit," Chloe mumbled, lowering her own weapon and slowly opening the window. "Hands where I kin see them!" the Police Officer yelled. Chloe couldn't help it-- she laughed. "HANDS ON YOUR HEAD! NOW!" "I'm sorry, Officer," Chloe said. "You startled me." She held up her badge and gave him a weak smile. "What'n the hell are ya doing here?" he asked, slowly returning his gun to its holster. "I'm here investigating the murders of those children," Chloe explained, slowly opening door of the sedan so she could get out. "Well, uh, I'm sorry to bother you, but you're parked in a no parking zone," he said, pointing at the fire hydrant that was hidden behind her car. Chloe followed his finger with her eyes and nodded. It was a moment before she turned back to him and said, "I'm sorry, officer. I'll move right now." "You sure gave me a heart attack," he said. "Sorry. I was lost in thought and I just haven't been having the best day. Did you want to add to it and slap me with a ticket?" she asked, joking slightly. She needed something to lighten her mood but she was just too tired and worried to give her words the humor they required. "Uh, no. I think, judgin' by the looks o' you, that you been through enough," he said and Chloe remembered the bruises and cuts and broken finger that the car accident had left. She blushed and shrugged. "I wonder if you could tell me something, though?" Chloe asked and the officer's eyebrow raised slightly. "Yeah?" Chloe reached into the car and pulled out the missing children's report. She had already cross referenced some of the names and found similarities between those children that had shown up in Orangeburg. She glanced quickly at the names. She frowned and said, "Could you tell me where Joanne Jenkins lives?" "Joanne Jenkins? Yeah, she'd be the little'un that moved here just a few weeks ago. She's living with Mark and Dee Marling, down on Jardin street. Does that help ya?" he asked, smiling. Chloe nodded and thanked him. She apologized again for scaring him and climbed into her car. He waited until she had driven away before he returned to his car and sped away himself. ----- Marling Residence Jardin Street The doorbell rang for the sixth time and Mark Marling decided he couldn't ignore it any longer. He patted his wife on the shoulder and handed her another tissue. "Honey, I've got to get that," he said, giving her a sorrowful glance. She nodded and continued to sniffle and wipe away her tears. Before he left he squeezed her hand and said, "It'll be alright." The person stopped ringing the doorbell and resorted to banging on the door. Mark felt his temper growing short and he swallowed hard before he glanced out the window. There was a tall blond woman standing outside the door. Her azure blue eyes immediately snapped up and locked with his as he appeared in the window. Before he knew it, there was an FBI badge plastered to the window so that he could clearly make out her name: Chloe Grant. Mark immediately drew a curtain over his emotions, forcing his face to be a mask of stone. He opened the door and stepped back so that he could clearly observe of the woman. She looked miserable, tired and very sore. Her face had a few fading bruises he noted, remembering that there had been two FBI agents in a car accident earlier that week. He noticed, as she put her badge in the pocket of her coat, that her baby finger was splinted and bandaged. He frowned then, swallowing with difficulty. "Hello, Mr. Marling? I'm Chloe Grant from the FBI," she said, a weak smile on her face. "Sir, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Joanne Jenkins." He felt his heart sink as he nodded. He bit his bottom lip and, struggle as he might, he couldn't keep a straight face any longer. He allowed the emotion to rush back and he knew his face suddenly changed from that of a hard, glaring man to a broken and pained one. "Sir?" she asked, prompted by the change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry, won't you come in?" he said absently, stepping aside. "Thank you," she said as she stepped gracefully through the door. She stood off to the side, a little agitatedly. She glanced toward the road where she had parked her car and her eyes darted back and forth, taking in the interior of the house. "What can I help you with?" he asked, hoping that his wife wouldn't realize that the FBI was here and rehash a fresh bout of tears. "Sir, is there any possibility I could speak with Joanne?" Chloe asked. He found himself allowing his shoulders to hunch forward. No sense denying it. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," he said so quietly that he was afraid she wouldn't hear. "Sir?" she probed, her eyes narrowing. "Ms. Grant, let me explain something to you--" "Mark, who is it..." his wife appeared around the corner and her voice trailed off when she saw the tall woman. "Oh, hello," she said then fell silent. "Honey, this is Chloe Grant. She's with the FBI," he explained and his wife's red eyes widened. The puffiness of them immediately gave Chloe a clue that something was wrong. "Oh." "Hello, ma'am," Chloe said, inclining her head toward the woman. "Dee, I'd like to talk to Agent Grant for a few minutes. I'll be back in, OK?" he said. His wife didn't say a word but simply nodded. He smiled faintly and took hold of Chloe's arm, pulling her out of the house. "I'm sorry about that, Ms. Grant," he said. "It's all right. Now, what were you saying?" Chloe asked and he nodded sadly. "I was just about to explain something to you," he paused and drew a deep breath. "Joanne Jenkins was adopted and removed from our foster care earlier this morning. My wife is extremely upset about it because we loved little Joanne like our own daughter, even though she's only been here for a few weeks." He watched as the agent's face immediately blanched. She pursed her lips and looked as though she wanted to punch the nearest thing and break the rest of her hand. She bit her lip in thought and soon the color returned to her cheeks but it was the ugly shade of anger. "Agent Grant?" he asked. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry to hear that. I think you've just answered all my questions with that one explanation. Thank you," she said. She stuck out her hand dutifully. He grasped it, puzzled by her reaction. Her handshake was firm and admirable. Mark Marling frowned and said, "Is something wrong?" "Uhm, no. Thanks again for your time," she said and before he knew it, she had dug a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket, slipped them on her nose and begun to walk toward her car. He never did figure out why she was wearing sunglasses when it was nearly dark. ----- September 5, 1995 Chicago, Illinois 7:00 am Mickey Callavelo heard the light knock on his door, just as he was about to try to knot his tie. He was going to have to make due do with same suit he'd worn the day before and he didn't feel very clean or comfortable despite the shower he'd had. The knock came again and Mickey shrugged, abandoning his tie on the bed. He yanked the door open and had to look down at the little girl that stood there. He smiled. "Sammi, good morning," he said. "What's up, kiddo?" "Good morning, Mickey. Fox and Dana aren't awake yet and I thought maybe you'd like to eat breakfast with me," she said, immediately reaching for his hand. He laughed as she grasped it with all her might. "Sure, I'd love to... Do you cook?" he asked, grinning. He hadn't expected the positive answer she gave. "Yep! Bacon and eggs and French toast and omelets and... Well," she giggled. "You get the idea." "At your age?" Mickey asked, incredulously. "Yes, sir!" Sam answered, her hand raising to her temple to salute him. "I love cooking, but I usually wasn't allowed until someone was watching me." "That's amazing, kiddo," Mickey said. "Well, let me show you to the kitchen, my little wonder." He smiled down to her and led her to the kitchen. Inside the large room, large because it had once been used to feed a lot of people, Mickey discovered that Samantha really was a wonder for her age. She walked around the kitchen slowly getting to know where everything was. She inspected the fridge and pulled out some milk, eggs and margarine. She smiled radiantly when she turned toward him. "Care to place your order, sir?" she asked using a childish imitation of a restaurant waiter, a French accent slurring the words. He was about to answer when he heard a rustling at the door. He almost laughed when he saw a very tired looking Dana Scully appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She smiled as she became aware of his intense gaze. "Good morning," she said, sheepishly. "Mornin'," Mickey answered and turned back to Sam. He didn't feel like figuring out why Scully looked like she hadn't slept a wink. "Sammi was about to make me breakfast," he said and Samantha nodded vigorously. "Dana, can I get something for you too?" Sam asked and Scully shook her head. "Honey, I'll make us breakfast." She shot Mickey a look of mock horror. "Mickey shouldn't have asked you to make breakfast," Scully said and smiled. Sam was quick to jump to his defense. "He didn't ask! I offered," she said proudly. Scully backed off and held up both hands in defense. "My mistake!" she cried, laughing. She yawned and dropped herself into a chair at the same table where Mickey, too, had recently sat. A new shadow crossed the floor and Sam giggled as Fox Mulder entered the kitchen, his hair standing on end. "What?" he asked, throwing up his arms. "Your hair, Fox! Your hair!" Sam cried as she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. "Good morning to you too, Sammi," Mulder said as he ruffled her hair so that it resembled his own. She giggled and returned to the counter where she had set out the food articles. "OK, what're we having?" Sam asked, assuming authority over the breakfast scene again. "Toast and OJ sounds good to me," Scully said, leaning back in her chair and smiling at Mulder, who winked from where he now stood behind Mickey. "One order of toast. Anyone else for toast?" "Two," Mulder said. "Make it three," Mickey added, shrugging. "Might as well go simple." "Anything else?" No one said anything and Sam frowned. She returned the eggs to the refrigerator and busied herself with toasting the bread that she had found in a bread box at the other end of the kitchen. Scully got up to offer to help Sam, but the little girl was determined to make the adults breakfast on her own. She shooed the older woman away and giggled when Mulder said she was just as stubborn as he remembered. For her, it didn't have the same meaning as it did for him. Mulder bit back the tears that threatened to slide down his face and smiled when Scully caught and held his gaze. Sam produced some slightly burnt pieces of toast with a slight pout but when everyone said it was magnificent and delicious, she held her head up high and explained that someday she'd make an excellent chef. No one complained. They ate in relative silence, Mulder and Scully contemplating what their next step would be and Mickey worrying endlessly about his partner. ----- Orangeburg, South Carolina Rest Inn 6:15 am Chloe Grant jerked awake, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. She'd been plagued by men in black trench coats who seemed to appear around ever corner she turned in her dream. She wiped vigorously at her brow, refusing to succumb to the darkness that threatened to cover her heart and make her day miserable. She hadn't eaten anything the night before, despite her better judgment. She'd lost her appetite after discovering that all of the foster children in Orangeburg had been adopted and transferred out of the small town within a few hours. She couldn't believe the speed at which they had removed the evidence of wrongdoing from the place. ----- Orangeburg Police Station 9:30 am After some quick calls to the South Carolina Department of Social Services, Chloe had another piece of the puzzle. Unfortunately, the puzzle was becoming harder to put together with each new piece. The woman in charge of the foster program had no information on who had adopted all of the remaining foster children. Apparently, the adoptions were with a private agency, but when Chloe called the number, it was disconnected. She slammed the phone down angrily. "Honey chile, when was the last time you et sumptin," a gentle voice drawled from the doorway. It was Chief Russell's Aunt Rosy, looking at Chloe with a grandmother's concern. Chloe smiled wryly. "It's been a while," she admitted. "Then you git yourself across that street and git some breakfast!" Aunt Rosy demanded. "Lars a mercy, you think you kin keep going on an empty stomach? Must be a city girl, that's all I kin say. City girls, with those skin tight underdrawers, always trying to git skinnier and skinner till you cain't see 'em when they stand sideways. Ain't no man wanting to hug no skin an' bones, honey. That nice lookin' fella you were with, that I-talian boy, he gonna want some 'meat' to cuddle with! Now, GIT! Tell Sally you want the 'blue plate', and that Aunt Rosy said to not spare the butter on the toast, either," she added with a wink. Chloe had to bite back a laugh at the thought of Mickey and 'cuddling', but at that moment her stomach growled loudly, so she decided to take Aunt Rosy up on her advice. With a returning wink, she grabbed her coat and headed out the door. She was a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what was going on, and better yet, how she was going to tell Mickey that every single child had now disappeared into thin air, when she glanced down the alley, next to the diner. The cook and a dishwasher were standing outside the back door of the establishment, smoking. That wasn't so unusal, but what caught Chloe's eye was the coat the dishwasher was wearing. She recognized it as a Navy pea coat, the kind worn on ships at sea and sold in military surplus stores. The buttons on the coat were different than others she had seen. Her father had owned a pea coat, and the buttons were flat pieces of plastic with an anchor imprinted on them. The buttons on this man's coat were raised and had gold on them. Just like. . . Chloe almost screamed out loud when she realized what she was seeing. As Chloe made the connection in her mind, the dishwasher looked up. Their eyes met across the15 or so yards that separated them. Then the dishwasher's eyes grew wide and he shoved the cook in front of him and took off down the alley in the opposite direction from the street. Chloe was quick to follow in pursuit. "Federal Agent! Stop where you are!" Chloe yelled after the man, but that just seemed to spur him to greater speeds. He turned the corner at the end of the alley and headed down the intersecting street. They were now in the 'industrial park', so named because of the recently built one story metal warehouses and 'self storage' units in the area. The dishwasher ducked between two of the buildings, with Chloe hot on his trail. Chloe skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. The dishwasher had disappeared, or so it seemed. Using every ounce of strength, she willed herself into silence. It was like the training grounds at Quantico all over again. She was good at this, she had the training and the talent. She was not going to let this guy get away. Slowly, she searched the ground. Not many footsteps, it was a dirt and gravel area. Off to her left, she could just pick up a faint trail, the balls of the foot coming down much harder than the heel, the kind of tracks someone made when running. She smiled to herself and quietly moved in that direction. At the edge of the building she was walking beside, she came up short. There was no sense in letting herself be ambushed. She flattened up against the building and slid toward the corner, her gun drawn, safety off. The man she was pursuing had very probably killed several children, six they knew of. This was no time to take unnecessary chances. In a flash, she popped from around the building, in a shooter's stance. Nothing. The alley between the two storage units was about fifteen feet wide, the buildings about 100 feet long. There were three dumpsters littering the way. Chloe mused and started slowly down the alley. She approached the first dumpster and took a deep breath, throwing off the lid and pointing the gun barrel into the interior. Empty, save for a few small bags of shredded paper. She swallowed and allowed herself to breathe again. she reminded herself. As she approached the second dumpster, she heard a scraping sound behind her. She twisted to the side, just avoiding the metal pipe the dishwasher swung at her head. Struggling to keep her balance, she kicked out, hitting his arm with her foot. He tried to grab it, but she was faster. Still she had not been able to dislodge the pipe from his grip. He swung again and this time made contact with her right thigh. She dropped to the ground with the impact. The dishwasher didn't waste anytime and quick as a wink had the pipe raised above him, ready to strike right at her head. Chloe brought her gun up and fired. It was point blank range and she was positive that she could not have missed. Still the dishwasher made good on his follow through. It was only her own quick move to the right that caused the pipe to hit her left shoulder, just missing her head. She heard the pipe hit her collarbone with a sickening crack. Again she fired and this time she didn't stop until she had spent all the bullets. The impact sent the dishwasher back five feet and finally he collapsed on the ground. Chloe laid back on the ground, flat on her back, and sobbed. Loyola University Lakeshore Campus Sheridan Road, Chicago 10:35 am "That was great, kiddo," Mickey complimented Samantha again. "You are gonna make somebody a great little wife," he added and then looked over to see Dana's scowl. "OR. . .you might just make great toast for yourself," she said in a defiant tone, giving Mickey a stern dressing down with her eyes. ". . .or that," he said meekly. He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll go see if Chloe has come up with anything," he muttered and hastily beat a retreat from the room. Dana had the good manners to wait until he was out of earshot to laugh. "What's so funny?" Mulder asked, carrying an armload of books from the library. "Mickey," Sam said cheerfully and giggled all the more at the confused look her brother had on his face. "No, sweetie, I'd say it was 'men in general' that are so funny," Dana whispered conspiratorially to the little girl. She was rewarded with an nod and a hug. Dana returned the hug, then looked over to her partner. "What did you find?" she asked. He had taken off for the library just after breakfast and she hadn't seen him since. If he hadn't shown up, she was going to go looking for him. "Oh, not much. Just this and that. For a seminary library, they have some pretty eclectic tastes," he told her. This didn't seem to surprise her. "They're Jesuits. Eclectic is their middle name," she replied. "But what did you hope to find?" "Oh, some history books, a couple of atlases. . ." he let his voice trail off as he searched the room to see where Samantha was. He saw her in a corner of the sitting room, reading her magazine from the flight. "A book on abductions. . ." he added in a whisper. "You mean one that you haven't either read, edited or acted as a technical advisor on?" she retorted with a scowl. He merely rolled his eyes at her. "I want to lay out a plan. First, we can't stay here forever. Especially if Cancer Man is after us. Second, Sam has no memory of her abduction and not a lot of memories of our childhood. I get the feeling she thinks she's only been gone a little while. She has no idea that she's been missing for 25 years and that she should be over 30 years old by now. We're going to have to help her face that." He sighed and leaned back into the big overstuffed chair he was sitting on. "And I have to figure out what, if anything, I'm going to say to Mom." "Fox, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but the possibility of a clone. . ." Dana said quietly. She didn't look at him directly, afraid of what she might see. He surprised her. "I've thought of that, too. But I rejected it as a theory. I think whoever took these kids, Sam included, in the first place, finally brought them home. And I think who ever in our government had knowledge of these abductions figured out that these kids were a liability that they couldn't afford. I'm sure she's Sam, Scully. It feels different than last time. This time, it just feels real." Dana reached over and took his hand. "Then I hope you're right," she said softly and leaned over to give him a kiss. The kiss would have ended much later if Mickey hadn't taken that opportunity to burst into the room. "I have to get back to South Carolina," he said breathlessly. "Chloe's in the hospital." "OK, Mickey, now slow down," Dana pleaded as the younger agent paced in front of the window, watching for the airport taxi he had called. "What, exactly, did Chief Russell say?" "It was the dishwasher at the diner across from the police station. The guy has been under our noses all the time and we never saw it! Damn it all to hell!" he shouted, then made every effort to calm himself. "I'm sorry, Dana. I'm just. . ." Dana put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it. What did the Chief say, was Chloe shot, what happened?" "Something about her leg and her shoulder. I really couldn't get much out of him and apparently the doctors didn't want her talking. Or maybe she couldn't talk, I don't know," he whined. "Where the fucking hell is that damn cab!" he hissed and looked like he was going to start punching out the old oak door. "Agent Callavelo," came a stern male voice behind him. "Scully, give us a moment," Mulder added to his partner. She nodded and left the room. "I shouldn't have left her. Damn it all, I shouldn't have left her!" Mickey moaned and leaned against the door, almost allowing himself to slide down its length. Mulder walked over to put both hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Mickey, you have to calm down," he said gently. "This isn't going to get you there any faster. And it sure won't help Chloe when you get there. Come here a minute." He motioned for Mickey to sit down on one of the foyer chairs. For a split second, Mickey looked ready to bolt. Then, with a dejected shrug, he obeyed. "Is Chloe your first partner?" Mulder asked, his voice taking on a softer edge. "The first one that isn't 10 years my senior," Mickey admitted. "And the first . . . well, she _is_ a woman," he added pointedly. Mulder thought better of the smile he was about to reveal and nodded seriously. "So I noticed," he agreed. "I mean, I should have been there," Mickey wailed again. "Chief Russell says she went after this bozo without any back up, just by herself! Somebody reported hearing shots being fired and a squad car showed up to find her and the perp. He's dead, by the way. She was out of it and they called an ambulance. She could have gotten *killed*, Mulder. How would you feel if. . ." he stopped before finishing the thought. From the look in the other agent's eyes, he knew _exactly_ how it felt. He swallowed and closed his eyes. "Does it get _any_ easier?" he moaned. Mulder sighed heavily. "No," he said, shaking his head. "As a matter of fact, it only gets worse," he admitted. They both looked up at the sound of the taxi's horn. "Just be there for her now. Sometimes our jobs are to help pick up the pieces," Mulder said and patted Mickey on the back as he hurried out the door. In the doorway, out of sight, Dana wiped a tear from her cheek. "Ain't it the truth," she muttered to herself. ----- End Part Twenty -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Twenty-One ----- Orangeburg, SC 5:15 pm Someone had a firm grip on her hand. She stirred into a state of semi-sleep and something triggered the memory. The pipe. The gleaming metal pipe that seemed to loom in her mind. She cringed and fought to remove her hand from the steel grip. She thrashed around, pain searing her flesh. "Chloe--" The voice drifted toward her, penetrating through the horror she felt at the warm touch of whoever was holding her down. "Chloe, wake up!" She recognized the voice. She fought to get control of herself and in the process she became fully awake. She opened her eyes to see a familiar face looming before her. "Mickey?" she whispered, her voice harsh and untrusting. "Chloe," he said and a brilliant smile crossed his handsome face. She didn't think she'd been so glad to see him in her entire life. She glanced away from his welcome visage and discovered the white washed walls of the room that surrounded her. She licked her parched lips and shifted her position which only brought more pain. "Ugh!" she cried. "Just lay still," Mickey said, pushing the matted hair off her forehead. She winced and nodded. "The dishwasher...?" "Is dead," Mickey said. "You sure did a number on the guy, Chloe." "Dead? How many bullets?" "The whole clip." "The *whole* clip?" Chloe asked, her eyes widening. Mickey nodded. Chloe bit her lip and tried to sit up. The pain was severe but not unbearable and she was able to make it to a sitting position. "He got me," she whispered. "Yes, he did," Mickey said. "We're talking in circles," Chloe observed. "Got any tea?" "Ginseng," Mickey said, producing a single cup tea bag from his pocket. "I knew you were going to ask for it." Chloe smiled and accepted the packet. "Wait here, I'll get some water for you," Mickey said, jumping out of his chair and dashing out the door before she could object. A few minutes later he reappeared with a white Styrofoam cup filled with steaming water. He took the packet back and dropped it into the cup, allowing it to soak. "If I take you home, can I keep you as my personal nurse?" Chloe asked. Mickey just cocked his head to the side and laughed. "Okay, seriously now, the dishwasher was the one." "Yes, and you went after him by yourself. Which reminds me, I'm supposed to be mad at you," Mickey said and his eyes narrowed in mock anger. "Promise me you won't do that again." "Mickey--" "Promise it, Chloe. If we're going to be partners, you've got to promise me that." "Michael, I..." she paused, searching for the words. "I promise, Chloe, say it," Mickey said and this time his voice held conviction. "Okay, I promise," she said dejectedly. "Good," Mickey grinned and sat back down in the chair beside her bed. "The doctor said your collar bone is broken and your leg is fractured. That dishwasher really got you and you're going to have a rough time recovering. This case is considered closed--" Mickey would have continued but Chloe held up a hand to silence him. "Mick, the children... Something is going on, they've all been adopted." "It's not our problem now, Chloe. Let's just get our asses back to Washington and get on with it," Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders. "Where are Mulder and Scully?" "In Chicago," Mickey said, then thought for a moment. "They've got Sam and are hiding at the University. I left them there..." "We have to go to Chicago," Chloe said. "You, my friend, are going home to recoup. Understand?" "Michael--" Chloe began to argue. "You can't walk, Chloe," he reminded her, knowing that she was going to insist that he let her go to Chicago. "Whatever mess they are in, they have to get out of it themselves. I've left them with trusted friends and whatever they do from there doesn't involve us..." "You're an asshole," Chloe said but her smile allowed him to hold firm in his belief that they were going to be partners for a long time. "Thank you," he said. "Does this mean you'll keep me?" "Oh boy, you're a keeper all right." "Secure in that knowledge, I leave thee to sleep. Good afternoon, fair lady," Mickey said and got up to leave. Chloe reached up and grabbed his hand. "Thanks for coming, Mick," she whispered. "Hey, what are friends for?" Mickey said before he flashed a smile and disappeared out the door. Chloe took a small sip of the hot tea and leaned back against the pillows. She did not like being immobilized and was not impressed that she would be in no condition to do anything for a while now. The cast that held her shoulder in position was uncomfortable and a royal pain in the ass. "Jesus Christ," she sighed before setting the tea aside and struggling into a more comfortable position. Despite herself, she dropped off to sleep. ----- Chicago, IL Loyola University Fox Mulder started the sedan that he and Scully had rented for their stay in Chicago. They had already discussed the situation and had decided that heading back to Washington to talk to the Assistant Director of the FBI was their only solution. He had helped them keep Cancer Man at bay before. They already knew that Skinner would help them out, if he could. Mulder sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. He was tired and he knew it would be nice to get home. He needed to get a hold of some people to have a few things taken care of. He had to get a bigger apartment. When he thought of the other thing he had to do, his smile grew. A ring for Scully. A nice engagement ring. He was so happy that he didn't even react when the door opened and someone got in the car. He simply assumed it was Scully. "Fox Mulder, so nice that we should meet here of all places," the cold and steely voice said. Suddenly Mulder's nose was filled with the unmistakable stench of cigarette smoke. His eyes snapped open and his smile faded, replaced by a cold frown. Mulder did not reply. "I see you've found Samantha. She's special, you know," Cancer Man was saying. Mulder tried to block it out but couldn't. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, unafraid of the consequences. "All I want is for you to return the girl. She's not your sister any more--" Cancer Man began but Mulder turned angrily on him. "Like hell she isn't!" he cried "Mulder, take a look at her. She's nine years old," Cancer Man said and Mulder felt the blow. As usual the older man was trying to make pain using words. This time, Mulder decided, it would not work. He'd shoot the man clean through the head before he let him wrap his withered fingers around his heart this time. "Shut up!" Mulder said, and reached for his gun. The older man was too fast. Before Mulder knew it, words were not the only weapon in the game any more. There was a fair sized Smith and Wesson pointed at his temple. Mulder swallowed, moving his hands slowly to the steering wheel so that the bastard could see them. "You'll return Samantha to me and I'll be on my way," the man said and Mulder could hear the pleasure in his words. "How'd you find us?" Mulder asked, feeling the last tendrils of his control shriveling away and tightening. "Your friend Chloe Grant was very useful and from there a fair bit of money came in handy, you know," Cancer Man said. "Now, where's Sam?" "I don't have her," Mulder lied. "Don't play games, Mulder. Where the hell is the girl?" Mulder remained silent, infuriating the man. ----- Dana Scully laughed as Sam struggled to hoist Mulder's bag over her shoulder. The little girl had insisted on carrying her big brother's stuff while Scully took hold of all the smaller things. Scully thought Samantha was probably just excited to be heading back to the airport for another plane trip. Scully watched the struggle for a few more minutes and decided the suitcase was much to heavy for the nine year old girl. She would fall down the stairs if Scully didn't stop her soon. "Sammi, let me carry those," Scully said but Sam refused, shaking her head vigorously. "No way, man," Sam said and in a defiant action she started down the stairs. Scully winced but was surprised when the child made it all the way down safely. She sighed with relief and followed. "Crazy kid," she whispered to herself and it was then that she realized just what a hold this kid had on her heart, it was surprising and somewhat frightful. "Are you coming?" Sam asked as she noticed that Scully had stopped walking halfway down the stairs. Scully started and grinned. "Yeah, I'm coming. Geez. Impatient," Scully said. She moved down the stairs and in no time she was beside Sam at the front of the building. Mulder should have had the car out front already, so Scully began to walk in the direction of the parking lot. Mulder probably locked the keys in the car or something stupid like that. Samantha was a few steps behind her, but soon enough she had caught up to Scully and passed her. Sam stopped dead when she noticed something out of the ordinary. Fox Mulder was sitting inside the car and there was another man there too. "Dana, who's Mulder talking to?" Sam asked, her eyes widening. She sighed, noticing that Dana's face turn absolutely white. As white as a sheet. The next thing she heard was the most surprising. Dana Scully cursed. It was a curse like none that Sam had ever heard before. She began to blush, knowing that she probably shouldn't have heard such words from Scully's mouth and probably wouldn't again. "Sammi, I'm sorry," Scully said hurriedly, yanking the girl, suitcase and all, back around the corner. "I want you to go back inside the University. Wait inside until I come to get you." Sam began to lug the suitcase and Scully touched her shoulder. "Forget the suitcase, just run." It was the tone of Scully's voice that frightened Sam the most. It was a scared tone, one which Sam had never heard an adult use before. Just as she reached the steps of the University, she glanced over her shoulder in time to see Scully drawing her gun out of its holster. Sam started to cry. The tears burned her eyes as she ran up the remaining steps and into the University. ----- Scully hadn't meant to express herself in such a colorful manner in front of the young girl, but it was the only way to get out the feelings she felt at seeing Cancer Man in the car with Mulder. She wasn't sure what the situation was and she didn't know what she should do. She decided to wait for a few minutes and observe the situation. She remained hiding around the corner. She didn't want to alert Cancer Man to the fact that she was around, just in case it should complicate things. ----- "Alright, Mulder, we're getting out of the car," Cancer Man said, using a commanding voice. "And if I don't want to?" "Your lovely wife-to-be will be cleaning your brains off the interior of the car just before I shoot her." The reply was harsh and made Mulder cringe. He didn't question how the despicable man knew that he and Scully were engaged but he did question the direct threats. Did this asshole think he could get away with it? "Alright, let's go," Mulder said and slowly opened the door. As he did so, he weighed his options. They were pretty slim. He decided to play along and see what it earned him. He knew Cancer Man wouldn't shoot him yet. He needed the girl and wouldn't leave until he got her. "Easy, Mulder. None of that funny stuff," the man said and Mulder thought it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. It was a line right out of the movies. "Alright, I'm out, now what?" he asked. The man slowly opened his door and quickly stepped out, his aim only leaving Mulder for a few seconds as he repositioned himself. "We walk," Cancer Man said. Mulder nodded and began his journey using slow deliberate steps. The faster he walked, the closer he became to losing Sam. He had no idea that Scully was waiting around the corner. ----- Scully's breath hitched in her throat as she watched Mulder being directed towards the building. She didn't like the feeling that was raising in her stomach and seating itself in her heart. This time she didn't push it down. It was better to let the fear and anger mingle because she was determined in her plan. She could hear the shuffling of Mulder's slow and deliberate footsteps, her hearing heightened by the blood rushing through her body and the adrenaline feeding her strength. Soon enough she saw Mulder's body appear around the corner and knew that Cancer Man was behind him. She swallowed hard and set her jaw. In one fluent motion, Scully pushed Mulder to the side and stepped forward just as Cancer Man rounded the corner. She knocked the gun out of his outstretched hands and swiftly brought the butt end of her gun down, cracking the older man over the right cheek. He uttered a cry and fell to his knees. It was more a reaction of surprise than pain but it was better for Scully. She kicked him in jaw and sent him sprawling backwards, pointing her gun down at him. "How does it feel?" Scully asked, angrily. She could feel Mulder's presence behind her and knew that she should let the anger subside, but she just couldn't. "How does it feel to know you're about to die?" she screamed. "Scully," Mulder said from behind her. She knew her body was shaking with all the anger she felt but she didn't want to stop. She had to finish this once and for all, while the man was immobilized and at her mercy. "Mulder, shut up," she whispered. The cold blaze in her eyes reflected in Cancer Man's. He began to squirm but he wasn't in any condition to get himself out of danger. "What are you doing, Scully?" Mulder asked and suddenly his voice was full of fright. He hadn't known that Scully had so much anger pent-up towards the man before them. Sure, he'd caused them pain in the past but... His thought wasn't completed. Scully had squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side, as though she couldn't bear to watch what she was about to do. The sound of the gunshot resounded off the old walls of the University. Suddenly all things around them ceased to exist for the time being and all Mulder saw was Scully's eyes open with every emotion flashing in them except fear. She slowly turned to him, her chest raising and falling with each breath, tears flowing down her face. She dropped the gun to the ground and took a few steps toward him. Mulder rushed to her and threw his arms around her, supporting her because he was sure that she would fall. As he rubbed her back consolingly he could see the mess she'd left. Her shot was well place even though she hadn't been looking and Cancer Man's gray matter was splattered all over the parking lot. It was a few minutes before his senses returned to him and he was aware that Scully was sobbing against his chest. She'd just killed a man in cold blood. She'd killed men before but this one seemed different somehow. Perhaps it was because he could no longer be a burden to them or perhaps it was because she had done it with such a cold fury. "Dana," Mulder said, rubbing the back of her neck gently and hoping the action was enough to calm the sobs. "Fox, I killed him," she said, her voice so shaky and remorseless that Mulder didn't know just what she was saying. "It's for the better," Mulder said. "I killed him," she repeated. Shock. Scully was in shock. "Dana, listen to me, it's alright," Mulder said. "You did everything completely legally," he tried to convince her. ----- End Part Twenty-One -- *Disclaimer: See Part One. T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs by Vickie Moseley & Char Hall vmoseley@fgi.net & drakkar@bconnex.net Part Twenty-Two (End) ----- University Parking Loyola University "I think that's all we need for now, Agent Mulder. Thank you for your cooperation," the short, balding detective for the Chicago Police Department said. Mulder vaguely remembered him introducing himself as Det. Patrick Mulligan. Mulder nodded and shook the man's hand. Now that his statement was given, he could go on to the really important things. Like finding Scully in all this mess. The gunshot had brought people, lots and lots of people, out of the nearby classrooms. The gawkers hung on for a while, watching the Coroner's wagon load the black body bag into its cargo area, and leaving the scene. The black and white squad cars, with the blue uniformed officers, did their best to keep the crowd at bay, but this was fairly exciting, even more so that it happened on a relatively quiet college campus and during broad daylight. The official story was simple. An attempted abduction of a Federal Agent resulted in the death of the abductor. It was a good thing the Federal Agent had the good sense to be in the company of another Federal Agent at the time of the attempt. Case closed. In the midst of the crowd, Mulder spied Father Daly. He motioned the agent over with a wave of his hand. "Dana is in the chapel. It's quiet in there. She looked like she needed some time," the old priest said with a gentle smile. "Where's Sam?" Mulder asked, again scanning the area. "I called Michael's mother. The Callavelo's live in Rogers Park, just a few blocks over. She's with little Samantha in my office over in the Doyle Center. She'll be fine until the two of you come get her. And if I'm not mistaken, Bridget, uh, Mrs. Callavelo, is expecting the three of you for dinner. Young Michael is going to have some 'heavy' explaining to do with his mother for not telling her he was in town, I'm afraid," Friar Daly added with a wicked grin. Mulder grinned back and left at a trot to find Scully. The Chapel of the Madonna de la Strata was on the edge of Lake Michigan. Just a few feet from the door of the old Church, the waves of the Lake lapped on the shore, threatening with each movement to dislodge more of the precious soil. One day, without intervention, the Chapel would be claimed by the Lake. But for now, it was a haven in the middle of a crowded urban area. Slowly, Mulder pulled open the heavy wooden doors and entered. It was dark and slightly dank inside. The smells of candle wax, incense and lake water mingled to make their presence almost tangible. The only light came from the stained glass that lined the walls. He found her in the front of the church, kneeling before a statute of someone he could only guess was Mary. Scully looked to be lost in prayer. He walked toward her hesitantly. "It's okay, Mulder, it's not a private conversation," Dana said, without letting her gaze waver from the statute in front of her. "Blessed Mother, this is the man I plan to marry. Fox Mulder, meet the Mother of God," she added and let a gentle smile form on her lips. "Nice to make your acquaintance, uh, Your Lady?" he said with a bit of confusion. He couldn't tell if Dana was serious with this or not and he sure didn't want to cause her any more heartache for the day. "Our Lady," Dana corrected. "She's Our Lady." Suddenly her shoulders began to shake and her head dropped to her chest as tears coursed down her cheeks. "Oh, Mulder, I just killed a man," she sobbed as he took her in his arms. "I killed a man in cold blood. I can't believe I did that. I just can't believe I could hate anyone that much. . ." He stroked her hair and made soft noises in her ear. "It's okay, Dana. It's okay. He would have killed me once he had Sam. And there's no telling what he would have done to her. You did the right thing. It's all right. It will be all right." "Sam! Where's Sam?" she asked anxiously, looking behind him toward the door of the chapel. "Mulder, what if he wasn't alone?" "Not to worry. Father Daly took her to his office. Mickey's mother is with her now. I think she's safe. And as for. . .whatever the hell his name was, well, I'm certain he was alone. Otherwise, whoever was with him would have taken me out when you started shooting." At that thought, she clutched him harder and sobbed again into his shoulder. "I couldn't let him take her. I knew that's what he wanted. I just couldn't let him. Not again." He gently pushed her away for a second to look into her face. "You mean you killed him because he was going to take Sam," he asked, one eyebrow raised. "Well, yes," she said, confusion in her eyes. "Why else?" "Oh, I thought it might have been that I was in danger. You know, he did have a gun on me," Mulder said pointedly. "Mulder," Scully responded, slightly annoyed, "you could have handled that. I was worried that he'd knock you senseless and take Sam. I just wanted it over. I don't think I could have gone on worrying every night if he might come and take her again. That was the only thought in my mind." She wiped at her cheek and he handed her his handkerchief. Mulder bit back his smart reply. This was not the time. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe the woman in front of him really did love his sister, possibly as much as he did. And more than ever before he determined to make her his wife. He looked around at the small chapel. It was very pretty, old, lots of dark wood and beautiful carvings. "Nice church," he commented. She looked around, perhaps for the first time and nodded. "Make a great place for a wedding," he said, his eyes shining. She graced him with a precious smile. "We'd have to fly back here," she said. "And we'd have to bring everyone with us." "What everyone? Your mom, the Gunmen, maybe we'll invite Skinner, Chloe and Mickey. Everyone else has to fly to get to the wedding anyway. So how about it, Scully? Make an honest man of me. Here, in this chapel." ----- Four months later... Wicket's Bar and Grill Washington, DC Michael Callavelo, dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket, stepped out of Chloe's sedan and gawked at the line of people that led to the entrance of the bar. "Chloe, maybe this isn't such a good idea..." Mickey protested, feeling a little self conscious. He stood beside the car and stared at the line as Chloe came up beside him. She leaned close to him and said, "Mickey, don't be ridiculous. I've been promising this since we got on that plane together." "I know but--" "But nothin', Mick. You're not going to give up a night of all-you-can-drink beer, are ya?" Chloe asked, poking him playfully in the ribs with her elbow. Mickey laughed, he couldn't help it. Chloe had the strangest grin on her face. "Alright, but how long do you think it's going to take us to get in there?" Chloe's grin spread at the question. "Just watch," she said. She grabbed a hold of his wrist and dragged him to the beginning of the line where she left him to watch her tactics. He noticed that she looked good in tight fitting jeans and a plaid workers shirt. Obviously the bouncer at the door, whose ear she was now whispering in, agreed completely. The bouncer smiled and nodded. Chloe laughed and returned to Mickey's side. He tried to ignore the fact that she still had a limp from her injuries but it was too evident. "What did you say to him?" Mickey asked, curiously. He was trying to shut out the guilty feelings he felt for not being there to help Chloe. Shoving them into the back of his mind he forced himself to smile. He discovered it wasn't all that difficult around Chloe. "I reminded him of a favor I did for him once. He's a friend of mine," Chloe replied. Mickey shook his head. He wasn't going to ask her to explain the favor, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Alright, I'm following you. That guy scares me," Mickey said, draping his arm casually over Chloe's shoulder as a friend might. "He scares you? Mickey, you're the one with the gun..." Chloe said and laughed. "Not tonight," he said as they walked through the crowds of people. "No gun? How do you expect to defend yourself from your evil partner?" Chloe asked, grinning. They found a booth in the far corner of the bar and had to shout over the music to be heard. Mickey shrugged and leaned over the table to shout in Chloe's ear. "I'm not afraid of you," he said. Chloe smiled. She had begun to think this partnership could be the start of a long lasting friendship--something she hadn't had in a long time. Things were looking up for the both of them. ----- Chapel of Madonna de la Strata "Stand still, Mickey! You keep wiggling," Samantha Mulder berated the young agent as she attempted to tie his ascot. "I do better at these things on the 'other' side of the altar, ya know," was his hissed comment. "I was a fairly decent Altar Boy. I was almost a Deacon." "Your talents never cease to amaze me, Callavelo," Fox said dryly, leaning against the door jam and admiring his sister's handiwork. "Hey, squirt, aren't you supposed to be helping the bride?" "Nah, Chloe said she had it under control. She wanted me to make sure you two guys don't embarrass us." She jumped down from the stool she was standing on. "Here, let me look at you," she ordered her brother. Dutifully, he turned around in a slow circle, while Mickey and Sam let out wolf whistles. "You two _can_ be replaced," he growled. Then he reached down and gave his sister a tight hug. "Now, off with you. Go do what flower girls are supposed to do." "I am NOT a 'flower girl'!" she said indignantly. "*I* am a 'junior attendant'!" "Then go 'attend'!" he ordered and gave her a light swat on the backside as she scooted out the door giggling. "So, you got 'cold feet', yet?" Mickey asked when Sam was safely out of earshot. "Not on your life, Callavelo. I've been waiting for this day forever." "You're getting a wonderful lady, that's for sure. And she isn't that bad a boss, either," he smiled. The new, expanded X-Files division, which included two subdivisions, one investigative, one forensic had been Skinner's wedding present. With the demise of Cancer Man, the Consortium had vanished into thin air, but managed to leave behind enough evidence to answer several questions. "She's too easy on you. She needs to whip you into shape," Fox smiled. "Oh, like you do?" Mickey asked with a devilish grin. "Come on. Chloe will kill me if I don't get you out there on time." *********** "Do you see them?" Dana asked, trying to sound calmer than she felt. Chloe was standing with the door to the sanctuary opened a crack. "Just a minute. . .OK, here they come. Yeah. They're up there now," she said and tried to hide her relief. "You did a good job with that tie, Sammi. I couldn't have done better," she smiled down at the little girl. Samantha beamed. "It wasn't easy, either. He fidgets," she said solemnly. Chloe broke into a grin. "I've noticed. Last stake out I was ready to tie him to his seat! The man is. . ." "Typical?" Dana chimed in and all three broke into peals of laughter. When they regained their composure, she straightened her dress and veil. "Chloe, you're sure about this?" she asked before taking her bouquet from her 'maid of honor'. "Hey, it will be a pleasure. I'll love watching Sam for you while you're gone. Who ever heard of taking a nine year old on a honeymoon! You two just go, have a great time and maybe even leave the hotel room once or twice, just to send us a post card," she added with a wink. "Now, come on. I think we've made them squirm long enough. Move out, troops!" ----- END *End Note: Big thanks go to Megan Reilly who did a wicked editing job on this. Thanks for the time and effort Megan! (Hey, why not have a shameless plug?) Go read her stuff, it's great! -- -------- Disclaimer: Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Samantha, Mrs. Mulder, Pendrell and various conspiracies are borrowed from Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo were created by Char Hall and Vickie Moseley in the original Bed Springs. Thanks also go to Vanessa Len for mythological information. ______________________________________________ T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison by Char Hall and Megan Reilly [drakkar@bconnex.net & eponine@prodigy.net] 8/3/96-10/30/96 ______________________________________________ Apartment of Chloe Grant December 2, 1996 9:45 PM "Grant, are you sure she should be watching movies like this?" Mickey Callavelo asked his partner as he came back into the living room from the kitchen, a huge bowl of popcorn in his hands. Both women gave him dark looks. "She's fine," Chloe Grant told him, ruffling Samantha Mulder's hair with her hand. "Sit down and shut up," she ordered with a smile. He did as she said, sitting down on Chloe's threadbare couch and handing her the popcorn. Sam, who was sitting on the floor in front of them, turned to take a big handful of popcorn. "Arnold Schwartzenegger movies are my *favorite*," she told Mickey, tossing a piece of popcorn at him and gracing him with a charming ten year old grin. He threw one back, missed her by a mile, and she went back to watching the movie. "Think Mulder and Dana are enjoying their honeymoon?" Mickey asked his partner softly, the words barely audible over the roar of an explosion in the rented movie playing in the VCR. "Of course," Chloe returned with a quirky smile. Mickey nodded and looked at the TV, but Chloe's eyes lingered on her partner, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering what was going on his mind wasn't a new experience for her, although the domesticity of this scene was. In her head, she knew Mickey was her partner and a damn good one, and that Sammi was the younger sister--much younger, now--of their boss, Fox Mulder, head of the X-Files division, but it didn't stop Chloe from wondering what it might be like... Not with Mickey, of course, Chloe thought, a little shocked at herself. The trouble was, he was the only man she was close to in her life right now. Her partner. Wonderful, she thought ironically. There had only been one man she'd ever thought she might live happily ever after with, and that had ended badly. It had ended so incredibly badly. Months ago. Chloe still didn't feel like she was ready to trust someone with her heart again. But someday...someday, it might be nice, she decided, thinking again of Fox Mulder and his new bride, Dana Scully Mulder, who were no doubt, at this moment, very much in love and basking in the sun. ----- White Sands Resort December 2, 1996 9:45 PM Dana Scully Mulder, who was having a hard time remembering not to think of herself as 'Scully' anymore, looked across the room at her husband of one week who stood by the window, looking out at the waves crashing onto the gorgeous white sandy beach only a few feet away. It was the perfect place for a honeymoon, with a bright, airy hotel room, a complimentary sampling of fragrant bubble bath and other luxuries waiting for them. No evil, no cases, nothing to worry about. Just the two of them, married. At last. In one of the greatest resorts that existed, enjoying sun and heat in the middle of December. And Mulder was miserable. Dana could sense it; she knew this man so well, better than she knew anyone else, nearly better than she knew herself. She knew it wasn't her, or them or regrets about their marriage. He loved her. She knew that. She went to him and put her arms around him. He was surprised, but then she felt his arms tight around her, so tight she could barely breathe and she knew that she was right. Mulder was missing the rain and the cold of Washington, D.C. And his sister. And the X-Files. ----- FBI Building December 3, 1996 9:15 am "What does he want to see us for?" Mickey asked, turning to meet Chloe's eyes. "He's our supervisor, Mickey. And with Mulder and Dana both out of the office, we report directly to him." Mickey's face fell instantly. "You don't think I'm in trouble again, do you?" Chloe couldn't help it, she laughed. Mickey looked at her, stricken, and she could tell he was going over in his head every last thing he'd said in the past few weeks. It was an unintentionally offensive comment that had landed him in the X-Files to begin with, and though he liked his position, Mickey couldn't help wondering. He wasn't too good in the diplomacy department, Chloe thought, but she liked him anyway. "I'm sure it's just our next case," she reassured him, but he continued to look unconvinced. The elevator doors opened and they went together into the Assistant Director's office. Chloe hid her smile as Mickey opened the door and started to hold it open for her, then gave her a look and went through it himself. She'd told him, again, that she was perfectly capable of opening a door for herself, and this time he was really making an effort to change his ways. She knew he couldn't help it. "Agent Callavelo, Agent Grant," Skinner said and nodded them both into the chairs facing his desk. Mickey sat down nervously, on the edge, still convinced he was going to be called on the carpet. The memory of the state's dinner, last week, came crashing down on him... "Agent Callavelo," Skinner said, meeting his eyes after shuffling the papers on his desk around. "I enjoyed hearing your thoughts on the San Diego stalker at the state's dinner last week." Here it comes, Mickey thought, but his boss didn't continue. It took him a good thirty seconds to realize the man had been serious. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say, and could feel himself blushing. "That's why I'm assigning this case to you. Although it doesn't have the earmarkings of an X-File, I'm sure it will put both of your talents to good use. You'll be leaving for New York this afternoon. Agent Grant," Skinner said, and put the file in her hands. Mickey got to his feet and followed her from the room. "How bad is it?" he asked her, back in the elevator. "Not bad," she said, sounding distracted. "I was thinking about Sam. Mulder and Dana left her with me, and we can't take her with us." "They knew that this might happen. We can leave her with her mother, I'm sure she'd love to have her. And it's only a couple of days before they get back." "You're right," Chloe said, looking through the file again. She wondered why she felt so unsettled, like something bad was waiting for them around the corner. She pushed the thoughts away, but they didn't stay gone for long. Right there, in black and white, the name of their contact in New York City. A name she'd hoped she would never hear again in her entire life. Nicholas Shane. The man who'd torn her heart out and essentially used it for dental floss. The man she'd loved so intensely that even now, after six months, it hurt like it was yesterday. "I'm sure it won't be that bad," Mickey said optimistically. "I'm sure you're right," Chloe managed to reply. ----- Arlington National Cemetery 10:13 am The woman stood in front of the small grave marker, oblivious to the rain that poured in heavy torrents from the dark skies above, staining her black wool overcoat with streams of water. The tombstone was nondescript and even though it had only been there for four months, it already seemed worn with age. The name carved into the stone was unintelligible to her, perhaps because of the rain obscuring her vision. It couldn't be tears. Not now, not after so many years. In a final tribute to the man who now lay decomposing beneath her feet, she lit a Morley cigarette, because that had been his brand, and she watched it burn for a moment, the acrid smoke mixing with the moldy smell of her damp wet coat. Then she dropped it on the ground, crushing it viciously into the muddy earth with her shoe. "I will get my revenge," she swore, more to herself than to the dead man. Without another thought for him, she turned to go, long brown hair sliding over the collar of her coat. She was a young woman, perhaps thirty years old, with a striking and beautiful profile. When she turned, the other side of her face was toward the grave, the skin melted and reshaped by horrible scars. There was nothing she could do to disguise the facial scars, and so she walked with her head held high and her back straight, her promise of revenge keeping her strong. ----- December 4, 1996 Central Park, New York 5:13 am "I hurt myself today to see if I could still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real. The needle tears a hole, that old familiar sting. Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything..." Chloe Grant ran as she'd never run before. Her feet pounded against the sidewalk, as though the pain of the reverberation would calm the storm that was raging within her heart. This morning she'd risen early and left the hotel in order to seek a way to rid herself of the pent-up frustrations that had resulted in yet another sleepless night. She and Mickey had arrived early the night before, deciding it best to wait until the morning to start fresh on the case. Chloe felt nothing but relief when Mickey had suggested waiting. She wanted to put off meeting Nick for as long as possible. More than that, though, she wanted to have time to really think about it. She really did not want Mickey, dense as he seemed to be at times, to pick up on the fact that she really was uncomfortable around the man. And it took a lot to make Chloe uncomfortable. She sucked in a tight breath and ground her teeth together as the tiny little earphones transferred the song to her over-worked mind. "What have I become? My sweetest friend, everyone I know goes away in the end. You could have it all, my empire of dirt. I will let you down. I will make you hurt." She tried not to think about the song and its meaning as she ran yet another lap. Nicholas Shane, my ass, she thought, bitterly. I will not feel intimidated and I will not let him bother me. He's a smug bastard. That's all. Still, she didn't feel very well. Maybe the case would offer enough distraction that she wouldn't have to deal with Shane on her own, because surely then... Then what, Chloe? She wasn't sure. Admit it, Chloe, you still love the smug bastard. That thought lingering in her mind, Chloe Grant stopped running and hunched over, breathing deeply of the New York air. She moved to the side of sidewalk, allowing other joggers to pass as she tried to regain her breath. Still hunched over, she caught the first whiff of a familiar scent that made her heart skip every time she smelled it. She pursed her lips as she realized where it was coming from. From the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of Nike Crosstrainer shoes, white socks, and hairy legs. As she straightened she allowed her gaze to travel up the form, giving herself time to set her face in a mask of stone. Hairy legs gave way to a pair of dark blue Umbro soccer shorts, then a plain white T-shirt which pulled tight across his muscular upper torso. Her gaze faltered there, marveling for a split second. Catching herself, she completed her mission. Her body completely erect now, tight with apprehension and dread, Chloe raised her eyes finally to his face. A charming smile had replaced the look of anger that she'd last seen on his chiseled face. His wavy dark hair, now damp from sweat, had also grown much longer since the last time she'd seen him. Six months and now he stood in front of her. Special Agent Nicholas Shane, Violent Crimes section of the New York FBI. Up for section chief. Fast moving, quick thinking, asshole supreme. Chloe carefully raised one hand, while keeping eye contact with him, to remove each of the earphones from her ear. She allowed them to dangle down her back, the cord making a "V" at her throat. She made sure her gaze was chilling, despite the swirling emotions she felt at seeing him again. "Special Agent Grant, so nice to meet you again," he said, sticking his hand out as though they were just passing acquaintances. Yeah, passing acquaintances instead of ex- lovers, she thought with a shiver. How can he be so nonchalant about it? "And you," she said, barely able to keep the sudden emptiness from her voice. She grasped his hand, giving it only a half-hearted shake. "So," he said quietly, as though he'd suddenly become shy. The hand that she'd shaken slipped to the back of his neck as he rubbed his sweaty hair. "They've sent you to help out with my case, huh?" She nodded, not trusting her voice yet. Suddenly, she had the odd feeling that he was up to something. "Well, I'm glad. At least I know I can trust you," he said. I wouldn't be so sure, you bastard! Chloe cringed at her own malicious thoughts, but made no effort to shove them away. She could only remember the last time she'd seen him. It'd been a long day, and she'd had a headache. That much she remembered, because she'd gone home early. Early to find old Nick-boy in bed with some fucking blonde bitch. Chloe's fists involuntarily clenched. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laying into him that instant as he stood before her, charming as he had been on the first day they'd met. "So, uh," she forced the words to be at least half pleasant, "I see you haven't given up jogging." Of course, it was evident by his fit form. Strong leg muscles that accented his muscular upper torso and abdomen. "No. I figured I should keep fit, you know, never know when I might have to run from somebody's husband..." He trailed off as he noticed Chloe's dark gaze. He knew enough about her to know that he'd just struck a very sharp chord. He'd been trying to joke lightly, but the joke had been one of poor choice considering what had happened between them. Instead of stumbling over apologies, Nicholas tried to redeem himself by following another avenue, "I saw you jogging and when you hunched over, I thought you might be hurt. I mean, I thought... I thought maybe your leg was bothering you..." He stumbled over the words. "Look, I heard what happened on your first case. I just want you to know that I want to help." Isn't that sweet, Chloe thought. Too bad he doesn't mean it... But even as she thought about it, just his tone was the loving tone that she remembered. She pursed her lips and fought the urge to move closer to him. To her surprise, he closed a bit of the space. He took hold of her hand again, giving it a light squeeze. "I guess I'll meet you and your partner at my office at about eight, huh?" For an instant, Chloe thought he was going to lean forward and kiss her, but instead he let go of her hand and backed slowly away before turning his back on her and continuing with his jog. Confused more than ever now, just as she suspected would happen, Chloe Grant picked the earphones off her shoulders and put them back in her ears. She was engulfed once again by the strong current of music. She began to jog back to the hotel, turmoil less settled than it had been when she'd hit the sidewalk. The sun had lit the city by the time she reached the hotel, waking the people up and readying them for another day at the grueling task called life. ----- New York FBI Offices 7:57 am "Mickey, your tie is crooked again," Chloe's voice held a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He felt foolish as he glanced down at the tie. He'd tried his hardest to tie the bloody thing. Wish I had Sam here to tie it, he thought. He forced a smile on his lips as Chloe used her index finger to lift his chin so that she could straighten it out for him. Ever since Chloe had been told that they'd be going to New York for the case, she'd become withdrawn. It was just a small change, but even after being her partner for a short few months, he could see it. She was forcing her smiles, as he had this very moment, and trying not to seem so apprehensive about coming here. It was worse this morning. He'd heard her leave the hotel, figuring that she'd gone for her daily jog, but when she came back something seemed odd. It was almost as though a new weight were pressing her. He sighed and looked down at his fixed tie, mumbling a quick thanks. Chloe took a step away from him, turning her body as she did so, but Mickey reached out and grabbed the sleeve of her relaxed blazer. "Chloe?" he asked, tentatively stepping into a realm which he'd never dared to enter before. She stopped and turned slightly toward him, her shoulders hunching forward a bit as she did so. Her long blonde hair swirled around her shoulders and her azure blue eyes locked on his deep green ones, curiosity transforming the features on her face. "You okay?" he asked, taking the step before he had the chance to decide to back off. Something personal was bothering her. Normally they were open with emotions regarding cases, both of them aware that it would make the partnership that much easier. Especially after all the trouble, communications and such, that they'd had in the beginning. Her face did another transformation, right before his eyes. He didn't think it was possible for one person to be able to completely mask their feelings, but Chloe had done just that. Her eyes lost their light, leaving him with a weird feeling, and her face grew slack, her jaw loosening. "Oh yeah, I'm just tired," she lied. Mickey nodded, willing to let it go. He wouldn't press. Her business was her business and it didn't concern him, although he definitely was feeling the effects, until it began to mess with their cases. He let go of her sleeve and watched as she completed her turn and stalked away from him, down the hall. ----- They reached the office and silently waited, after knocking, to be admitted. The man inside looked up and the smile that had been on his face spread into a full fledged grin. Mickey thought it odd, but filed the thought away as inappropriate. He waved them in and stood up to offer them a chair. Very gentleman-like. Mickey smiled and put out his hand as Chloe seemed to ignore the man, taking her seat. "Special Agent Michael Callavelo," he said. The man had a firm grip. "And my partner, Special Agent Chloe Grant..." Mickey found himself trailing off as he noticed that Chloe had turned her head away from the man who had returned to his desk. He perched on the edge with both hands gripping the small lip that existed where the top of the desk met with the sides. "Agent Grant and I have met," Agent Shane said. Mickey's eyes narrowed at his partner, while he carefully added two and two together. Met before, but what else? Mickey also filed that thought as he nodded toward the agent who hadn't bothered to introduce himself. I guess he assumed I'd know who he was, Mickey thought. Still, it's no excuse. It's kinda rude. This coming from the guy who has no tact when it comes to diplomacy... "I see," Mickey said, glancing at Chloe. She'd finally shifted her gaze to face the man before them, but she wasn't looking at him. She wanted to appear as though she were, but she was actually looking past his shoulder. "So, you're aware of the case--" "No, actually, we're not. Your office didn't send specifics," Chloe cut in, startling both Mickey and Shane. Shane recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing at Chloe. "All right, I'll tell you what," Shane pushed away from the desk and walked around to open a drawer in the desk. He pulled out a fat red and white striped case file and plopped it down in front of the two agents, who had to pull their chairs up so that they could look at it. "Take a look at this, and I'll give you the basics." Mickey watched his partner dig in to the case, noticing that she seemed so uncomfortable that he hoped the SAIC would finish explaining as quickly as possible and let them alone. "There have been two murders so far. Funny thing is that the bodies are...I can't explain it. Apparently neither can my forensic pathologist. Oh hell." He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. "These bodies seem almost to be turned to sodium bicarbonate. It's weird, like the person was made from baking soda or something that was lumped together to create a terrible likeness to a human being. It's the craziest thing I've ever seen and I can't tell how it could have happened. We can't even really classify it as murder. I mean, how do you do that to someone?" Mickey watched as the man's expression turned confused. He scratched his head and finally sat forward, steepling his fingers to form a point. He narrowed his eyes at the agents before him. He took a deep breath. "We'll see what we can do," Chloe said, hastening to stand. She got a step away from her chair, Mickey staring oddly at her, when Shane called her name. "Agent Grant, I'd like to speak with you in private," Shane said. Mickey watched as his partner's back suddenly straightened and her hands made fists at her sides. She nodded, almost angrily, and sat stiffly back in her chair. Mickey stood up and offered his hand to the agent again. As he slowly made his way to the door, he decided that maybe these two should really try to work out whatever differences they were having. As long as the case went smoothly, Mickey didn't care if they screwed each other silly on the desk in his absence. Okay, Mickey, that's drawing the line. He did care, but it was none of his business and he was sure Chloe would prefer that it stayed that way. Glancing down at the case-file in his hand, Mickey asked the secretary where the library was, leaving a message with her for Chloe that told her where he was headed. ----- "Chloe..." said Nick, sounding apologetic, giving her that look that had been known to turn her stomach to the consistency of melted ice cream. The look that was usually followed by "I'm sorry", a kiss, and a wild night in bed. But he stopped there. Chloe shook her head, looking down at the dirty floor and then looking back up at him. "What did you want to see me about?" she asked, not letting herself be emotional. "I wanted to--" he stopped again. It had to be a show, she thought, watching him warily, the Nick she knew was never at a loss for words. Never. "Chloe, you look like you're mad at me and I--" Another pause. Nice effect, she thought, struggling to distance herself, it sounds almost sincere. "I guess I deserve it, but I don't want it to get in the way of the case." "Work first, that's how it always is with you," she said and congratulated herself on not sounding angry or catty. By the time this damn case was over, she'd either deserve an Academy Award or have a nervous breakdown, she thought. "Right, Partner?" His lips twisted in a wry smile at her words. He was remembering, and she was trying hard not to. "I have feelings about you still, and I'm sure that you have them for me," he said diplomatically, in a 'lets be friends' kind of way. "But we have to put them aside in order to solve things. This--" He raised his hands in a gesture that reminded her of Mickey, "Isn't getting us anywhere. A man is dead, Chloe!" And so will you, she thought, but then pulled herself out of it. She nodded. "Of course," she said coolly. "Can you trust your partner?" His question came out of nowhere. "What?" she asked, shocked. "Can you trust your partner?" "Yes, what makes you ask?" Chloe responded. A second later, all the blood rushed to her head as she felt waves of fury wash over her. He thought she was sleeping with Mickey! He thought she slept with every damned man she was assigned as partner to! Nick--Nick!--the one who she'd caught with a bimbo in their bed, thought *she* was a slut! She opened her mouth to rip into him, but he was too fast for her. And his answer wasn't what she was expecting. "You were on the fast track before these X-Files, Chloe. Did you know that?" Nick said quietly, the softness and the emotion she could hear him holding back drawing her in. She looked at him, meeting his eyes, and put her anger aside for a moment. She shook her head no, she had no idea what he was talking about. "I didn't think so. Everyone was envious of you. Rumor had it you might be able to make ASAC in under two years. And then Robin turned you to the X- Files, and you went. Giving up a lot. And I always thought- -I wondered if it was because of me. Because Chloe, if it was--" So that's it, she thought, setting her chin stubbornly a notch higher in the air. "I like the X-Files. It's where I want to be. With Mickey." Let him think what he wants, she decided, trying to convince herself she didn't care. Nick nodded, and his eyes were strange. Chloe didn't recognize the look. It was dark, brooding. Almost dangerous. He'd changed. New York would do that to a person. The memory of all their conversations about it came flooding back, their excitement over their promotions, of going to a new city, all the plans they made...so quickly crumbled. "Here," he said, putting the file into her hands, standing very close to her. Close enough for her to feel his essence, and to breathe in that familiar cologne. She looked up into his eyes--he was taller than her and she'd always liked that --and for a moment, it could have been the old days. She found herself holding her breath, thinking that if he didn't kiss her, she was going to have to. Like their first kiss. And like their last, actually. Chloe took the file and walked wordlessly out of the room. Nick watched her until she was out of sight, and even after, he stared, lost in thought. "What did he want to see you about?" Mickey asked, carefully, thinking: tact. Remember, be nice. He was standing on the curb, still trying to get a cab, when Chloe emerged from the building. Somehow he'd thought their meeting would take longer. Chloe shrugged, her eyes changing as they had earlier when he'd asked her what was wrong. Closing herself off, shutting him out. She shook her head and stepped out between the parked cars into the street. A cab came screeching to a stop, and she hopped in. She grinned at him with that smile he'd thought she'd lost. "*That's* how you get a cab," she said with a jaunty wink at him that made him feel very relieved. Until he lost her to that weird blankness a moment later in the cab, as she remembered one of her conversations with Nick about moving to New York. Mickey felt his stomach heave a moment before he even opened the door and went into the morgue, and he felt the look that Chloe gave him. Just thinking about dead bodies made his head swim. She clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly and strode past him, over to the big metal locker where their victim was housed. She glanced at him, her hand on the drawerpull, to make sure he was ready. And then she opened it. Chloe knew Mickey was embarrassed about his aversion to dead bodies, but Chloe thought it was cute. She liked Mickey, a lot, as a person and not just as her partner. Mickey waited, concentrating on drawing steady, even breaths to fight the nausea welling up within him. Chloe didn't look down at the body right away. He was watching her to avoid looking at--thinking about--it. Mickey always thought of their victims as "it," especially when they were in the morgue, because if he thought of it as a person he knew he'd be flat on the floor in seconds. He began to ask himself how he could stand pulling the trigger on the firing range, or cleaning up a big bloody wound, or even eating his sister's cooking and not stand dead bodies when the movement of Chloe's arms caught his attention. She'd fished a butterfly hair clip out of her pocket and raised her arms up over her head to twist her long blonde hair into the fastener. Mickey looked at her and found himself entranced, unable to look away. Her arms were slim and strong and slightly tanned, even though it was the dead of winter as she knotted her hair and clipped it. Immediately a few strands slipped out and fell around her face and Mickey had to ask himself why his heart was beating so fast all of a sudden. This was just Chloe. His *partner* Chloe. His heart shouldn't be racing the same way it had in fourth grade when Anita Chisholm beat him at the foot race and then put a frog in his lunchbox. But she was a lot like that grade school crush, he realized. She was smart and funny and goofy and strong. And he liked that. Chloe, oblivious, turned her attention to the body, or what had once been a human body. It looked more like an ornately sculpted sandcastle, only it was pure white. And the details were too good. She leaned in, touching it, and crystals came away, clinging to her gloved fingers. "Mickey, look at this," she breathed in wonder, all of her other cares and worries forgotten. Taken off guard, Mickey looked. And saw a big clumpy chunk of what looked like white sand. That had obviously recently been a human being. Pieces of it, like grains of sand, clung to Chloe's fingers. His stomach convulsed as he gagged without even a second to think to fight it. Instantly weak, he went down on his knees, and was sick on the floor. A moment later, as his eyes were still closed while he tried to come back to normal and not think about what he'd seen, a strong hand closed over his arm and another firm, warm hand brushed the clammy skin of his forehead. Chloe. "Up and at 'em, Big Boy, there you go," she said as she helped to haul him to his feet. He felt feverish and dizzy and most of all, ashamed as he opened his eyes and looked at her. "Okay now?" she asked, searching his face carefully. He broke away from her and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned away, feeling the heat rising up in his face. He tried to think of something witty to say, to smooth it over, but he was too mortified. "The bathroom's through there," she said, close to his ear. She touched his arm reassuringly again and he cringed. "Mickey," Chloe said, coming around to face him. "It's okay," she told him with a smile. He nodded, feeling slightly more at ease when he saw that smile. She was his partner and his friend. She understood. It was all right. He nodded and went into the small room, closing the door firmly behind him. Chloe looked at the door. When would she ever learn? she had to ask herself, shaking her head as she returned to the body. "You're cleaning it up!" she called to him and she thought she heard him laugh. The body was a real puzzle. She had no idea what might have caused this, and the file they'd gone over in the cab had lent no possible explanations or clues. And how did one conduct an autopsy when the subject had effectively turned to dust? Chloe snapped a few pictures--Mickey did better with Polaroids than with the real thing--and then began to poke about at the body, even though she was not in any way authorized to do so. A little forensics in school and a bit of pathology in her time on the X-Files didn't count for much officially. She found that the degree of damage was the worst on the outside. The grains and clumps were bigger, less fine, harder to brush away, once she got past the first layer. Most of the organs seemed to be petrified into this dust on the outside, but still a little mushy on the inside. She frowned. The damage had come from an external source, apparently, but it didn't make sense. Heat couldn't do this. And a blast of some other sort would strike only one side of the body, wouldn't it? she reasoned, yet the outer shell of the body was equally affected in all areas, back and front, including the soles of the feet and areas that would have been covered by clothing. It was like a marshmallow roasted over a fire. Or like a person turned to stone. Chloe's thoughts couldn't help wandering back to Nick as she stood and tried to concentrate on the body before her. He'd asked her if she could trust her partner. There had to be a reason for him to ask her that, she thought. At first, she'd thought his intention was to hurt her. Now...now, looking at the body, she wasn't so certain. "Chloe!" The touch of Mickey's hand on her arm brought her out of where she'd been lost in thought. "Sorry," she said, focusing on his face. She could trust him, she thought, looking into his green eyes. Of course she could. "I'm going to take a walk--get some air, clear my head," Mickey said. "I'm not finished here--" "I know," he said, anticipating her words. "I'll meet you back at the hotel for lunch, okay? A late lunch?" Chloe nodded and diverted her attention back to the body again. Mickey stood and watched her for a moment longer, wondering what was wrong and unable to ask her. Silently, he slipped from the room. The city was cold and noisy around him, the crisp air cutting right through the fog and lingering nausea he felt. He stood on the sidewalk and took in a deep breath of air, savoring it. City air. Reminded him of home. He rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of his thoughts and began walking quickly through the streets, the exercise more important to him than the sights he was passing. Up ahead of him, he noticed a woman in a long black coat walking swiftly, dodging between pedestrians with ease and agility. There was something about her that was different, something that he couldn't put his finger on that caught his eye. Intrigued, Mickey started following her, making it almost a game with himself to keep his thoughts busy. She stayed well ahead of him and the fact that he couldn't catch her made the game all the more fun. She snuck a quick look back over her shoulder at him and he got a glimpse of a regal profile. Her pace quickened and Mickey stopped where he stood. What are you doing, Mick? he asked himself, following a woman in the big city? Not smart, buddy, not smart at all. He watched her hurry away and wondered what he could have been thinking. Finally he turned to go back the way he had come. And ran straight into a pair of hoods. These guys were scary. Not only were they both bigger than Mickey, their clothes were dirty and they smelled bad and their eyes were bloodshot. "Wallet. Now," said one of them, while the other spit on the ground. Mickey's heart pounded and he took a second too long deciding what to do. "NOW!" screamed the mugger, smashing Mickey upside the head with his fist. Blood and pain obscured his vision, but instinct kicked in. The man who'd punched him was on the ground screaming for mercy in a moment. Mickey placed one foot squarely on the man's back and looked the other mugger right in the eye. The man looked back at him and then noticed that Mickey had a gun strapped to his side. He nodded to Mickey and slowly began to walk away. "I'll get you, man," Mickey heard him mumble and although he knew they were nothing more than idle words from a defeated hoodlum, they still sent a chill up his spine. Reminding him how his reaction could have backfired on him. "Are you all right?" The woman's voice was cool, well- modulated, and Mickey looked at her in surprise. His notion of New York City was of a cold place where no one would stop to help a stranger. Especially when that stranger had recently been stalking you, even if he hadn't intended to. "Fine. Thanks," said Mickey, wondering what this woman thought she could have done. She was a few inches shorter than him, about five-six, and slender. Her thick dark hair fell down over one side of her face, covering it entirely, and she looked at him with direct, beautiful light hazel eyes. "So much for life in the big city," he said, because he had to say something. "You're not a native New Yorker," she said. "Neither am I." Mickey smiled. "Is anyone?" "I guess not," she replied and cast half a smile back at him. "Michael Callavelo," he said, thrusting his hand out for her to shake. "Mickey, actually. Nice to meet you." "Purity," she said, and he thought it was an unusual, yet somehow fitting name. "Nice to meet you." As she spoke, she tilted her head to look up at him and shook her hair back. That was when Mickey saw that the side of her face was covered in scars. He didn't allow himself to react, didn't allow his gaze to waver from hers. He passed her test, and a moment later she took his hand and shook it. Mickey wondered what the hell had happened to her. "Do you want to...maybe...get some coffee?" he managed to ask. Her focus had shifted from his face to a point in the distance behind him, and fear made her eyes turn dark. She dropped his hand and took several steps back from him. "Run," she ordered quietly, meeting his eyes again. Mickey could only stare at her as she turned and ran. He looked back over his shoulder and saw three large, strong men in black suits running in his direction. All three of them had guns. Two of them were silenced. Mickey had the idea that his badge wouldn't impress them, so he ran in the opposite direction from the men, wondering if he would ever see the woman again or learn what her story was. ----- Chloe emerged from the morgue a few hours later, not really feeling up to the long library session that the afternoon promised her and her partner. She felt tired and cranky and frustrated, and she knew it didn't all come from the case. But she refused to think of Nick, thinking instead that she'd like to go running again. It was the only thing that would even come close to satisfying the restless ache she felt inside her. But she knew she couldn't run away. Figuratively, or literally. The fact it had even occurred to her made her even more angry with herself. All she wanted were answers, and as usual, there were none to be found. How could a person be turned into dust? *Why* would a person be turned into dust? How could Nick have done what he'd done to her? Stop! Chloe told herself, gathering her thoughts for a moment before pulling open the door to the lobby of the hotel. She scanned the room for her partner and didn't see him, so she started for the stairs. "Chloe." Seemingly from nowhere, a man materialized in front of her. Her head jerked up and she saw Nick. Her jaw clenched in anger before she even realized it. "What are you doing here?" she asked, unable to keep her irritation from showing. "You saw the body," Nick said. Chloe nodded, not looking at him. "We have to find out what's doing this. You've been working on the X-Files for months, do you have any idea--" "No," she said and started for the stairs. Where's Mickey? She wondered, wishing her partner would hurry up and arrive. She stopped herself and looked at Nick. He was helping her on this case. She couldn't ignore him or walk away, no matter how much she wanted to. Professional, she reminded herself. "I've never seen anything like it." "Where's your partner?" Nick asked. "He should be here any minute, I'm meeting him for lunch," Chloe said, finding it interesting that Nick seemed to have some trouble bringing himself to use Mickey's name. "Mind if I tag along?" he asked honestly. "Why should I mind," said Chloe and he didn't answer. She knew he was looking at her and refused to acknowledge it. The silence between them stretched and they sat down in the plush lobby chairs to wait for Mickey. ----- Summer house Quontochataug, RI 12:32 PM Samantha looked across the table at the older woman seated there, who was staring sadly out the window at the ocean. Sam looked down at her empty plate for a moment and fiddled with her milk glass and then looked back at her mother. Fifty five years old, with white hair and striking blue eyes, Mrs. Mulder looked tired and sad. Sam wondered what she could say to make her feel better. "I guess it's not the season for a summer house," she tried, but her mother didn't take her eyes from the window. Sam sighed softly and moved her milk glass again. This was weird and she didn't like it. When Chloe and Mickey told her she was going to stay with her mom--or her 'grandmother' as she had to call her when other people were listening so that they wouldn't get too confused or too interested--Sam had been excited. And she'd thought her mom was, too, when she said they were going to the summer house on Rhode Island. Sam barely remembered the small cabin overlooking the water. She thought she'd seen in her dreams a couple of times, having picnics and playing in the sand with her brother Fox. But she didn't remember very well. She looked at her mom again and knew that she remembered it too well. "I think I'm going to go out to play now," Sam said and got up from the table. She didn't expect her mom to say anything, just to let her go. But Mrs. Mulder roused herself from her thoughts and looked directly at her daughter. Sam stopped where she stood at the intense look in her mother's blue eyes. "Be careful, Samantha," she said softly. "Your brother isn't here to look after you." Sam nodded. "I will, Mom," she said and smiled. "I'll be back in a little while." "Don't stay out too long. It's colder than you think out there." Sam nodded again and let the door bang shut behind her. Just as she had always done. ----- Metro Hotel NYC, 2:45 PM Mickey hadn't shown up, and Chloe and Nick were still sitting in the lobby waiting for him. Their silence hadn't lasted, although neither of them were looking at each other. "Have you consulted with Agents Mulder and Scully on the case? What do they say? Has there been anything like this documented in the past?" Nick asked Chloe. A smile threatened to break through. "Agents Mulder and *Mulder* are on their honeymoon. I didn't want to bother them. But I checked and there haven't been any cases of sodium bicarbonation lately," Chloe answered. She could feel the look Nick was giving her and fought not to smile. "Maybe you should call them." "They'll be back in a couple of days, Nick. I know what I'm doing, I can handle it!" Chloe cried, perhaps too loudly, she thought, noticing the other people in the lobby glancing in her direction. "You can't even keep track of your partner!" Nick cried. "Guess I've always had that problem," Chloe muttered and she knew he heard her. "Phone for you, miss," one of the desk clerks came over to them to announce. "That's got to be Mickey," said Chloe, wondering why he hadn't used his cell phone. Oh shoot, she thought as she patted her pocket and realized her phone must be up in her room. She followed the desk clerk to the house phone and picked it up. "Chloe Grant," she said. "Where in hell are you?" "Excuse me?" Chloe said, her eyebrows going up. She recognized Fox Mulder's voice, but not why he was speaking to her that way. Nick had sensed something was wrong and he was walking over to her. "I trusted you," Mulder said. "What--?" Chloe didn't understand and she didn't like this. Her pulse was pounding and she was scared. This was not like her boss, her friend. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to reason with him. "I'm in New York, Mickey and I were called out on a case and we--" "I know where you are. I just want you to tell me where my sister is!" "We left her with your moth--" "I know you left her with my mother," Fox snapped. "She's gone." "Your mother's gone?" Chloe asked, dread filling her stomach. The line went staticky for a moment. "Samantha. She's gone. Again." Mulder said. The 'and it's all your fault' was merely implied. Chloe didn't know what to say or do. She felt as though she'd had all the wind knocked out of her. She felt tears burn in her eyes and Nick's presence beside her. She swallowed hard and forced herself to be strong. "Let me talk to Dana," she said. ----- Dana Scully Mulder took the receiver from her husband's hand, holding it lightly while she stared at him. She was angry with him. Angry for several reasons. The first was the fact that he was apparently blaming Chloe Grant for the disappearance of his sister. She glared at him, the look on her face clearly saying 'How dare you?' Chloe must've felt horrible after the way Mulder had spoken to her. Dana herself was feeling uneasy about the whole situation. She'd only heard half of the conversation, coming into their suite a few minutes before, with an armload of takeout cartons. Bringing the phone to her ear, Dana mouthed the words, "We're going to talk," before lowering her eyes. "Scully," she said, using her maiden name for the first time in a long time. She needed to use it in order to convey her feelings to Mulder--telling him exactly how upset she really was. Chloe was thrown off, perhaps a little confused. "Dana," she said quietly. "What the hell is going on?" "It's okay, Chloe. Mulder and I will deal with this ourselves. Try not to worry too much. I'll call you as soon as I hear something, okay?" There was a slight pause as Chloe tried to sort out the mixture of emotions that were running through her. Scully only had sympathy for the young woman. She had no way of knowing exactly what Mulder had said to Chloe before she had come in to hear the last accusing phrase. Dana wanted to deal with Mulder as quickly as possible, therefore saying a quick goodbye to Chloe, before the agent could ask more questions. ----- Dana's words offered absolutely zero comfort. "Mulder and I will deal with this ourselves," Dana had said. And she'd used her maiden name. Chloe Grant fidgeted nervously, feeling her stomach turning in turmoil. Samantha--Sammi missing? The very thought made Chloe feel as though she had lost a sister or something. A moment later, Chloe became aware of how extremely close Nick was standing to her. In that very moment, she could feel herself losing control of her emotions. Too many things were happening too quickly and Chloe was at a complete loss. "Chloe, what was that all about?" Nicholas Shane, always picking up easily on the way she felt. The only man who'd ever been able to guess her expression. The only one to see her feelings in her eyes. The only man she'd really loved. "I can't explain it," she mumbled. "I don't want to talk about it." She started to turn, but he took hold of her arm. The cold look she gave him didn't make him release her. "I'm sorry if I suggested that you were incompetent, Chloe," he whispered. His eyes were locked with hers and she found herself entranced. She couldn't have looked away, even if she'd wanted to. She listened as he continued, "I want us to be able to trust each other again. I've been thinking about you lately--" he paused, taking a deep breath, "Look, Chloe, we've got to be able to share things and not only about this case--" She couldn't take it any longer. "Nick, what we had has been destroyed." "Chloe, don't say that." "What are you trying to say, Nick? Are you trying to say that you want to try again? Are you asking for my forgiveness? Because if you are--" Chloe was cut off. The soft touch of his lips took her completely by surprise. She began to struggle, but Nick had already taken a firm hold on her waist, deepening the kiss. To her utter shock, Chloe found herself responding to the familiarity of his embrace. She pushed all thought from her mind, lingering only in the most solid thing at her disposal. Nicholas Shane. For a moment, he was both reliable friend and trusted lover. Then it all came to a screeching halt. The kiss broke and with it the spell that Nick held over her in those few seconds. "Don't you *ever* do that again!" She meant her voice to sound exasperated and angry, but she saw that he knew she wasn't completely sure of what she wanted. Setting her lips in a tight line, Chloe turned from Nick and walked away. She had better things to worry about right now, like the disappearance of her partner. ----- Michael Callavelo could feel his legs pumping to their fullest extent. He was thankful that, like Chloe, he usually went for a morning run. It at least kept him in shape. Even though he hated running. He could see the woman yards ahead of him, her long black coat billowing around her as she ran. She was surprisingly swift footed, making Mickey wonder if he'd ever catch up to her. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Mickey that the thugs were catching up to him. Instantly he knew his mistake: too quick at the start off. He hadn't paced himself and had already spent all his energy. He became conscious of his labored breathing and the sting of his lungs as they struggled for more oxygen. His steps faltered, slowing. "Come on!" a distant voice called. Purity had stopped her flight and was standing impatiently waiting for him. She gestured with her arms, as though he'd gain breath from the flapping. Mickey picked up his pace, oblivious to the pain in his chest and legs. As soon as he neared her, Purity resumed her quick retreat, beckoning him to follow. She disappeared into an alley. Mickey followed. Rounding the corner, he saw a dark colored sedan parked there. He watched the woman slip through the door, seating herself in the driver's seat. She continued to flap her arms, indicating that Mickey should get in the car. She leaned across the seat and opened the door for him. He slipped in and leaned back, his gasping turning to a slight wheezing noise. "Hold on," she said. He didn't even have a chance to register the command before she had the car in gear and was pulling out of the alley. Mickey glanced over the woman, towards the direction from which they had come. The men that had been chasing them were a few steps from the opening of the alley. Pressed back into his seat, Mickey felt sick when they fishtailed out of the entrance. For an instant, he was reminded of the car accident that he and Chloe had been in during their first case. He was not ready to relive that, closing his eyes instead and gripping the handle beside the door. It wasn't until he felt the speed of the car slowing that he allowed himself to open his eyes. "Afraid?" she asked innocently. Her voice was quiet, even and caring. Always in control, he thought, amusedly. "Not of you," he answered truthfully, "them." She didn't say anything, her smile just made him comfortable. It wasn't as though he were misplacing trust. After all, it might be nice to have someone to talk to considering Chloe was all wrapped up in her own personal problems. Affecting to the case as it was, Mickey found himself easily forgiving his partner. He grumbled something else, unsure of what to say to this stranger. "Still up for coffee?" she asked. Mickey was relaxed, but concerned. What had those men wanted and would they try to go after Chloe too? An overwhelming fear overcame him and he pressed his back into the chair, rubbing his temples. "Look, I hate to do this to you after you've just apparently saved my ass, but my partner could possibly be in danger--" "Partner? What are you, a copper or something?" "Close," Mickey blushed a bit, remembering his father. He'd been part of the Chicago PD. Copper, that was putting it mildly, he thought. "I'm with the FBI." "FBI? Ooch. So, what were those guys after?" The question was asked in innocence, but Mickey wasn't sure just how much he could reveal to this stranger. "I have no idea," he answered. And it was the truth. He'd only assumed they were part of the clan of muggers he'd recently deterred. The more he thought about it, the more the unease grew. They definitely weren't part of the same clan. Had it something to do with their recent case? "Have you got a cellular phone I could use?" Without answering, the woman handed him an expensive piece of electronic art. This top of the line phone had Mickey confused for a moment. "Punch in the number, then hit send. Just like any other phone," she said, a smile touching the corner of her mouth. He was glad that he couldn't see the left side of her face, because he was sure that the smile would not have looked as charming if the scars obscured it. "Thanks," he said as he followed the instructions. He waited for Chloe to pick up the phone. After ten rings, his fingers began to shake. ----- Nick Shane watched Chloe retreat for only a moment before he was distracted by his cell phone. The brief conversation, with one of his agents, left him feeling giddy. He started after Chloe, already knowing what room number she was staying in. He hadn't known why he checked, but he had. Sometimes he did things on impulse. Especially when it came to Chloe. She was so perceptive, so in tune with the things going on around her. Except lately. Lately she'd been fighting inner turmoil. Most of it was, understandably, because of him, but some of it had to do with her partner. A bloody Geno. A good looking Geno. A jealousy-invoking Italian boy. Nick forced those thoughts away. It would be hard enough to earn Chloe's trust again without getting jealous over some wussy. And he would earn her trust, even if it was just to get through this case. This case would put him on top, regardless of whether Chloe was along for the ride or not. The elevator ride was calming on his nerves which seemed frayed and at their max. What he needed was a good strong cup of coffee, however, from the report he'd just received that wouldn't be forthcoming. He had to get Chloe and head over to the newest crime scene across town. ----- "Mulder," said Dana as she hung up the phone, and turned to her husband. Instantly she saw his eyes change, the anger in them growing cold as he closed himself off from her. Her heart sank, thinking that she'd said and done exactly the wrong thing. She reached out for him, thinking that her touch could smooth things over, but he'd already walked away from her. "Fox," she said, softening her voice, but not letting go any of the seriousness. He continued to stare broodingly out of the window at the dark storm clouds. "I don't think you were right to speak to Chloe that way." Silence. Nothing from him. Damn it. "This isn't her fault." Mulder whirled on her, fury in his eyes. "You're right," he snapped and Dana's heart started beating faster with fear. She had only seen Mulder like this a few times, and this was the worst. "It's my fault." He grabbed his tote bag from the end of the bed and stomped toward the door. Dana was closer and quicker and she blocked it with her body. "Where are you going?" "To find my sister." His dark look warned her to get out of his way. Dana forced herself to breathe, and it was hard. The pause between them seemed to stretch forever and she wondered if he would really knock her to the floor to get out of the room. "What about me?" she asked finally, softly. Mulder crumpled as though she'd punched him in the stomach. Instant tears flooded his eyes and his bag dropped to the floor. He didn't say anything, just stood there looking brokenhearted. Dana felt her eyes burn at seeing him so vulnerable and so hurting. She reached up and touched his face and he moved into her caress as a flower follows the sun. Dana wrapped her arms around her husband and felt him shake against her. "It's all right," she murmured into his ear, "We'll find her. Together." Her words made the world of difference to Mulder, who continued to wonder if there was really enough room in Scully's heart for both him and Samantha. He felt like a dog for having doubted her, again. He squeezed her against his body, tight, hard enough to feel her heart beat, the life flowing through her. She was real. And she loved him, he had to remember that. Dana hugged him back and then released him. Reluctantly, he let her go. "Come on," she said, picking up her bag. "We'd better get moving." Mulder watched her move past him out the door, amazed and awed by this woman he loved. Then he followed her. ----- Chloe was doing sit-ups in her hotel room, trying to relax. What had she been thinking, letting Nick kiss her? And liking it? She rolled her eyes and got up. She couldn't think about that now. She grabbed the case file and sat down on the bed, nudging her bag and her cell phone out of the way, sinking into concentration. The knock on her door thirty seconds later surprised her. Chloe frowned as she rose to answer it. Mickey, she thought. About time. She opened the door. "Nick? What the hell are you doing up here?" she demanded, "Are you following me?" The words sounded harsh even to her own ears. Great way to show you're over him, Chloe, she thought. "There's been another death," Nick said, completely professionally. "Where? When?" asked Chloe. "Come on," he said, taking her arm. She began to go with him, but then stopped and pulled away. "Mickey," she said. Nick shook his head slightly. "I tried to call him, but...no answer. Guess you're not the only one who forgets their cell phone," he said, his eyes going to her phone which lay on the bed. Chloe hesitated, then darted back into the room to get her phone. "Okay," she said, "But we'll leave him a message in the lobby. He should be back here any second." Since he was supposed to meet us an hour ago, she thought, but didn't let it show. "Are you sure you don't just want to pop next door and leave a note on his pillow?" Nick said and regretted the sarcastic words the moment they were out of his mouth. Chloe's eyes narrowed at him and she snapped, "Maybe I'll do just that. Except I don't have the key to the door." "Chloe, I'm sorry," Nick said, reaching for her arm, but she moved out of the way, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. "I didn't mean..." "Yes," she said, "You did. Come on, there's a body out there." ----- "Seems a little strange to be going for coffee after almost being mugged and then chased by thugs," Mickey commented, feeling ill at ease in the crowded, noisy coffee shop. "Welcome to New York," Purity told him lightly, sipping at her cappuccino. Mickey glanced down at his plain coffee and felt like a boring, gray-suited government official. Which he was. "You don't know what those men wanted?" he asked, watching her face. Her eyes changed as she silently shook her head no. Something like fear crossed them, a fear so strong she couldn't hide it. She knew something that she wasn't telling. Mickey was sure of it. *But what?* he asked himself. There were no answers. Chloe would know if she were here, he thought, she always picked up on things like that. Mickey noticed the mysterious woman across the table from him watching him, so he looked up and smiled, a little embarrassed to have been caught so lost in thought. "So..." he said, wishing he were better at small talk, "What do you do?" "I'm a flutist," she replied, meeting his eyes coolly. "I play with the symphony on weekends, and during the week I work with a chamber group." I hate small talk, Mickey thought, nodding interestedly. "So how'd you get into that?" he asked. She shrugged and sipped her coffee, not answering. Her eyes were clear when they met his. "You don't like questions," he said, getting the message. She didn't respond at first, and then her lips curved up alluringly in a small smile. "The air of mystery is very important." "I'll bet," said Mickey, without thinking. "You like mysteries, you're an FBI agent," she said and he realized she was teasing him. He laughed, feeling a little embarrassed. "Yeah," he said. The conversation died and he searched for something to say. "How do you like your coffee?" she asked, watching him drain the mug. "It has an interesting taste to it," Mickey admitted, thinking he was probably just too accustomed to Bureau coffee, which was the nastiest stuff on the planet. He seemed to remember Chloe had even offered to analyze some for him, while she drank a nice safe cup of tea. "They have a special brew," Purity said, and smiled at him again. Something about that smile, Mickey thought, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He seemed to be having a hard time focusing his thoughts. Strong coffee, he thought, but then noticed he was having a hard time focusing his vision, too. "What--?" he started to say, but then the room began to spin and he found it all going very dark. ----- "Nice place," Chloe commented tightly, too conscious of Nick standing directly behind her, almost touching her but not quite. "You could do worse," he said, flipping the light switch. The bare bulb in the center of the ceiling had been covered with red cellophane, lending a sickening glow to the crime scene. The black leather of the sofa and the fluorescent painting on the wall seemed to be stained with blood. "Turn that off," Chloe said. He looked at her, but he did. She felt uneasy, not just because of him, but because of the bodies. Because there was no blood. Just a white crystalline substance in the form of a human being in the middle of the shag carpet. It would, no doubt, prove to be sodium bicarbonate, just like the other. The victim was a male, with a pair of white starched boxer shorts down around his ankles. It looked to Chloe as though death had to have been practically instantaneous, and he had fallen backwards onto the rug after crystallization, which would account for the bits that were scattered around him. Impact crater. The uneasiness in her stomach was beginning to give way to the excitement of being on a roll, that feeling that at any second, the next thought would be the one that cracked the case. Chloe moved in closer. The other victim hadn't fallen over. It was a woman, thin, in underwear. She was on her knees, in front of where the man had been standing. Her head was gone. "Not your usual dead-john-dead-hooker scene, is it?" commented Nick wryly. Chloe turned and looked at him. For a moment, she'd almost forgotten his presence. "No," she admitted. "Any thoughts?" Nick shook his head, and he looked angry with himself for not having any insight. "It's different from the last victim," Chloe said. "You have to wonder why the change." Nick said nothing and she looked at the bodies again. "Why the killer took the head." Still nothing from Nick. "That was your cue," she said. "For what?" he asked, his eyes riveted to the scene. "I don't know," she said, crossing her arms and beginning to walk in a circle around the strange tableau. "You're pretty intuitive, you're usually able to come up with a good theory quickly," she looked into his face again, but kept walking, "Unless you've changed?" "Only for the better," he said, smirking, but his heart wasn't in it. She could see that. Something about the crime scene disturbed him greatly, more than he was trying to let on, and Chloe was dying to know what it was. "Come on, Nick, you know something. Clue me in." The rate of her pacing increased, and his gaze never wavered from the figures. "You know something. Is the killer a man or a woman?" "Man, I think." "Why?" "He cut off the woman's head. A woman would have cut off the man's head, probably mutilated the body, too." "Okay--motive?" "I don't know." Nick's voice was shaking. Chloe's stomach turned over, but she vowed not to let him affect her. She walked faster around the room, trying to see it from every angle, trying to pick up something she'd missed, the killer's viewpoint or at least the frenetic energy that accompanied the urge to kill. This was a serial killer; he had to enjoy what he did. "He must've had a way to carry out the head," she said. "So he must have planned to do it this way." "Brought it with him. Bowling bag, maybe." "You think he's a bowler?" Nick shook his head quickly. "Right size, right shape." "Why did he take the head?" "I don't know." "How did he do this?" Silence. "How'd he do it? Nick?" "I DON'T KNOW!" Nick shouted at her, then turned around quickly, tearing his eyes from the scene and grabbing her arms, stopping her walk. "Stop it, Chloe." Her eyes were wide on him. "Okay," she said amiably. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, both of them breathing hard. He'd been close, she could sense it. But he was afraid. A second later, Nick released her and moved away, dragging the palms of his hands over his eyes and down his face. He was pale, Chloe noticed for the first time, and wondered if it was a pallor from the city. He was working too hard. His head drooped between his shoulders and she could see how tired he was. It couldn't be easy, being in his shoes, she thought. The New York Bureau devoured bright young agents and chewed them up. Leaving nothing, usually. Nothing at all. "Let's get out of here," he said finally, and they went out of the apartment together. In the cab on the way back to the hotel, Chloe phoned the local authorities and gave her okay to remove the bodies, telling them she'd like to view the autopsy. They told her it'd be a couple of hours. She agreed. The cab stopped in front of the hotel. Chloe was a little surprised when Nick made no move to get out. "You want to grab some dinner?" she offered, not even bothering to fight the memory of all the tea and sandwich sessions they'd shared. There was a case to be solved. Nick shook his head. Chloe nodded, feeling foolish for having asked. She was the one who kept insisting it was over, after all. "You look tired," she said, not able to stop the words. "Try to get some rest." Nick nodded, looking into her eyes. Finally Chloe closed the door to the cab and stepped back, watching it glide into the path of traffic. It was dark--when had that happened?--and the smell of snow was in the air. Chloe shivered, suddenly aware that it was cold, and moved to enter the hotel. She pressed the button for the elevator, still lost in thought, and suddenly remembered her partner. Mickey. She checked her watch and reached for her cell phone. He'd better be in his room, she thought, and he has an awful lot of explaining to do. ----- Chloe Grant felt tiny butterflies flexing their wings inside her stomach. Still no word from Mickey and a hell of a headache to boot. Where the hell was he, anyway? Why hadn't he called? Was he in trouble? Questions tumbled through Chloe's mind until she drew a complete blank. At this rate, she mused, I won't even understand what they're doing during the autopsy. So many things were swirling around in her conscience that Chloe didn't know where to start. Where Mickey was concerned, her conscience worked at high speed, not sure what to do about him. When she considered Nick, on the other hand, confusion set in. Finally, Chloe sat on the edge of the bed and flopped back. She folded her hands behind her head and stared blankly at the ceiling. She watched one tiny black mark on the wall, as though she thought it might pick up and move. At least it was keeping her from driving herself insane by thinking in circles. When the little black dot actually began to move, Chloe thought she was already insane. Well, until she realized it was a fly. "God, Chloe, enough of this. Either close your eyes and rest, or go witness that autopsy. Quit trying to make yourself crazy!" she scolded, closing her eyes for a moment. A rest would be so nice right about now. Except the cell phone began to ring. Immediately springing for the phone, Chloe picked it up and promptly said, "Where the hell are you?" There was a startled silence on the other end as the person contemplated an answer. "Liberty General Hospital, ma'am." "Oh," Chloe said, a little embarrassed that she'd assume it was Mickey. At hearing the name of the hospital, though, Chloe felt a terrible sickness tingling in her gut. "Is something wrong? What can I help you with?" "Uh, slow down, ma'am," the man on the phone said, as though she were some hysterical woman waiting for the worst of news. "I'm just calling to report that a man claiming to be Michael Callavelo was admitted a few hours ago under anesthetic. He came out of it and demanded a telephone. Doctors wouldn't allow it because he had no ID. He gave us this number and asked us to see if you'd come down and verify him for us." Chloe thought for a moment. No ID, huh, Mick? She suppressed an ironic laugh. What have you gotten yourself into now? "Yes, I'll be there in a half an hour," she answered and pressed the END button. Haven't you guys ever heard of fingerprints? Lazy idiots. ----- "...and that's how it happened, Chloe. I honestly didn't think she would pull such a nasty prank. I'll tell you, though, it's the best damned coffee I've ever tasted in my life," Mickey explained as they rode in the back seat of a cab. "Well, Mickey, I can't say she really did you any favors. I mean, she's got your ID--" Chloe was silenced when Mickey held up his hand. "Suspicions, suspicions. Chloe, let me worry about my own problems, huh? Besides, I have an idea how to find her." "And that is?" "She said she was a flutist with the symphony." Chloe snorted, she couldn't help it. "If you believed that, Mickey, then you've seriously got more problems than I had at first thought." "Hey, don't you talk to me about problems, Chloe," Mickey said, finally getting his share of sarcasm into the issue, "I'm not the one who can't even handle looking at the AC here." "Don't go there, Mickey, it's none of your business," Chloe said, biting her tongue to keep from having to swallow her foot. "It's none of my business, yet it affects our case beyond belief? I think it's time you set it straight. I can put up with so much beating around the bush, but--" "Oh, that's it, is it?" Chloe asked. "I'm beating around the bush? Really, Mickey, it's none of your business and it'll stay that way. Especially considering you've just been around town all day getting into trouble instead of investigating this case that you're so sure *I'm* messing up." "Chloe--" "I'll have you know," she continued, sharply cutting him off, "that Nick thinks our killer is a male. The last victim had her head chopped off. Nick thinks he carried the head out in a bowling ball bag or something similar." By the time Chloe was finished explaining, they were already in front of the local FBI headquarters, the cab's meter ticking mercilessly away and raising their fare by the minute. Mickey wisely chose to keep his mouth shut. If Chloe wanted to play it that way, he would put up with it. After their first case together, he was sure he never wanted to experience those fights again. Keep it smooth, keep her happy and you'll be happy. That was his motive now. Tread softly, Mickey, she's extremely under the weather here. "Look, Chloe, I'm sorry I didn't meet you today. I know you've got enough to think about lately," he apologized, holding the cab door open as she exited, after paying the driver. "And I think we're going to have to rent a car. I'm sick of taking cabs everywhere in New York. Especially since you risk your life every time you try to hail one." His humor seemed to work, making Chloe's frown turn up at the edges. "Okay. How about you do that while I mess around with this autopsy. I know how much they bother you." She patted his shoulder and started to the door. Mickey watched her until she disappeared into the building, then he turned back to the cab and climbed in. ----- Nicholas Shane was seated in the lobby of the hotel, holding his head in his hands. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how the autopsy had gone, being absolutely positive that they wouldn't find anything new. Why he was sitting in the lobby waiting for Chloe to return was eluding him at the moment, too. He heard the jingling of keys and the heavy footfalls of someone who was just coming in. This late at night there wasn't much traffic through the lobby, so Nick looked up. To his surprise, the five-foot eleven-inch frame of Michael Callavelo was standing over him. "Fancy seeing you here," Mickey said pleasantly. "Yeah. I was waiting for Chloe," Nick answered. "Apparently. Is there something I can help you with?" Mickey was trying to be hospitable without seeming too suspicious. "Has something new come up regarding the case?" "No. No--I would have called right away. I just wanted to know what was up with the autopsy. She--Look, I should probably get going." "Hold up for a minute, Agent Shane. I just returned to get a fresh suit. I kinda had a mishap today. I'm going back to pick up Agent Grant, if you'd like a lift." Nick regarded him carefully for a minute. This dork was Chloe's esteemed partner? Was the man so naive? Nick smiled, nodding slowly. "I'd appreciate that." Nick definitely would have to check out Callavelo's background. How the hell had he managed to make it into the FBI? Maybe, Nick thought, you're just underestimating him. He sure as hell hoped that was the case, because if it wasn't he was beginning to feel very sorry for Chloe. ----- Chloe was circling the autopsy table and annoying the hell out of the medical examiner when Mickey and Nick returned. She was surprised to see the both of them together, not to mention a little suspicious, but she was really glad they were here. She had something to show them and it was easier if they were both there. "Come up with anything yet, Chloe?" Mickey asked, completely avoiding looking at the body. Nick seemed to cringe a bit at the use of her first name, but she chose to ignore him. After all, he had no claims on her. And Mickey could call her whatever he wanted. "You might want to sit down for this one, folks." Chloe gestured for the door, as she peeled off her latex gloves. "What's going on?" Nick asked, as she lead them out the door and down the hallway to the ME's office. Once they reached it, Chloe sat in the ME's chair and made herself comfortable. Putting on the airs of an undisturbed professional, Chloe reached for the top-middle drawer of the desk where she'd last seen the vial. She pulled it out and held it up to the florescent light. "What's that?" Nick asked, leaning forward so that he could get a better look at the contents of the thin, cylindrical tube. It was a bright red, almost a ruby color. "That, my friend, is a deadly poison. In truth, it's got unknown origins. As of yet, anyway. We tested it and it's got the genetic makeup of mammalian blood, undetermined whether or not it's human," Chloe had to stop herself before she slipped into a complete autopsy-report mode. Clearing her throat she continued, "The ME has sent it in for further testing, but we won't know for certain until tomorrow. And that's all she wrote," Chloe finished, leaning back. Her eyes were fixed on the tiny vial and didn't leave it when Nick asked his next question. "Where did you find it?" "There was a little packet of it jammed in the man's throat." Chloe narrowed her eyes when Nick began to laugh. "What's so funny?" "Well," Nick cleared his throat, controlling his laughter, "uh, he was in the position--" "Position?" Mickey cut in. "What do you mean?" "Don't worry about it, Mickey. It has something to do with the way we found the two victims." "Oh, okay," Mickey said, blushing. She'd done it again. One of his vulnerabilities--his sexuality. And she'd hit the nail on the head again. Damn! Mickey hoped to God that Nick hadn't picked up on it, but realized, with relief, that the other agent was a little too preoccupied with studying Chloe's face. In truth, Mickey wasn't sure which he preferred. "A packet?" Mickey asked, easing his mind a bit by turning his attention back to the case at hand. "Was there something on the packet?" "No, but there were tiny holes in it. The stuff was leaking out slowly. I'd hazard to guess that if it touched skin it would be absorbed that way. The ME was just lucky he was wearing latex," Chloe explained. "Well, you know what they say..." Nick began, but the glares that both Mickey and Chloe shot at him, shut him up quickly. "Like a teabag," Chloe added. "Except smaller. It's hard to explain without showing you. Let's just say that by the time we found it there was still a lot of the liquid left. If that helps to explain the details of the bag." "Any ideas where you might get something like that?" Mickey asked, trying to think of the little bag in terms of clues. "Can we look at it and see?" "I wouldn't know where to get something like that. My guess says that you'd have to make it." Chloe stood up and walked around the desk to the door. "Let's go take a look." They followed her back to the autopsy room, where the medical examiner was just finishing cleaning up. He nodded politely at Chloe as she led them across the room. "There it is," she said, pointing at what looked like a small draw-stringed bag. "Jesus!" Nick said, suddenly. "I've seen those before. They're the newest commodity in New York. Little incense satchels. Hang 'em up in your car and they release the scent slowly through the tiny pores. Last for months, those things." "Well, where do you get them?" Chloe asked, hurriedly. This could be the best lead they'd have. "Uhm, slight problem--" Nick stopped and looked at the eager faces of the partners. "You can find them everywhere." ----- end part 1 T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison by Char Hall and Megan Reilly [drakkar@bconnex.net & eponine@prodigy.net] 8/3/96-10/30/96 ______________________________________________ Part 2 "Then there's no point in even looking into it," said Mickey. Neither Chloe nor Nick looked at him for a moment and he just waited. Feeling as though something were going on between them and he should leave the room. He looked from his partner to the other agent and began to feel more than a little irritated. He was definitely going to have to talk to Chloe about this. "If these things are available everywhere, it'd be looking like a needle in a haystack." Finally Chloe looked at him. "You're probably right," she agreed, her eyes meeting his but then slowly sliding back over to Nick, but only for a second this time. "But I'm going to check it out anyway. Want to come?" Mickey wasn't even certain she was asking him--she was facing him but looking at Nick. But he answered anyway. "I'm sure you can handle it," he said carefully. They had been partners for some time now, he trusted her and her instincts. She *could* handle it. But that didn't mean he wouldn't still worry about her. "I have some other things to check into," Nick said with a shrug. "Right," said Chloe. Mickey would have sworn her shoulders dropped an inch or so at Nick's answer. What was going on? he asked himself, thinking it couldn't be what he was thinking. "See you later," Chloe said and started out of the room. "Chloe," Mickey called after her. "Yeah." "We need to talk later...okay?" he said, wondering if it was the right thing to do. But he couldn't let this go on much longer...something was obviously eating Chloe up inside, and as her partner--no, as her friend--Mickey had to find out what it was. Chloe met his eyes for a long moment, looking almost worried. But then she nodded as casually as she could. "Sure." Mickey noticed that Nick was staring at him with strange, intense eyes. He wondered why, but tried to ignore it. "What're you up to?" he asked. He needed to know. Nick had said he had other things to check up on--if those were other leads that Nick was keeping from them, Mickey wanted to know about it, and wanted to know why. He looked at the other man carefully. He didn't trust the man. Nick Shane was full of secrets, and that made Mickey suspicious. Especially because Chloe was working to keep some of those secrets, too. "I have other cases. You know how it goes," Nick replied tightly, then turned and left the room without another word. Mickey frowned, watching him go, then went himself, checking his watch. Ten thirty. Perfect. Just enough time to make the end of the symphony. ----- Nick switched on the computer in his office and rubbed his eyes while he waited for the machine to boot up. All he saw when he closed his eyes was the interplay between Chloe and that partner of hers, and it made his shoulders tighten with anger. "We'll talk later," Mickey had said to her. Nick ground his teeth. When, he thought? Over breakfast? Or before? He hadn't missed the way Mickey had stared worriedly at her over the crime scene. He told himself that he wouldn't mind so much if her partner wasn't such a total clod. Word had gotten back to him that the man had tossed his cookies in the middle of the autopsy of the first victim. The grapevine reported that Mickey had been assigned to the X-Files as punishment for shooting his mouth off. What does Chloe see in him? Nick had to ask himself. He sighed, staring blankly at the computer screen. Then again, what did she ever see in me? he thought, knowing that Chloe had loved him intensely. Had, he reminded himself. That was the key word. And what did she get in return? Nothing. Less than nothing. Still, thought Nick, love like that couldn't just disappear. Or be gotten over. He loved her, always would...she had to feel the same way. Somewhere in her heart, the love was still there. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him. The cursor blinking on the screen captured Nick's attention and his eyes focused on it. Here we go, he thought, accessing the Bureau's personnel files. He hit a snag when trying to spell Mickey's last name, but finally, finally, he found what he was looking for. He wasn't the only one. ----- At the soft knock on the door to the backstage dressing room, the woman almost dropped the manilla file folder she was reading from. She frowned at the door and saw the knob turning in vain. It was locked. "Who is it?" she called, holding the open file against her chest. "Agent Callavelo--Mickey," came the answer. A small smile touched her lips as she quickly shoved the file into her music bag and she grabbed a manuscript to take its place in her hands. Then she rose and unlocked the door. "A surprise," she admitted, smiling mysteriously at him. "I thought you'd be playing," he admitted, standing in the doorway nervously. She placed a finger to her lips and ushered him inside, closing the door firmly and locking it behind him. "This room is soundproofed, but the hallway is not. And no, I'm not playing until the very last number. I have a very special solo to perform." She smirked as though amused by the lack of modesty in her words. "My talents must be hoarded." "I'm sure," Mickey said. "Why are you here?" she asked, turning to sit back down on the folding chair in a swirl of long hair and black skirt. "Did you drug my coffee?" he demanded. Her calm expression didn't change. "Of course not. It was drugged?" She knew something. A normal person, an *innocent* person, would have been surprised by the implication. "Where did you go?" "When?" "When I fell under the table," Mickey said brusquely. "I went to get help," she said and looked like the Cheshire cat. Everything about her expression and posture screamed, 'do you believe me?' with a mildly false innocence. But Mickey had no real reason to distrust her. He had no reason to believe her, either, and he'd do well to remember that, he thought. "Got another chair?" he asked, feeling uncomfortable standing. "So you've come to 'hang out'?" she said, hitting the words slightly as though they were foreign to her. Even though she spoke with no trace of an accent. Mickey frowned. She was a puzzle, all right. One he intended to solve. He nodded and leaned against the wall. "Where are you from?" "You ask that like an investigator," she teased him. "Habit." He waited for her to answer the question. She didn't. "What about you?" she said finally, after toying with her shiny silver flute as though adjusting it. "Family?" Her hair fell heavily over one side of her face and she looked at him with one exposed eye. Mickey nodded, approaching her. She seemed to sense the change in the air between them. She straightened in her chair and set the flute aside as though she wasn't sure if she would have to defend herself. "Why are you here?" she asked in a low voice, her eyes locked on his, her chin tilted at a high angle to see him standing so close beside her. "I was curious. Intrigued." "Was? That implies you're not any more." "Semantics." "So you are interested?" The smile had returned. Mickey's hand reached down and slid her hair back, touching the damaged side of her face. She jerked at the first contact of his skin with hers. "What happened to you?" he asked. Her eyes darkened almost to black, a wall dropping into place. "Why do you want to know?" she asked, not looking away. Mickey didn't answer and watched tears fill her eyes. She blinked and they threatened to fall. She tried to turn her head, but his hand held her firm, so she just looked away. A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye. "It was that bad," Mickey whispered, kneeling down to be on her level. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and swallowed hard, then met his eyes again. "Yes," she whispered back, her voice breaking into silence. She raised her chin and met his lips with hers, her arms coming up around his neck. His hand threaded deep into the thick silk of her hair as he returned her kiss, heightening the sensation and level of involvement. With a groan, Purity pulled out of his arms. "I have to go," she said, grabbing her flute from where she'd set it and almost running from the room, leaving Mickey staring after her with his mouth hanging open for nearly a full minute. His first thought was to go up and hear her play. But then he realized opportunity was knocking, and turned to look around the room for some sort of a clue about this mysterious woman who felt so good in his arms. He walked over to her music bag, which she'd knocked over in her haste. And saw the file. His file. ----- Nick had finally managed to spell Callavelo and pull up Mickey's personnel record, history, application, and resume. Being high man on the totem pole had its perks. He couldn't believe what he was reading. A personal note of commendation from X-Files Division Chief Mulder on Mickey and Chloe's first case together--something about orphans and green blood. Nick choked on his coffee when he read that. He didn't know it got better. Mickey had been assigned to the X-Files as punishment for badmouthing the Bureau's actions in Waco in front of Janet Reno. And to the press! What the hell was he thinking? Nick wondered, amazed. That takes guts, he thought, or incredible stupidity. And he was betting on the latter. Then he read about Mickey's exploits in his one and only forensics course in the Academy. "So he was the one..." murmured Nick, amazed and fascinated, scrolling back through the pages to see what else could possibly be there. When he read that Mickey had entered into the Jesuit priesthood but left it for the FBI, Nick started laughing so hard that he almost snorted coffee out his nose. But as he set the cup safely aside, he looked at the screen again and realized it had to be true. Weird, thought Nick. And that meant Chloe's partner was definitely deeper and more interesting than he'd given him credit for. Nick didn't like that. What kind of guy is this? thought Nick, completely puzzled, as he leaned back in his seat and tried to stare down the computer screen. Most of the priests Nick knew left the priesthood to marry and give their forthcoming offspring a name. Of course, those were Catholic priests, Nick thought, but still... Nick's feet hit the floor with a dull thud as the connections found their way home, remembering Mickey's blush in the autopsy room when he and Chloe were discussing the victims, and Chloe's response--explaining but not really explaining. Mickey looking confused and not laughing along with them. Nick was now completely convinced that Chloe and Mickey weren't sleeping together. He shut down the computer quickly and pulled on his overcoat. He had to see Chloe. ----- Chloe lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. She'd tried closing her eyes, but sleep refused to come. It's late, she thought, looking at the clock again. It had been a hell of a day. But she wasn't sleepy. She sat up when she heard the knock on the door. "Who's there?" she asked. "It's me." "C'mon in, Mickey," she called, and then squinted into the light as the door opened. Chloe reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, throwing back the blankets and exposing her striped cotton pajamas. She crossed her legs and looked at Mickey, who lingered in the doorway. "Are you sure...I can come back tomorrow," he said, looking apologetic. Chloe shook her head. "I wasn't sleeping. Come in." He did as she said, taking a seat on the other bed across from her and removing his jacket. "You haven't been back to your room?" she asked, looking at him, worried. He shook his head. "Are you doing okay?" she asked, remembering that he'd been drugged only that afternoon. "Fine," he said. "Did you turn up anything about those incense things?" "Nick was right," she said, hating the way she hesitated over his name. She glanced at him, trying to ascertain whether he'd caught it. He had. Damn. "They sell those containers everywhere. Street vendors even have them. That's no use." "We need to talk about Nick, Chloe," Mick said carefully. Mickey nodded as though he wasn't quite convinced. He felt sick suddenly, his stomach knotting and reknotting itself worse than it had been already. And his head was beginning to pound. "Got any aspirin?" "Sorry," Chloe said. "I could ring down to room service--" She reached for the phone. "Never mind." Mickey wasn't one for taking drugs anyway. "What's going on with you and Agent Shane?" "It's a long story, Mickey, and I--" "I have time," he told her, stretching out on the other bed, kicking his shoes off onto the floor. Then he began to undo his tie, still waiting for her to speak. "You two used to be involved?" She looked at him, surprised. "What tipped you off?" "Maybe it was the way the two of you can't take your eyes off one another," retorted Mickey. "Honestly, Chloe, I may be dense about some things, but I'm not totally stupid." "I know," she said, biting her lip and trying to figure out what to say. She had to be straight with him and tell him everything--she had to get it all out or go mad. "It's hard to explain about Nick," she began, and then realized that putting a frame on it that way only made it more difficult. Chloe glanced over at Mickey and saw him nod his head slightly, encouraging her to continue. She tried to relax and think back and not worry about how all of this was going to sound. She trusted Mickey with her life; she could trust him with this bit of her heart. She looked away; regardless, she didn't know if she could get the words out with him looking into her eyes. "Nick was my first partner, when I got out of the academy. He'd already been with the Bureau for a year or so, and knew his way around. From the first, he took me under his wing, showed me the ropes. Hard to believe, but I was kind of naive then." She smiled and looked at Mickey. He wasn't smiling; he just continued to look at her. Damn, she'd been hoping for a laugh to make this easier. She shifted restlessly. "He was just this amazing figure to me, handsome and smart and caring and determined to move up. He was so set on his future, so...focused." A shiver went through her, remembering it, but she fought it off. "He was just so incredibly different from any man I'd ever met. "You know me, I'm used to getting what I want. Nick was the only guy who ever put up a fight, and I guess that made him all the more attractive. I knew he was attracted to me, but we were partners. That made it more exciting, too," she sighed. "We were so good together, Mickey, it was scary. How well he knew me...it was so perfect." "But it ended," Mickey said quietly, prompting her. He didn't really want to hear about how great Nick was in her eyes. He knew she needed to tell it, and he needed to hear it, but that didn't make the facts any easier to swallow. "We were both offered good positions in the New York Bureau. And there was no question of us taking them. It was too good to pass up. We wouldn't be partners anymore, so that risk would be out of the way, but we would still be working together. It was ideal. We made all the plans, about the move up here. We were going to move in together. But Nick was kind of worried the whole time--he said it was a woman, his superior. She said she could help him move up, but there would be a price. I told him he could get there on his own, but he wouldn't listen. "There's something you have to understand about Nick, and that's that he hasn't had the easiest time of it. Everything he's got, he had to fight for. He started his life in a really poor neighborhood, with no advantages. And he continues to fight, even when he doesn't have to." Mickey watched Chloe, wondering if she knew that she'd lapsed into silence, into thought. Just when he was about to speak, she pulled herself out of it. "To make a long story short, he took her up on the offer. I got home one day and found them in bed. And that was the end. He paid the price, but he lost me. And it embarrassed him that I knew. I walked out and I never let myself look back." Her jaw was tight, but her chin was high. She'd done what she had to do. Left him, joined the X-Files division, tried to forget him. "But I think I still love him, Mickey," she admitted finally, "And I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can hold it all in any longer. Not if he wants me- -" the words were too hard to think, let alone say, "--not if he wants me back." "You're stronger than that, Chloe," Mickey told his partner softly. "You know that he's wrong for you, and you know that you're over him." "But it's not that simple," Chloe argued. "It is," Mickey told her. She wanted to argue some more, but couldn't see the point. They would just go round and round in the same circle until they were both arguing. And she was so damned tired. Chloe looked away. Mick didn't say anything, and her gaze fell on her suitcase, lying open with her clothes tossed in. On top was the sweatshirt that Samantha liked to borrow from her. A sharp pain stung in her chest when she thought of the little girl. "I hope she's all right." Chloe didn't realize she'd spoken until Mickey said, "Who?" She looked at him, her eyes wide. In all the confusion, she hadn't told him. "Oh, God, Mickey, you don't know." "Don't know what?" he demanded, irritated. "Sam." "No." He looked as though she'd struck him. Chloe nodded. "Mulder called me--he was mad. I don't know what happened. Dana told me they'd handle it, and I haven't heard back." "We shouldn't have left her," Mickey said fervently. "She was with her *mother*," Chloe reminded him. "There's nothing we could have done." "We're FBI agents. And she's just a little girl!" "I know. Mulder and Dana are going to find her," Chloe said, positive. Mickey didn't have the chance to say anything because the door opened and they both jumped. "Nick!" Chloe screamed. "What are you doing here?" "Sorry to interrupt your little slumber party," said Nick bitterly, "but there's been another murder." ----- "There's no doubt it's our killer," Chloe said, frowning down at the grains that were all that was left of the body highlighted by her flashlight beam, "But it doesn't make any sense. Why go to all the trouble with the last victim and then this?" "The urge to kill is getting stronger," Nick said. "Did he really just say that?" Mickey muttered to Chloe, who elbowed him in the ribs. "Two murders in twenty four hours. The last one was planned, obviously. And this one wasn't. Or maybe it was and the need was too strong, the killer wasn't able to hold back the emotions and the drive long enough to set it up to make a statement." "So you think the killer is trying to make a statement?" Chloe asked for confirmation. Nick nodded. "Some people express themselves through art, writing, music..." "And some express themselves through killing?" Mickey said, skeptical, in his best 'give me a break' tone. "It's a psychologically documented fact, Agent Callavello," Nick snapped. "Well I think it's full of beans, Agent Shane," Mickey snapped back. "Do you have a better explanation? I'd love to hear it," said Nick sarcastically, folding his arms and waiting. "Why don't you tell us how the killer turned the victims into dust, too?" he demanded. "Not dust," Mickey murmured, and then to Chloe's shock amazement,crouched down and touched the body, crumbling a bit of the substance between his hastily gloved fingers. "What's he doing?" Nick asked her. "I don't know," Chloe whispered back, watching her partner in amazement, her heart racing because she was certain he was on the edge of a breakthrough. "Not dust," Mickey said, looking up and meeting her eyes. "That's too biblical, that's not what's going on here." "You're implying you know what's going on here?" Nick asked doubtfully. "Not dust," Mickey repeated. "Stone." Chloe gaped, staring at Mickey. This was her partner, the man who had been brought to his knees by the sight of the crumbling white substance on the fingertips of her latex gloves during the first examination. And now, here he was crumbling the substance on his own and not recoiling a bit. "Stone," Nick said. "Stone." And suddenly laughter bubbled out of him. Nick threw his head back and really laughed. When he'd finished, both of the agents were staring at him. He had to wipe his eyes. "He's got a point, Nick," Chloe said, thoughtfully. She began to walk around the body seeming to take in every aspect, trying to burn the image into her mind. If she could soak up all the information, maybe her subconscious mind would come up with something... "Look, that substance," he pointed at the body, toeing it gently with his shoe, "is not stone. It's sodium bicarbonate. Do you know what sodium bicarbonate is, Agent Callavelo? It's baking soda. Not granite. Not marble. B- A-K-I-N-G S-O-D-A." Mickey just shook his head. "I'm not going to put up with this. If you don't like my suggestions, *don't* ask for them." And with that, he disappeared out the door. "Well, then, be that way," Nick murmured to Chloe. "You're not making this easy for us, Nick. We're investigative officers, just like you. You should be cooperating." "Chloe, did you hear what he said? Stone? Please," Nick laughed again, but the laughter died on his lips when he saw the pure, and ironically, stony look that Chloe was giving him. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I shouldn't have made fun of his theory. I mean, after all, it's the only thing we've got going for us right now." "You're right. And you know what? I think Mickey will forgive you. We're all tired and we need sleep." "If I had my way, Chloe, neither of us would be getting any sleep right about now," Nick said, absently. He wasn't even looking at her, he was staring at a stain on the wall with a far off, dreamy look on his face. "Besides," Chloe continued, ignoring his suggestive remark, "Mickey doesn't tend to stay mad for long." If she kept talking, speaking of her partner, maybe the tingling sensation she was feeling through out her body would disappear. Bad thoughts, Chloe. Bad. And to think you're in the middle of a sickening crime scene... "Right." Nick interrupted her thoughts. "I'll see you tomorrow." It was as though he hadn't said anything. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling of desire lingered, even long after Nick had disappeared. ----- December 5, 1996 Metro Hotel Restaurant 7:30 am Michael Callavelo stared at the white coffee mug before him. It'd been a long time since he'd last been able to sit down with a steaming hot mug and just think. Unfortunately, this morning he could only think of one thing: the case. He remembered the way Nick had mocked him, but more so he remembered the way Chloe had stuck up for him. She'd said he'd had a point. Mickey's problem now was discovering exactly what his point had been. And this coffee wasn't helping. "Mickey," Chloe's voice startled him from his thoughts. He looked up and smiled. Chloe, dressed in cut-off jogging pants and a light t- shirt, was standing beside the table looking tired, sweaty and uncomfortable. He nodded to the seat across from him. She shook her head. "I'll have to change first, Mickey. Be right back," she said. "What do you want for breakfast? I'll order it while you change," he offered. Chloe looked thoughtful for a moment. "Do you suppose they have Ginseng?" Mickey smiled. Why did I think that was coming? he thought, then replied, "Nope, I doubt it. Normal tea?" "Yeah, and a piece of toast. That'll be great. Thanks, Mickey!" And with that, Chloe disappeared again. Mickey sighed, flagging down a waitress to place his order, along with Chloe's. Toast sounded good, it was light and wouldn't be too rough on him. Right now the last thing he needed was a course of heavily-greasy foods like eggs and bacon. Mickey closed his eyes after the waitress had left, just thinking about Nicholas Shane. Mickey could remember being a young boy and listening to his father's words of caution. "Mickey," he had said to the boy, one day after Mickey had come out of a fight at school, "you're going to have to work with people you don't like, one day. When you're an adult, you can't just lift your fist and expect that person to agree with you." Mickey had asked why. Why couldn't he solve his problems by proving he was stronger? "Because, my boy, there are smarter, wiser ways to do it." And his father had patted his head, sending him to his room to think over his mistakes. His father had been right, of course. Mickey could deal with Nick. And he *would* deal with Nick. Besides, he couldn't be that bad of a guy if Chloe was so in love with him. *Is* so in love with him, Mickey corrected himself. He opened his eyes and shook his head, frowning at his cup of cold coffee. ----- Providence Airport Samantha Mulder stared at the plane ticket in her hand. She smiled as she remembered how she'd obtained it. "Never talk to strangers," Dana had said to her one day. As if I don't know that already, Sam had thought. But she'd bent the rule. The woman who had given her the ticket wasn't really a stranger. Samantha recognized her, although she wasn't exactly sure from where. The thing that stuck out most in Samantha's mind was the scars. Mottled flesh covered the entire left side of the woman's face, setting her distinctly apart from anyone else. She'd accepted the plane ticket and the small package that the woman had given her. Apparently Sam now had money and directions to reach the location of Michael Callavelo and Chloe Grant. Her original plan had been to find Mulder and Scully, but Mickey and Chloe were the next best thing. At least they would make her feel like she *belonged*. Sam yawned and stretched, looking around herself in the airport. She frowned out the window at the little men far below who were loading luggage into the large belly of a plane. She knew it wasn't Mulder and Dana's fault. They were on honeymoon, of course they didn't want a ten year old kid around to mess things up. They wanted to be alone. It didn't mean they didn't love her. It didn't justify this feeling of abandonment that welled up inside her and brought tears to her eyes that were getting hard to fight back. Because she was scared. If something happened to them, where would she go? Not to her mother's. She'd been there, and had to leave. It was so weird there. Her mother wasn't the woman she remembered, not really. That woman was inside her, somewhere, but buried too deep for Sam to find. What if her brother and Dana started thinking they didn't want a little girl that was already half grown up? What if they wanted to have babies of their own and there wasn't room in their hearts for her? Sam shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn't think that way. They loved her. Mulder had searched years and years for her. They would always love her. But now she couldn't go back home. So she had to find Mickey and Chloe. The woman had told her where they were, and in a couple hours she would be with them. Sam frowned again, trying to think where she had seen the woman before. She couldn't come up with anything, there was a fog around it, a thick hazy white light between her and the memory. It had been a long time ago, she thought, somewhere like a dream.... "Flight 1121 to New York will begin boarding at this time at gate 14," a voice overhead announced. Sam jumped up and couldn't help smiling. She thought it was really cool that the flight number was the same as her birthday. ----- Mickey racked his brains trying to figure it out. It seemed like answer was just out of his reach, the key to unraveling the whole case was held somewhere he just couldn't get to. Bodies turned to stone, he thought, what could it all mean... He found his thoughts turning to other things. The way Chloe looked at Nick. The tale she'd told him the night before. Mickey tried to understand, and couldn't. It was all well and good; Chloe met the perfect man and fell for him. Loved him still. He shouldn't have a problem with that. But he did. And it only got worse when he put Nick into that role. Nick? That arrogant, know it all, mocking *jerk*? How could Chloe think she loved him, after what he'd done to her? But she did love Nick. He could see it in her eyes. Mickey sighed. There wasn't anything he could do. You couldn't make someone feel something. It had been a hard lesson, but he had finally learned it. You couldn't force anyone to do anything they didn't want to. A small smile touched his lips. Especially if that someone was Chloe Grant. She certainly was stubborn, he thought. His mind moved on, to another woman, one with long dark hair and mysterious eyes. Purity. She was another mystery he had to solve. He found himself wondering, where does she fit in to this? even when he knew it was improbable that she would figure into the case they were investigating. "Earth to Mickey." He looked up when he heard his partner's amused tone and felt his face flushing. "Sorry," he said, wondering how long she'd been back, waiting for him to notice. "It's okay," she said, sliding into the seat across from him and reaching for the toast on her plate. "Looked like you were pretty deep into thought. Any revelations on the case?" she asked, meeting his eyes.=09 "Almost," he muttered. He wished he'd kept his mind on the matter and come up with it. Solved the whole thing. But wait, now that he thought of it again, something was beginning to surface, something he'd read back in school... "I've got it!" Both of them looked up in surprise at the man who had come to stand next to their table. Nick, thought Mickey sourly, looking away. He looked to Chloe, who gazed up at the agent with something akin to adoration. Nick seized a chair from a neighboring table and drew it up between them. "I know what's going on," he said, his eyes burning fever bright. Chloe looked at him carefully, with concern. She knew that look. That look said Nick hadn't slept yet; instead, he'd spent the night pulling books from the shelves in his office, rifling through them and tossing them on the floor until he found the right one, the one that backed up his thoughts. She fought the urge to look after him, as she had back then, to reach over and smooth down his ruffled hair or straighten his tie. "Well?" demanded Mickey, a tight set to his mouth. "Out with it?" He crossed his arms over his chest, just waiting to hear Nick's theory so that he could cut it down. Mythology, he thought, close to the answer, remembering a black schoolbook, filled with dense print. Edith...someone was the writer. What was it that went with this case... "Medusa," said Nick. "The bodies haven't been turned to dust, it's stone!" he said as though it were a revolutionary idea. Mickey looked at him, wide eyed, his face instantly red with anger. He opened his mouth, but he was too furious, nothing came out. His fists clenched; he really wanted to punch Nick. "You're right," Chloe said, thinking about it. "It makes sense." "I said that last night!" Mickey roared, and both agents looked at him, in silent surprise, as though he were insane. "I said that last night," he said again, "that the bodies were stone, and not dust and you made fun of me, you...you..." Chloe scooted her chair back, ready to be on her feet. She had a bad feeling about this, very bad. She had seen Mickey angry before, but never this angry. Mickey was on his feet a second later, and the only thing he could see, right in the center of his red-edged tunnel vision, was Nick's smug face. "You filthy bastard," he finished. Nick rose to the challenge, and Chloe jumped to her feet, but she was too late. Nick had already taken Mickey's fist hard to his jaw and fallen backwards to the floor. "Are you all right?" she asked, moving to Nick's side, trying to keep herself between Mickey and him. Nick tested his jaw and touched the blood in the corner of his mouth with his tongue. "I'll be fine," he said, refusing Chloe's offered hand and getting back onto his feet by himself. He managed to face Mickey with a cocky grin. "You'd better grow up, sonny-boy," he said, "and fast, if you don't want to find yourself stuck in the basement with the X-Files for the rest of your life." "Rather that than do what you did," Mickey held his ground, disgusted by the man who was standing before him. His fists were raised in front of him, ready to go another round, fueled by anger that he knew he should try to control. But he didn't want to listen to that voice in the back of his mind telling him to be rational. "Enough!" screamed Chloe, stepping in between the two juveniles. She put one hand on each of their chests, pushing them back, away from each other. "That's enough. We are all professionals here, I think, and we shouldn't be putting on show." She forced herself to take deep breaths; she was already tempted to pop Mickey one herself. What the hell was he thinking? "Are you ready to be civilized or shall we take this upstairs?" Nick threw his hands up into the air and dropped back into his seat. Chloe turned to Mickey, who still looked angry but sat down as well, his hands still curled into angry fists in his lap. "Okay," she said carefully, wishing she could just walk out and tell them both to go to hell, but then she'd never find out what was going on. "Now what's this about Medusa?" "I said that yesterday!" cried Mickey. Chloe silenced the rest of his argument with a look. "You are part of an investigative *team*, Mickey," she said carefully, her eyes boring into his with the seriousness of her message. "We're working together on this and sharing ideas, that's the point. I don't think I need to remind you that you could be suspended for what you just did." Her voice turned softer. "You need to gain control of your temper, Mick." He nodded, looking down at the table, feeling his face and his ears go hot again. She was right. He could hear his father's words echoing through his mind again. He was too quick to act sometimes, and he knew that it was bad. He thought he'd had it under control, but Nick possessed an amazing power to make him angry. "Now, Medusa," Chloe said, turning to Nick. "She was some woman who turned men into stone with a look, something like that, right?" "Not a woman; one of the Gorgons," Nick said, perfectly calm. His jaw was swelling into a bruise already. Chloe nodded, thinking. "It fits with the condition of the bodies; a transition all over at once, done from the outside and moving in. As though from a look." "But a look can't turn a person to stone," Mickey protested, using logic. He almost wished he'd bitten his tongue when he saw the look Chloe gave him. The one that reminded him of all the impossible things he'd already seen. "How does that fit with the position of the body we found, the one that had been planned?" she asked Nick without a word to Mickey. "Obviously, the killer is trying to make a statement-- does that fit in with the legend?" Nick nodded. "In a way. Medusa was one of three sisters. She represented Vanity. One sister, Euryale, represented sexual excess." Mickey could see the excitement in Chloe's eyes. "That's it, that's our crime scene!" she said. Nick nodded. "The other, Stheno, represented perversion." "So now we're one step ahead," Chloe said, "We know where the killer will strike next." "Not necessarily, Chloe," said Nick, "there's a lot of kinds of perversion in this world. Narrowing it down to one place and time when the killer would strike could be impossible. Especially because she's killed so many times before making this statement. But yes. We're onto her." "Her?" Chloe and Mickey said at the same time. Nick nodded again. "In light of the legend, I'm convinced that the killer is a woman." Mickey frowned. He didn't buy it, but kept it to himself. "Good," said Chloe, looking at Nick. "Have you written up a profile? We should be well on our way to apprehending her. Especially with the evidence from the crime scene." "You're forgetting two things," Mickey said, and they both looked at him as though he were raining on their parade. But he had to say it--they were getting too optimistic. Too unrealistic. "One, the killer knows what evidence was left at the crime scene. She--or he--" he was unwilling to concede to Nick on even that one point, "--may intend for us to pick up on the legend aspect. Which would put us right where he wants us." Nick looked down his nose at him, as though he didn't believe a word of it. Probably doesn't fit his profile, Mickey thought angrily. "You said two things," said Chloe. "What's the other?" "The killer is getting desperate. The murder last night was unplanned. We have no way to know where he will strike next." With that, Mickey got to his feet and left the table without another word. He was still angry about Nick upstaging him, and everything the man said or did got further on his nerves. So Mickey was going to fight back in the only way allowed to him--he was going to show the other man up. "Mickey--" Chloe called after him, but he steeled his shoulders and didn't turn. Chloe sighed and looked at Nick. "You shouldn't have antagonized him," she told him. "Who would have thought he'd get physical?" Nick shrugged. "You knew it, and that's why you did it," Chloe said. She wasn't stupid. Nick had planned the whole little scene. "What are you up to?" "Up to?" asked Nick with an innocence she didn't buy. "Solving the case." She regarded him carefully, deciding if she could trust him. She let her instincts rule her. She did trust him; they'd been through too much together as partners for her not to. "Just don't do that again. We need Mickey, Nick. You and I both know you wouldn't have come up with Medusa at all if he hadn't said the bodies were stone and not dust last night." Nick nodded. "I'll tell him I'm sorry--but later. Right now we need to talk, Chloe." Her eyebrows went up. "About what? Are you holding back information about the case?" Her heart began to beat faster with fear for her partner. "Mickey could get hurt--" "It's not about the case, Chloe," Nick said in that low voice she knew so well. That she still heard sliding over her name in her dreams at night. "We need to talk about us." He got to his feet and went to help her with her chair. "Shall we go somewhere more private?" As the two left the table and crossed to the elevator, they were completely unaware of the fact that they were being by a pair of concerned, dark feminine eyes. Slowly, she turned and left the restaurant. ----- Chloe Grant unlocked the door to her hotel room. She could feel Nicholas' eyes on her as she walked into the room before him. For some strange reason, she didn't feel uncomfortable. She realized the reason why, a few seconds later. It was because she had been waiting for this moment for a long time--ever since she'd left him. The moment when they would 'deal' with their relationship. She had left so much undone that it was still floating around somewhere in her subconscious. She turned just as Nick was closing the door. He leaned his back against it in a casual manner. "So, talk," Chloe said, trying to appear as though she weren't eager to hear what he had to say. "It won't happen again," Nick said. Chloe wasn't sure she liked his cryptic manner of starting off. She wanted to hear him admit that he was wrong. She stared at him, waiting for him to continue, burning holes in his forehead with her intense gaze. "I've made mistakes in life, Chloe. God," he stepped away from the door, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I've made so many mistakes. But the worst, Chloe, the worst was when I betrayed you. When I--" he choked on the words. He set his jaw, swallowing roughly before continuing, "When I fucked that woman so that I could further my career." "Is that all it was, Nick?" Chloe asked, her voice indifferent. "That's all it was, I'll swear it to you, Chloe. I haven't been able to touch another woman since then and feel like I can make love to her. Anyone since then... Since then I only wished I could take it back. The look on your face--" he broke off, walking closer to her. She stood rooted to the floor, still staring at him. He reached out and gripped her shoulders. "That look haunts my worst dreams, Chloe. The ones where I wake up feeling alone and deservedly so." "So, what exactly are you telling me, Nick? You're talking, but I'm not hearing what you're saying." Chloe felt like a bitch, but damned if he wasn't going to rot in hell for his recent behavior. "If you're not hearing, then you're deaf. I'm screaming out for you, Chloe. All I want is to be able to prove to you that I'm here for you. I want you to be able to share your pain with me, Chloe. I want to be here when you're needing." Chloe was stunned into silence. She was hearing him all right. She was feeling him, too. His nearness, his heat, even his the warmth of his breath could be felt if she concentrated. Silence hung in the air. Nick's hands moved down from her shoulders to grasp her hands. And there was no denying it, she knew he could see it in her eyes. She did love him and he knew it. Plain as day, as it seemed. "You're a selfish bastard, Nick," Chloe said, a hint of a smile on her face, "but I love you for it." "You're looking at me like *that*, Agent Grant," Nick said. He regarded her through hooded eyes, a smile touching his lips. She knew what he was saying. That was one of his cryptic ways of telling her that she was being as transparent as glass. Usually it was reserved for those times when they were alone, just like now, and he knew what he was supposed to do. And he did it. Nick wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. The kiss was tentative at first, then it deepened to express everything that had been missing from the last six months. Minutes passed and Chloe knew that she wasn't going to try to break the kiss off. It felt too good, too right. She could feel Nick's hands at the small of her back, working her blouse out of waist line of her pants. He moved his hands up and under, caressing her smooth skin. Fire spread through her body as he moved his hands to her stomach. She broke the kiss then. "Wha--" She put a finger to Nick's lips. She took his hand and led him to the bed. "This is the way these things work, Nick," she said. He nodded. ------ Michael Callavelo was laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Medusa--he'd been thinking about what Nick was saying. You can't turn a person to stone just by a look, that much Mickey was certain of. Even if it were possible, how the hell could you fight someone like that? Not to mention finding that person. No, Mickey would assume that the person hadn't used a 'look' to turn his, or her--as Nick seemed to think--victims to stone. This left other options to consider. How had the person been transformed? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of faint footfalls in the hallway beyond his door. He had the instinctive feeling that Chloe had returned. When he heard the voices, his stomach sank. She wasn't coming to see him or to give him hell for what he'd just done. She had another agenda. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could tell it was Nick that had accompanied her. "Thank God the interior walls are sound proofed," he mumbled to himself. He continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks and the goddamn jealousy flaring to life. It soared with him, until he put his foot down trying to prioritize everything. "Focus, my friend," Mickey told himself. He got up and walked around the bed to the table that was off to the side of his room. He dropped into the chair and pulled his notebook closer to himself. The first thing he wrote was the word 'Medusa'. From there the list just seemed to flow from his mind. He stared at his list. It contained all the things he knew about Medusa and the other Gorgons, which wasn't much. He mostly wrote down the things that Nick and Chloe had mentioned earlier; the things he remembered hearing through his blind anger. If the next victim would supposedly be perversion, what kind of perversion would the person possibly attack? Mickey couldn't help but think of the kind of perversion he thought most despicable--child pornography. Was it possible that their killer might target that sort of perversion? Or would it be something simple, like a whore house? Even if it were either of those, Mickey had no idea where to even start looking for a place like that in New York. There was a chance that Nick might know, given the FBI resources. If he didn't know, perhaps he could find out. Mickey pushed back his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles, leaning back. He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched himself gently, still staring at the list. "It's a start," he said. Finding himself stuck now, Mickey glanced at the adjoining door that lead to Chloe's room. He brought his hands down and clenched his fists, refusing to think about what could very possibly be going on behind that door. He had other things to worry about, such as figuring out where his 'friend' Purity fit into this whole mess. Jotting a quick note on his little notepad, he walked over to the door and slipped it under, telling Chloe that he'd call her later and that she shouldn't worry if he disappeared for most of the day. Not, he thought, bitterly, that she'd care. ----- Kennedy International Airport New York, NY New York City was positively huge. Samantha was dumbfounded when she stepped out of the airport only to be thrust into the busy world that existed here. She gulped down the fresh air and struggled to hold her fears at bay. It was easier thought than done, but after a few moments she succeeded. Some of the people on the street regarded her curiously, thinking it odd for such a young child to be on her own. Sam had to agree. It was odd. Especially a young woman like her with an unbelievably small duffel bag at her side and a brown envelope tucked under her arm. She didn't pay attention to them, though. She made it all into a game. You're Tom Cruise's sidekick in another impossible mission, she told herself. She'd opened the envelope that their operatives had given her and discovered where she was expected to be and when. And she would be there. Glancing around, feeling a little better about her predicament, Sam decided to try and flag down a taxi. After several unsuccessful attempts she finally politely asked a woman who was standing at the side of the road to give her a hand. The woman, looking suspiciously at Sam at first, finally agreed. Sam watched as the woman walked between a few parked cars and right in front of a yellow car. Sam's eyes widened. She nodded with understanding. "There ya go kid," the woman said before walking away and leaving the cab door open for Sam to climb into the back seat. "Where's you heading?" the driver asked when Sam was safely tucked into the belly of the little vehicle. "Uhm, just a sec." She reached for the envelope which she'd set on the seat beside her. She pulled out the sheet of instructions and carefully read down the list for her next destination. "The Metro Hotel, please." The driver nodded and Sam was pressed back in her seat as he shot out into the crazy traffic surrounding the airport. Sam squeezed her eyes shut as she buckled her seat belt. Better safe than sorry, she thought. ----- Summer House Quontochataug, RI "Please, mom, why weren't you watching her? She's your daughter for crying out loud!" Fox Mulder was much more upset than he managed to sound. The thought of losing his sister *again* was nearly killing him. "Listen to me, Fox, I was watching her. I don't know where she went. And don't you *dare* talk to me like that!" Mrs. Mulder said angrily. "I'm your mother too, Fox, and you'll treat me with at least an inkling of respect. You know damned well that I love that child just as much as you do." Both mother and son were red faced and angry now. Dana stood leaning against the wall, watching the exchange. Finally she'd had enough. She stepped forward and gently pushed Mulder back. "Scul--" Mulder stopped, glaring at his wife. "Dana, don't get into this." "You're not going to find Sam by accusing your mother, Fox. We have to think about this, not jump to conclusions." Dana glanced back at Mrs. Mulder. Tears were streaking the older woman's face now. She looked back at Mulder. "Please go fix yourself a drink, or something." Mulder glared at her for a moment, his eyes blazing. He ground his teeth together to keep from biting at her, too. He knew she was only being rational. He took a deep breath as she continued, "I'll join you in a minute, okay?" She stretched up and kissed his cheek, surprised that his flesh was as hot as it appeared. "Fine," Mulder said quietly, slipping away. Only when he had disappeared did Dana turn to her mother-in-law. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's okay, I understand his anger. It is my fault." Mrs. Mulder's voice was low and anguished and filled with absolute loathing for the situation. Dana's next move was impulsive. She moved closer and drew the woman into a tight hug. It felt strange considering she knew so little about Mulder's mother. "It's not your fault. I think Sam is just confused," Dana said as she released the woman. "You're the voice of reason, Dana. I think Fox has done well for himself. I just wish he wasn't so damned dark," Mrs. Mulder said. Dana nodded slowly. Mulder still had his demons, despite whatever he might say to the contrary. Twice he'd woken her in the early hours of the morning with screams of terror that could only be spawned from horrific nightmares. And that had been in one short week. Scully had hoped it might get better, but she suspected that they had a long way to go yet. "You must be someone extraordinary to put up with him." Dana shook her head. "No, I'm just used to him." The words didn't explain the half of it, but Dana knew that Mrs. Mulder would understand somehow. "I want you to know that I don't think Sam was, uhm, removed against her will. I haven't told Fox this yet, but I have this distinct suspicion that she's gone off on her own." Mrs. Mulder looked shocked. "But how? She's only a little girl!" "She's ten. It's hard to explain, but Sam isn't just a 'little girl'. There's more to it. She may have the body of a ten-year-old, but I think while she was missing she must have learned a lot of things, things that make her much more- -" Dana stopped, struggling for the words. Mrs. Mulder was nodding, though. "I felt something like that. You're suggesting that even though she can't remember it, she might have grown up faster than kids normally might in her age group." Dana smiled briefly. "But that still doesn't make me feel better. She could be anywhere," Mrs. Mulder said, dropping her head forward. "It narrows it down, at least. I have a few ideas." "Good. At least someone around here has a head on their shoulders," Mrs. Mulder said, gazing at the doorway where Mulder had disappeared. "Despite that fact, I still love him. I just wish there was some way I could make him see it." "He knows," Dana said quietly. "Go take care of him," Mrs. Mulder said. Dana turned to leave, but Mrs. Mulder put a hand on her arm. "You've got a long road ahead of you, Dana. You have my best wishes." Dana flashed a smile, then turned and walked out of the room. She found Mulder in the bathroom. "Hey," she said, leaning against the door jamb. He lifted his head from where he'd been dousing his face with tap water. He didn't smile, but looked away. "Are you going to be an asshole to me, too?" she asked, but there was a touch of humor in her voice. As far as she was concerned, Mulder could shove his self-pity right up his ass. Mulder suddenly straightened and grabbed the towel that he'd set beside the sink. He dried his face and made a bee- line for the door. Dana stepped directly in his path. She put both her hands on his chest and pushed him back. Mulder was not happy, but she could care less right about now. She closed the door, then stood before him, hands on her hips. "Dana--" "Not a word, Fox. I don't want to hear it. The way you treated her was uncalled for. The first thing you do when we leave this bathroom is apologize to your mother. The second thing you'll do," Dana paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Is get on the telephone to the airport. Tell them you're looking for a missing little girl and that you'll fax them a composite of her." "You--" "We've got to take action, Fox, instead of accusing your mother of losing her daughter. I'm not really that impressed with you right now, but I've vowed to be yours until death do us part. Unfortunately, that also means you're stuck with me." Finally, the smallest of smiles touched Mulder's lips. Dana smiled in return. "I owe you an apology, too. I've been an asshole." Scully nodded, but welcomed the hug that he gave her. "We'll work through this together, I've told you that. Now, I'm going to freshen up and you're going to go do some ass- kissing." Mulder looked shocked for a moment, then laughed. "Have I told you I love you lately?" Scully thought for a moment. "Uhm, not since I can recall." "I love you," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "Ahh, now I remember," Dana said as Mulder strode past her to the door. She planted a firm kick on his behind as he walked out. He didn't look back, but jumped and covered his seat with his hands in the event of a second assault. She laughed and waved a hand at him. "You're not worth the effort!" she called after him. ----- Mulder walked into the silence of the kitchen feeling exactly twelve years old. Why was this so hard? he asked himself, seeing the pain in his mother's eyes. All he'd ever wanted was to do right by her and his sister. And he'd messed that up, again. He looked down at the floor, and brushed the hair out of his eyes. It didn't help. The stray lock tumbled immediately back down over his forehead. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said honestly, walking over to her. He met her eyes, and she nodded, trying to smile. "I'm really sorry. We'll get her back safe, I promise." "It's all right, Fox. I know," his mother said, and brushed his hair back, looking into her son's eyes. He was a man, but in so many ways he was still her little boy. He put his arms around her and hugged her then, tight, for the first time in recent memory. It felt good. Warm and loving, everything that coming home was supposed to be. Scully stopped short when she walked into the kitchen and saw mother and son hugging. She didn't want to interrupt the moment, but after a second, she knew she couldn't just stand there. Fighting back the huge urge to run and call her own mother, Scully delicately cleared her throat. "Uh-- Mulder?" she said, and watched her husband freeze. "I hate to have to say this--but we really ought to be going." He pulled away, touching his mother's shoulder. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "Fine," his mother nodded. "I'll call you when we know something," he promised, and then turned to join his wife. Who noticed, but didn't comment upon, the tears he wiped from his eyes with the back of his hand once they got out to the car. ----- New York City She was waiting in the lobby, so when she saw Mickey emerge from the elevator, she sprung to her feet and followed at a discreet distance. She had to speak to him, but not now. Not yet. Soon though, Purity thought, frowning as he headed up the steps to the Public Library. She lingered on the sidewalk a moment, thinking, trying to decide the best way to 'accidentally' meet him on the street. Should I wait until he comes out? she asked herself. An image flashed through her mind of her, sitting on the steps near the door waiting for him. Too planned. Besides, it was cold and she had no way of knowing how long he would be inside. She'd have to chance it and go in. She looked back over her shoulder as she pulled open the door to the library, a sudden chill across her spine giving her the distinct feeling that she was being watched. She didn't see anyone, and so she proceeded into the building. ----- He stood across the street, camouflaged between a group of homeless people wrapped in blankets and a news vendor. He hid a grin as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black windbreaker, but the grin faded when he saw her pause at the door and look around. She'd sensed his presence. That meant he had to be careful. And careful meant he would have to wait. He didn't have time to wait. The urge to kill was getting strong. He chuckled to himself. She had led him directly to the man. The man he wanted to kill. The man who was hunting him. A strong surge of excitement went through his body, thinking of it. It was even better because she was involved. He frowned suddenly, wondering if she had told the man about him. If she was inside telling the man about him now. How he did his tricks, how he had acquired his powers. The powers that helped him to kill. She was inside telling the man, the hunter, about him. All the more reason to make his move now, he thought, stepping off the curb to cross the street, without even bothering to look for traffic. By the time he reached the other side, he was insensible, all of his attention turned to his need. His need to kill. He opened the door and went into the library. ------ Mickey sighed and checked his number again. He hated libraries with closed stacks. Too much waiting. A bell chimed and a light went on over the circulation desk. His turn. He retrieved the mythology book and sat down at one of the long tables, pulling out his notebook and his pen, pulling the cap off with his teeth. He thumbed through the well-used old book until he found what he was looking for. Medusa. One of the Gorgons, able to turn men into stone with a glance. Actually, all of the Gorgons had that power, Mickey noted, checking and seeing that Nick had been right about the names of Medusa's sisters and what they represented. He wondered if Nick had sat in this very chair and held this book the night before. He wondered what Nick and Chloe were up to at that moment. Mickey wrenched his thoughts away, feeling his face go hot, and turned his attention back to the book. Medusa was vulnerable because she was human, and some king had decided her head would make a nice trophy. So he sent Perseus out to kill her. With the help of Athena, he'd been successful. Interesting, he thought, skimming on. He leaned in closer, scratching notes in his notebook. Apparently, Medusa's blood was magical. Blood from the left side of her body was a poison, and blood from the right side of her body was an amazing cure. He felt goosebumps rise on his arms and scalp. Could this explain the little incense satchel of blood they'd found in one of the bodies? Could the blood have been contaminated in such a way to have turned the body to sodium bicarbonate? Mickey had a good feeling that it had been. It didn't solve the case, but it was one step closer. And he could rub Nick's nose in it. He rose, leaving the book behind, and headed for the door. Halfway there, he noticed a long, wet streak of ink down the side of his hand and frowned at it. He pulled out his pen and discovered that it was leaking. Irritated, Mickey discarded the pen and turned around, locating the sign for the men's room. He set his notebook down on the edge of the sink and turned on the tap, looking disinterestedly at himself in the mirror. He glanced down to get some soap from the dispenser and when Mickey looked back into the mirror, he saw a man standing behind him. Too close behind him. It gave him the creeps, but he tried to be friendly about it. "I'll be out of your way in a second," he said to the man, wondering why he didn't just use the other sink. The man moved closer. Mickey rinsed his hands and turned off the tap quickly, seeing the fever in the man's eyes reflecting in the mirror. This guy wanted to start trouble. He turned quickly, hoping to startle him before he had a chance to act. The man punched him, at an angle to the jaw that sent Mickey reeling. He put up his hands to defend himself as he recovered his balance, noticing for the first time the other man was dressed all in black. Could Nick have sent him to get even? Mickey wondered, fighting back anger at the thought. All he wanted to do was get out of there, quietly and without incident. He'd gotten himself into enough trouble when he'd punched Nick that morning; an FBI agent punching a civilian could bring about charges of police brutality. The man went after Mickey again, pummeling, trying to subdue him. Mickey fended him off easily, thankful for the training he'd received at his gym in DC. Boxing for fitness came in handy. Mickey got in a soft blow to the man's stomach, self-defense, he rationalized. And the man grabbed him with extraordinary strength, taking him by surprise. Mickey felt the back of his head impact the porcelain of the sink and he groaned as everything swam in a sea of red and black before his eyes. He blinked, fighting to stay conscious, and saw the man had a knife. Mickey tried to get up, to defend himself, to pull his gun to scare the guy, but his body wouldn't react to the command. He heard the door to the bathroom open and let out a weak cry that was supposed to summon help. Then the world slid away into darkness. ----- "Are you all right?" The soft voice took Mickey by surprise as he woke hard. The floor seemed to tilt beneath his body, and his head throbbed unbearably. "What--?" he tried to ask, hearing his voice come out as only a croak. "We have to get out of here," she whispered into his ear, her hair falling over her shoulder and into his face as she leaned down, trying to help him to his feet. "Purity, what are you doing here?" Mickey asked. "Saving you, apparently. I noticed you in the library and was waiting for you to come out when I heard the ruckus," she explained quickly, helping him up. "Lean on me. We have to get out of here, and fast." "Why?" said Mickey, looking around. "How--" His head hurt too much when he tried to think. He leaned against Purity, who was a lot stronger than she looked as she helped him out into the cold New York afternoon. He dragged against her, wanting to take a seat on the icy steps, but she pulled him along. "Not here, not yet," she cautioned him, hurrying down the street. They were headed against the wind and it stung Mickey's eyes and nose. He opened his mouth and tasted blood on his numbed lips. He tried to remember what had happened. A man. In the bathroom. Had attacked him, obviously, but Mickey couldn't remember any of the details. He couldn't even remember what the man had looked like, except in the abstract, and every time he tried to focus in on the thought, the pain in the back of his head banged away more intensely. "We'll be safe in here," Purity said softly, pulling open the door to a small bakery cafe. The warmth from the ovens inundated them, and combined with the scent of vanilla and bread baking, was pure bliss. "How did you scare the guy away?" Mickey said, blinking a few times to clear the tears of pain from his eyes, looking at his companion. "It was a simple mugging. Being caught was enough," she said. The flat glint to her eyes told him that she was lying. "You know more than you're telling me." "Why would I hold anything back from you?" "That's what I have to figure out," said Mickey. "What's your last name?" She shook her head, refusing to answer. "I could get it from the symphony," he threatened lightly. "I doubt that," she challenged back. "I'm supposed to believe it just says 'Purity' on your Social Security card and your W-2 form?" "Are you threatening to sick the IRS on me?" she asked back, an amused gleam in her eyes that made Mickey irritated. "Artists are allowed their quirks." "Where do you live?" he asked. She only smiled. "I--" Mickey began, but broke off. "What?" she asked, playfully. He shook his head, forgetting what he'd been about to say. "I think I might need stitches," he said, his voice going up in slight surprise. The world seemed to spin once too fast for him, and he closed his eyes against it. And didn't open them again. Damn it! Purity thought. It was getting harder and harder to save this man from his enemies and himself. She got to her feet quickly and thrust a fifty dollar bill into the hand of the waiter who had started in their direction. "I was never here," she murmured, "Get him to an emergency room." ----- "I need to know what rooms Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo are in," Samantha told the desk clerk at the Metro Hotel. It would have been easier if the room numbers had been written on the piece of paper she'd been given, she thought, but figured it was okay to have to do some of the work herself. "I'm sorry, I am not authorized to give out that information," replied the desk clerk. "But I need to know!" cried Samantha, but the desk clerk remained unimpressed. "They're FBI agents!" she blurted out, and then looked around to see who had heard. Was she not supposed to tell that? she wondered. A sinking feeling invaded her stomach. What if they were undercover, and using different names? How would she ever find them then? "Are they your parents?" asked the desk clerk. "No," Sam said, as though it was a crazy question. "Then I don't care who they are, I can't tell you anything. Sorry." He said the word in a way that conveyed the fact that he wasn't sorry at all. Fine, thought Samantha, all the more determined. She settled her bag more firmly on her shoulder and started for the elevator. "Where are you going?" called the clerk after her. "I'm going to find them, if you won't tell me!" she snapped back rebelliously. "I think not," said the clerk, motioning to the doorman with his hand. "Antonio, please escort this charming young lady outside," he requested. "I won't go!" Samantha screamed, but it didn't do her much good as the very large Antonio lifted her off her feet and set her down outside the hotel doors, which he blocked with his body. Samantha glared and pouted at him, and then stomped away, still looking at the hotel, thinking of new plan. Except she was too hungry to think. All she wanted was Mickey and Chloe. Or Mulder. "Run into trouble?" asked a sympathetic voice behind her. Samantha turned and looked at the man who stood there. In his nice suit and trenchcoat, he looked like her brother. Or, at least, like someone trustworthy. Maybe even another FBI agent. She *was* lost, she thought, and she'd always been instructed to seek the help of an adult, preferably a policeman. "They won't tell me what rooms my friends are staying in," she explained. "Do you think you can find out for me?" "Sure," said the man easily. "I bet you're hungry, though, and cold. When did you get into the city?" "This morning." "Came by yourself, huh?" "To meet my friends," she answered. "Why don't you come with me. We can get a burger and some fries, and then we'll track down your friends, okay? What's your name, honey?" he asked. Samantha looked at him, a new suspicion blooming in her mind. "You're not a policeman, are you?" she asked. "Not exactly," he answered with a cool smile. "FBI?" She glanced at the unsympathetic doorman, suddenly feeling afraid. "No," said the man, taking a step towards her. Samantha turned and ran as fast as she could up to the doorman of the Metro Hotel. She'd broken a big rule, and she was in trouble. She'd talked to a stranger, and not just a stranger, a Bad Man. "You have to help me," she said quickly to the doorman, but not quickly enough. She felt the man's hand close on her shoulder. "I see you found your friend," said the doorman. "No!" cried Samantha, breaking away from the man. She looked at the doorman, but he would be of no help. She dropped her bag and started running, as fast as she possibly could, in the opposite direction, hoping to catch the Bad Man by off guard and lose him. She slowed, thinking it had worked. "Samantha." She heard the familiar voice and stopped, feeling a chill wash over her. She turned slowly, to see the woman who had given her the plane ticket. "What are you doing? Haven't you found your friends yet?" she asked. Sam shook her head, frowning. The woman was familiar, and not a stranger, but that didn't explain why she felt something like fear or worry burning in her stomach. "The, um--" She was *not* going to cry, she wasn't! "--the desk clerk wouldn't tell me their room numbers," she admitted, "and they weren't on the paper you gave me." "It's okay," the woman told her. "It's okay. Come here. I'll take you to them. It's going to be all right, Samantha. But they're not there right now, so let's go somewhere and get you something to eat. Okay?" The same words the scary man had said to her to try to her. This woman was much more safe, Sam knew, but she was still scared of her. Just scared in different ways. "Where do I know you from?" she asked, and the woman just smiled. "I don't know--I can't remember your name." "It's Purity, Samantha," she said softly, taking her hand and guiding her along the street towards the welcoming beacon of the golden arches. "Where do I know you from?" Sam whispered. "The time before." "Before what?" "Before Orangeburg," Purity answered. ----- The phone rang shrilly, pulling Chloe out of one of the sweetest dreams she'd ever had. She hadn't even realized she'd drifted off. It took her a moment to struggle out of it, open her eyes, and realize that part of it was real. She was here. With Nick. Back together, the way they were meant to be. He opened his eyes as she looked at him and smiled faintly at her. She smiled back and grabbed the phone as it began to ring again. "Hello?" she mumbled. "Chloe?" She sat up, her heart racing instantly. "Mickey? Where are you, what's wrong?" "I'm in the emergency room--um, New York General," he said. "What happened?" she cried. "It's a long story, anyway, they, uh, they won't let me go by myself. They say someone has to come and get me." "Why?" Chloe demanded, scared. "Were you in an accident?" Oh no. "Did you get shot?" "No. No," said Mickey, and his voice sounded weak in her ear. "Just some stitches, that's all. Can you come get me?" "Sure. Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can. Sit tight," Chloe promised, and hung up. Nick was looking at her expectantly. "What?" she snapped, not liking that look. "Your partner gets himself in a lot of trouble," he said. Chloe felt cold inside. Her feelings for Nick hadn't changed, but they had been the only things. He was different. And snide when it came to Mickey. She didn't like that, didn't like what it suggested, what it made her feel about him. "You'd better lay off unless you want a shiner to match your jaw," she cautioned, getting up from the bed. "You staying here, or you coming with me?" "Where is he?" "Emergency room, New York General," she repeated, biting her lip with worry. "I'll drive," Nick offered, getting up. He slung his arms around her waist impulsively and kissed her at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "I love you, Chloe." She wasn't impervious to the words. "I love you, too, Nick," she replied honestly. "But we have to get moving." ----- "Mickey, my friend, you seriously have a problem getting around New York, don't you?" Nicholas Shane mocked as they walked back to the agents' rental car. Callavelo simply ignored him. Chloe, on the other hand, shot Nick a look. He smiled apologetically and opened the passenger door to the car, slipping in. He watched through the window as Chloe caught Mickey by the arm and led him a safe distance from the car. She turned her back to him so that he couldn't read her lips. "Mickey, what's going on? Why do you keep disappearing on me?" "I take it you didn't get my note?" "What note?" Mickey nodded. "Look, Chloe, I'm not stupid. I know what you're doing here." Chloe's eyes narrowed. "Mickey, I asked you a question. Don't turn this around on me." "I'm at least trying to do something pertaining to the case. I went to the library and I left a note in your room." "The library? Why? And what happened?" Chloe glanced back at the car and noticed that Nick was staring intently through the window. While she trusted him, it was quite clear that Mickey didn't. Besides, she wanted Mickey to explain what was going on and he obviously wouldn't do it in front of Nick. Chloe took hold of Mickey's arm and led them further away. She turned her back so that Nick wouldn't be able to see her face. "I was attacked in the library bathroom. I--Chloe, she was there." Mickey said. "Who? Who was there, Mickey?" "Purity. She helped me." "Mickey, I'm seriously beginning to think that Purity is a figment of your imagination--" Chloe began, but was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She looked at Mickey, red-faced and so angry with her, and shrugged. She saw his jaw working angrily, but chose to ignore what it could mean. Reaching into her blazer, Chloe pulled out the phone and quickly connected it. "Grant," she said. "Chloe, it's Dana." Chloe's eyes widened. Mickey looked at her, narrowed his eyes and began to walk away. Chloe reached out and clamped a hand on his arm. If looks could kill, Chloe would have been dead. "Dana, hi. Have you heard anything?" Mickey seemed to relax a bit. "Yes, Chloe, we found out where she's gone," Dana said. "She left on her own?" There was a pause and Chloe could almost imagine Dana nodding her head. "She got on a plane to New York City," Dana explained. "What? You mean she's coming here?" "Yes, Chloe. Mulder and I are catching the next plane out. We'll be there soon enough." Chloe's eyes widened and she looked at Mickey, who seemed to be hanging off her every word. "Look, we'll keep an eye out for her, Dana. I'm afraid our case isn't going so well right now." "Thank you, Chloe. I'll call you when we land," Dana said, then disconnected the phone before Chloe could get another word in. She looked up at Mickey, who was looking at her expectantly. "Well?" "Dana said Samantha was on her way here." "Here? As in to New York City?" "Yep. I wonder how she knew we were here. You didn't tell her when we dropped her off at her mother's, did you?" "No. Why would I tell her?" Chloe only shrugged. "I hate to say this, but we have more important things to deal with. By any chance did your friend happen to give you back you ID?" Mickey breathed deeply and clenched his jaw shut for a moment. "No, I forgot to ask her. I was too busy passing out," he answered after a moment of struggling for self- control. "Okay, look, let's get back to the car. I want to hear what you discovered at the library," Chloe said, giving up on her attack on her partner. She really didn't feel like pursuing it and Mickey didn't look like her would be able to contain himself if she slammed him with another verbal jab. Mickey didn't say anything. He simply wandered back to the car, silently getting in the back seat while Chloe slipped into the driver's. Mickey stared out the window, feeling the crackling of tension running through the enclosed space. He kept his mouth shut as the scenery slowly began to move by. ----- Metro Hotel Mickey dropped down into a chair in Chloe's room, trying hard not to notice the rumpled bed sheets. They were like a traffic accident, though, it was almost impossible to tear his eyes away. Until Chloe touched the stitches he'd just received and he jumped about a foot with a yelp of pain. He turned his head and glared at her. She was frowning. "Mickey, how did this happen?" she asked and he could see the concern in her eyes. "I told you, this man attacked me in the bathroom at the library." "Unprovoked?" her eyebrow went up, almost a challenge. "Yes," he snapped. "We're getting close, Chloe. To the killer. I can feel it." "And you think this man attacked you because he knows something?" "It's the only logical explanation. Unless your good buddy Nick got someone to rough me up in return for the scene at breakfast." "Nick would never do that!" Chloe cried, shocked that Mickey would even suggest such a thing. Mickey didn't say anything. "You can't believe that--he's an FBI agent, for heaven's sake! He's above that." "Yeah," he conceded before she got too angry. He *didn't* actually believe it had been Nick. "There is one other option we haven't discussed." "What's that?" "Mick, every time you're with this Purity woman, you end up in the hospital," Chloe pointed out gently and waited for the explosion. "I'm beginning to think it could be significant." "How could a figment of my imagination do this to me?" Mickey asked her coldly. She sighed in frustration. "Don't do this. I don't want to fight with you." "I don't want to fight with you either, Chloe, it's just..." "What?" she asked quickly. He shrugged and didn't finish his thought. "What do you know about this woman?" "Not much," he admitted. "She plays for the symphony." "I don't think it's wise to trust her," Chloe said. "I know that!" Mickey cried. He realized then, for the first time, that his emotions were severely tangled up with this case. He didn't know if he should trust Purity, could hardly overlook all the strange things that happened around her, but at the same time he couldn't deny the attraction and the connection he felt to her. And then there was Chloe to worry about, getting in over her head with Nick. "I know," he said, more calmly. "I'm being careful." "Not careful enough," Chloe said, glancing at his stitches with a rueful, sad smile again. "I don't want to see you seriously hurt." He wanted to retort "Why?" childishly, but he couldn't. She was his partner. They were each others' responsibility. "What are you going to do now?" Chloe asked him. Neutral ground. No more fighting. "I was going to try and sort out all the facts I've got in my head, try to make sense of this. We have all the pieces, Chloe. We just have to put them together," Mickey said. She nodded. That was almost exactly what Nick had told her that he was going to be working on in his office. "What about Samantha?" He looked stricken, and she knew that the situation had momentarily slipped his mind. "It's such a big city. How do we find one little girl?" he asked, and she could hear the quiet fear in his voice. "Are you going to look for her? I'll go wi--" "No," said Chloe and she had to look away. "We have the police on it, and Nick was going to try to pull some strings with the kidnapping division, even though this doesn't appear to be a kidnapping. We'd be looking for a needle in a haystack. She's a smart girl, she'll be all right." "Then what are you going to do until Mulder and Scully get here?" Mickey asked. She shrugged non committally. "I--ah--thought I'd go over and see what Nick is up to," she lied. Knowing he would believe it, and knowing that he wouldn't offer to accompany her. She saw the hurt flash in his eyes. "I'll see you later," he said, rising to his feet and leaving the room. The door banged shut behind him and she stared at it, feeling guilty. But she was doing it to protect him. Chloe sighed and tried to squelch the uneasy feeling in her stomach as she grabbed her coat and headed out. ----- end part 2 T h e X - F i l e s Bed Springs II: Adamantine Poison by Char Hall and Megan Reilly [drakkar@bconnex.net & eponine@prodigy.net] 8/3/96-10/30/96 ______________________________________________ Part 3 "Nick," muttered Mickey, irritated, as he went to his suitcase and pulled out his laptop. He set it on the dresser and pulled up a chair. As it warmed up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like hell. His skin was gray and pasty and his eyes were red. The shadows around them were deep, and his hair and clothes were dirty. What he needed was a hot shower and a few hours rest. They had wanted to keep him for twenty four hours' observation at the hospital, but he'd refused. There was a killer on the loose. If they didn't catch him, more people would die. And that was all that mattered. He stared at the small computer screen for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, and then began to type. "The killer is a male, as determined by the method of killing demonstrated in the photographs of the double murder crime scene." Mickey stopped. Was this even how a profile was supposed to be? he wondered, never having written one before. He pressed on. "The killer's leaving his victims as though on display indicates that there is a message he wishes to convey to the police, and possibly to the world. Killing is his obsession, but he is also proud of it, as indicated by his flamboyant method of murder. Quite possibly, he wants to be caught." It sounds so ridiculous, Mickey thought, no killer would want to get caught. Wouldn't the thrill be in getting away with it? But in so many cases that was simply untrue. It felt like a cliche for him to be writing that statement at all, but he genuinely believed it to be true. He looked at the cursor blinking on the screen. The words and thoughts were not coming easily. "He wants to be caught because then his true motives will be revealed to the world. The fact that the murders' strangeness has been kept out of the press and not revealed to the general public probably frustrates him. This frustration feeds his drive to kill, with the hopes that with the next murder, it will become impossible for the murders to be kept quiet. "The method of killing is one of the keys to this case. The victims are somehow transformed into sodium bicarbonate, possibly by the introduction of a human blood product as found in at least one crime scene, in the throat of the victim. The nature of this substance is at this time unknown. The killer is almost certainly tied in some way to the scientific community--either he is a scientist and this is a product he has developed, or perhaps he is the victim of a genetic mutation, whether natural or artificially induced. It is not clear as to whether the unidentifiable elements in the human blood sample located in one of the victim's throats was added to the blood, or is part of its inherent makeup. Further study of this issue is being conducted. "The method of killing--turning living victims into mineral--is also indicative of the killer's obsession. He identifies strongly with the mythology surrounded by Medusa, and the crime scene's purposefulness represents one of Medusa's mythological sisters, Euryale, who represented sexual excess. Medusa's other sister, Stheno, represented perversion. The killer will almost certainly strike at least once more and leave a display for law enforcement's benefit. The killer definitely has some family issues which he is attempting to work out through these deaths." What am I writing? Mickey wondered, I have no idea where I'm going with this. But he continued typing. "He is attempting to express his feelings. But the feelings are becoming too strong for him to control, and the killings are escalating." This doesn't tell me how to catch him, Mickey thought. "The killer is well educated. He knows more about the myth of Medusa than the average person. In some method, he has studied this tale. I do not think that he is a Greek scholar, however, nor do I honestly believe that he is a scientist. He is a man who has had contact with these factions in some undefined way at this moment." Mickey sighed. Maybe he didn't know as much as he thought he did. Good thing he didn't have to turn this in. "The only thing that is certain is that he will kill again. Soon. He will almost definitely strike on some form of perversion. As family is a motivating force in the killer's obsession, I think he willl strike in the realm of child pornography or prostitution." Mickey saved the document and turned off the laptop. I just hope he doesn't kill a child, he thought. ----- NY FBI HQ Nick was absolutely engrossed in his work. The sounds of the bustling workers outside his office door had faded from his consciousness some time ago, as had the honking horns on the street below. He'd completely forgotten the coffee he'd been drinking to stave off hunger--indeed, he'd forgotten that he was hungry. His fingers touched keys on the keyboard, inputting information into the computer, but he was barely aware of it. His mind was working far away. In the mind of the killer. "She identifies strongly with Medusa. She has been hurt. She feels vulnerable because of her humanity, her mortality, and this drives her to kill others before they can kill her. She is probably the victim of childhood sexual abuse by someone she trusted, very likely incest. This abuse was likely performed by another female, or more than one female. She is afraid of other women, she feels that they are a strong threat to her. She sees sexuality as a power, a power that she does not possess. So she must kill instead. She is obsessed with the legend of Medusa, afraid that a hero is coming to cut off her head and put her on display, but she also assumes the role of that hero in some ways, but victimizing those who remind her of her mythological sisters. "How does she kill? The circumstances are unclear. Perhaps she is an unusual individual, different from humans. Like the semi-Godhood of the ancient Greek character Medusa, perhaps she produces powers that other humans do not or have not yet been able to tap. Perhaps she has mastered alchemy and is so able to transform her victims into sodium bicarbonate that way. Perhaps her dementia has allowed her access to areas of the mind that you and I do not have. Perhaps her will has grown so strong that she is able to physically manipulate the substance of her victims with the power of her mind. "She will kill again. She is afraid and she cannot control it. She will not be easy to apprehend. We do not comprehend how her powers work. Her victims were killed quickly and without signs of struggle. If closed in upon, it is possible she will kill us the way she has killed the others, in order to protect herself. It is even possible that she has turned her obsession away from the killing of her mythological sisters to the pursuit of those who offer her the most immediate harm--the Perseus of the myth who sought to kill her. She may be after the FBI officials who are working to apprehend her." Nick blinked and pulled himself out of it, blinking and looking at the words on the screen. He knew what he'd been thinking but he was barely aware of what he had written. He felt weak, and ill. He gulped down some of the sour, cold coffee and forced himself to swallow. It made sense that the killer would turn on them. He only wondered if it she had been able to find them before they found her. He had to find Chloe. She could be in danger. ----- Mickey had done her a big favor by mentioning that this Purity woman worked for the symphony, Chloe thought, as she knocked on the back entrance of the music hall. There was more than one symphony in a city this size, but it had narrowed her search considerably and given her a better place to begin than the DMV database, which could have taken hours. She was worried about Mickey and his involvement with this strange woman. A small, heavyset man opened the door. "We are not open to the public. The box office is around the front," he told her. "I know," Chloe said, displaying her badge. "My name is Chloe Grant and I work with the FBI. I'm looking for a woman who may play with the symphony. Her name is Purity..." "Ah yes," said the man. "You know her?" This was easy, thought Chloe, relieved. The man nodded. "What is your name and your affiliation with the symphony, sir?" she asked. "I'm Stanley Allen, I manage the facilities. The building." "And what can you tell me about Purity?" "There's not much to tell, really. What exactly is this about?" He was beginning to look at her suspiciously. "I need to learn what I can about her. Starting with her last name, place of residence, past wo--" "She doesn't have one." "One what?" "Last name. Or at least, if she does, I've never heard it. Purity, that's all there is." "Uh-huh," muttered Chloe suspiciously. Who does she think she is, Madonna? The artist formerly known as Prince? Give me a break, she thought. "And I suppose you don't know where she lives?" "No." He was being uncooperative. "Can you tell me what she looks like?" Chloe asked, telling herself it was because she needed to know and not because she was curious about this woman who had seemingly captivated her partner. "Medium build. Long dark hair. You can't miss her, lady, she'd be gorgeous if not for the scars ripping up the side of her face. Now if you'll excuse me..." he said pointedly. "Of course," murmured Chloe, stepping back before he slammed the door in her face. Very interesting, she thought, and not at all what she had expected to find. She checked her watch and wondered what time musicians arrived to rehearse. Probably not until later, she thought, sitting down on a bench anyway to watch the entrance while she made her calls. Half an hour later, she was freezing and she'd learned little. This woman had no driver's license, which wasn't uncommon in New York. But she also had no birth certificate or Social Security records, either. At least, not under that name. Which wasn't too much of a shock, it was obviously a cheesy stage name. But it left Chloe out of luck. How could Mickey get sucked in by someone like that? she wondered. He was normally so levelheaded and so practical, what could he possibly see in a show biz type like that? Even if she was allegedly gorgeous. Mickey's head hadn't been turned by anyone in the time that she'd known him, she'd thought he didn't notice women for their looks. Maybe it's the scars, Chloe wondered, maybe they seem to make her vulnerable. Maybe he thinks he has to protect her...? She sighed and got up. She'd never figure it out. There was never any point in trying to guess what was going on in someone else's head. It was impossible, and pointless. She'd go and see what Nick was up to, and maybe get his help tracking down this mystery woman. At least use the resources available to her at the FBI building. She wasn't sure she wanted Nick to know about Mickey's friend. More specifically, she didn't want him to see how much it bothered her. Her cell phone rang then. It was Nick. There had been another murder. ----- He watched from the shadows, unable to keep the grin from his face. Killing always made him feel happy--in power- -in control. And this murder was his best. A tiny giggle escaped his lips. And it was only going to get better. The patrolmen had responded quickly to his anonymous call. He'd watched them as they phoned their superiors. The people who had been tracking him. They would be here soon. His grin stretched wider. They were coming right to him. On his terms. Unsuspecting. He could hardly wait. ----- Nicholas Shane stared down at the body. Something was wrong. Something about this body didn't fit the puzzle. It just didn't jive. He hadn't said anything to the officers at the scene of the crime because they were so wrapped up in collecting evidence. Besides, he didn't really know what was bothering him about the scene. He wanted to wait until Chloe appeared, just to get a second opinion. Maybe she would see what it is that he had missed. What he hadn't expected was for Michael Callavelo to appear first. "What have we got, Nick?" Mickey asked, lifting the police line and striding on to the scene. Nick fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Looks like another one," he said simply. "Who called you?" Mickey looked up, sharply, wondering what Nick had meant. "Chloe did. Why?" "Just wondering." In truth, Nick didn't know why he hadn't called Mickey himself. He watched as Mickey quickly discarded the question, obviously struggling not to cause trouble. The other agent wandered around the scene looking at the surroundings. This body had been left out in the open, contrary to the others. That'd been the first thing to bother Nick. Their killer didn't leave the bodies out in plain sight. That was why they'd been able to keep the media out of the picture. Not to mention the fact that most of the victims had been low-level people. People that weren't exactly high in public relations. Therefore they wouldn't really be worth the interest. "There's something wrong," Mickey said. He straightened from his examination of the body. "What do you think?" Nick honestly wanted Mickey's opinion on this one. Since Chloe wasn't here to give hers, he might as well give the man a try. I can always discount him later, Nick thought. Then he remembered that Chloe had wanted him to try and get along with Mickey. Mickey looked a little surprised that Nick was actually asking for his opinion. He took a deep breath and looked down at the body again. "Have you got a pair of gloves?" Nick motioned for one of the other detectives to hand him the gloves, which he in turn handed to Mickey, genuinely interested in what the man was doing. "You're not going to get sick, are you?" Nick asked. Mickey looked up. "No. It's when you start to cut them up that I get sick. Besides, if what I suspect is correct... Well, just wait and see." The agent had just turned back to the body when Nick heard a voice from somewhere behind him. "You two started without me?" He turned around to see Chloe lifting the police line. He smiled warmly and walked over to her, happy to get away from Mickey for a few minutes. "You're late." "I know. I'm sorry. I had some things I needed to take care of. Besides," she gestured towards Mickey, "I figured you two would be able to do something without me." Nick leaned closer. "He's definitely on to something." He hiked a thumb over his shoulder in Mickey's direction. Chloe nodded and walked around Nick to stand over Mickey. He was kneeling on the ground, staring at the body. Callavelo seemed lost in thought as he tapped on his knee with a gloved hand. A second later he'd obviously made up his mind on something. Both of the agents watched as Mickey reached out and stuck two of his fingers into the mouth of the victim. "Mickey, what are you--" Chloe began, but she stopped when she saw what Mickey was doing. She stared in horror as he yanked on the lower lip. Even more surprising, however, was the fact that the lip broke off, tumbling into Mickey's hand. "A dud," Mickey said simply, standing quickly. "What?" Nick asked, still not fully understanding what he had just seen. "This is just a statue." Handing the piece to Chloe, Mickey began to walk away, stripping his gloves away. "Hey!" Nick called, following Mickey. "How did you know that?" he asked when he caught up to the other agent. Mickey slowly turned to find that Shane was being completely serious. He wasn't mocking this time. "The body didn't look right. It doesn't fit the modus operandi. For starters, as you noticed, the body is outside. Our killer has never once left a victim out in plain sight. Secondly, I think this is more than just an escalating murderer. There's something else here." Nick just stared at Mickey. It was a complete minute before he could speak. "So, what you're saying is that our killer set this up for public benefit?" Mickey shrugged. "Draw whatever conclusions you like. I'm not sure what it means. We may even be looking at a copy-cat." "We both know that's not possible. This case has been kept tightly bottled. Unless there's a leak somewhere, no one even has the most significant details of this crime," Nick said. He was completely puzzled now. "All I know is that I have to rewrite my profile," Mickey said. When he turned away, he felt Nick's hand on his shoulder. "Hold on a second," Nick said, pulling Mickey back. "What?" Mickey snapped. He hadn't intended on snapping, but he didn't appreciate being yanked around. Especially not by Chloe's boyfriend. "You wrote a profile?" "I dabbled one out, yes. Why? What now?" "I wrote one too. I'm just curious to see how different they are. Is there any chance we could sit down and compare them?" Mickey had the distinct feeling that Nick wanted to down-play him, and he wasn't about to let that happen. But when Nick glanced back at Chloe then squared his shoulders and said, "Maybe we could meet somewhere without Chloe to go over them?" "She should be included, Nick." "I know. It's just that we don't seem to get along very well, and I wanted a chance to buy you some lunch and see if we can patch our differences," Nick looked away for a moment, but when he looked back there was a seriousness in his eyes that told Mickey he really did want to try to reconcile. "Look, I'm more than willing to try and put our differences behind us. I'm going to agree, but I want Chloe to know that we'll be discussing a profile and that she's more than welcome to come along." Mickey laid out the ground rules and waited for Nick to take them, or discard them. "It's a deal. Now, what do you suggest we do about this little dilemma?" Nick asked, turning back to face the scene. Chloe was still fiddling with the body, making absolutely certain that it was indeed a dud, as Mickey had put it. "What do I look like? An FBI Agent?" Mickey asked, and Nick actually smiled. ----- Kennedy International Airport New York, NY Fox Mulder folded the picture and put it back in his pocket, disgustedly. "I can't believe no one has seen her!" he cried as Dana joined him. He gazed down at his wife, still marveling at that fact that she was by his side as his wife. "New York is a big city, Mulder," Dana said. "Give it a bit of time and I'm absolutely certain we'll find her." "I hate it when you use that voice of reason with me," Mulder said, putting an arm around her shoulders and dropping a kiss on her forehead. "But as true as that is, I still can't stop searching and I can't wait. I have to find her." "I know, Mulder." Mulder smiled down at his wife. "Okay, if no one has seen her here, what would be the next course of action?" Dana appeared to think about it for a moment. "Assuming that Sammi came on her own, I would be inclined to think that she'd take a taxi, or the bus. A taxi is more likely because it's private and she can get directly to where ever it is she wanted to go." "That's a good idea. How about I make you a deal?" Mulder asked, smiling mischievously down at Dana. "What kind of deal, Mulder?" she asked, giving him one of her playfully skeptical looks. "You have the composite faxed to all of the taxi companies and I'll load our stuff into the rental. How's that for a deal?" "It's a deal," Dana said. She smiled and put her hand in Mulder's pocket, fishing around for the picture he'd just folded. When she found it, she pulled it out. "Ah, there it is. Now, go on. I want that car sitting outside the door waiting for me when I'm done here," she said. Mulder nodded and kissed her again. ----- Samantha Mulder didn't like the feeling that had seated itself deep in the pit of her stomach. It meant that she had made a mistake--possibly the biggest mistake she'd ever made in her entire ten years. And the fact that she now knew she was in big trouble didn't settle anything. She wasn't afraid of the woman driving the car, she trusted her--for some strange reason, their bond was extremely strong, although Sam wouldn't have been able to explain it for her life--it was more the fact that she had left her mother without even saying a thing. Sam was worried that Fox was going to have a few words with her. She hated disappointing him and Dana. What made it worse was that she also knew Chloe and Mickey would have something to say about it, too. The window of the car afforded a glorious view of the big city, spreading the fear even faster. Sam wondered, for the first time since she had started her adventure, what she would have done if she hadn't been able to find Mickey or Chloe. Pressing these horrible, scary thoughts from her mind, Sam leaned back in her chair and took a deep, unsettled breath. "Samantha, you should try to relax, you know. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," Purity said. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "You know, honey, we have a lot in common," Purity said quietly. Her voice seemed distant and reminiscent. "What do you mean?" Sam asked, curiosity helping to ease her other fears. "I can't explain most of it, but I want you to know that you recognized me for a reason. You're not old enough to understand--and even when you are old enough, I don't expect that you would--but suffice to say that a lot of things have happened during that gray spot of your life." Gray spot? How had she known about the missing part of Samantha's memory? "I don't understand," Sam said. "I know," Purity said. She reached out and put a hand on Samantha's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Some day I'll be back to explain it all to you. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Not *anyone*." Sam sat back, her confusion much more compound. ----- He watched them come and go. They were too smart. They had seen through his little trick much too quickly. However upset he was over that fact, he grew more excited by the moment. This meant that they would be even more of a challenge then he thought. He wandered away from the scene, easily blending in to the crowds of people and making a clean emergence on the other side of the street. He found his car and climbed in, already scheming his next kill. The kill where he would finally sacrifice the last Gorgon and then he would move on to Perseus, the one whom had been hurting his games, coming too close to home. This one would die the most hideously of them all. ----- Metro Hotel Mickey was too busy reading the profile to take much notice when Chloe appeared and slipped into the restaurant booth beside Nick. It was only when Chloe kicked him under the table that he looked up. "Mickey, look who's here," Chloe said and pointed to the entrance of the hotel cafe. Mickey turned around and saw the diminutive form a very familiar woman. Long coat billowing her, Dana Scully Mulder made a bee line for their table. She smiled and took a seat beside Mickey who happily moved over to provide room. "Dana," Mickey said, nodding. "Mickey," Dana said. She nodded to Chloe and then turned to Nick. "Agent Shane? Nice to see you again." "Likewise, Agent Scu--er, Agent Mulder," Nick said, stumbling on her last name. Dana laughed. "I have the same problem. Make it Dana, okay? How have you been?" she said. "Things have been going okay. This case has been taking a lot out of us, and sometimes we're not agreeable, but I think for the most part we're reconciling our differences," Nick said. Dana missed the glance between Shane and Callavelo, one that was still a little poisonous. "Dana," Chloe broke in, trying not to wonder when Nick had actually met her superior agent. "How's the search coming along? And where is Mulder?" Dana took a deep breath and sat back. "Mulder's upstairs showering. I had heard that you were here so I told him I would come down and explain everything to you before he came down," she said. "Simply put, we haven't found her yet. We're waiting for faxes from some taxi companies to see if they can come up with a location. We've also put out composites for the Metro drivers just to make sure she didn't catch the bus somewhere." "It's taking a lot out of Mulder, isn't it?" Dana's silence was all the answer Chloe needed. After all they had gone through to find her and she disappears again, it must be horrible for the man. Not to mention for Dana who had been by his side for much of the bumpy ride. Chloe couldn't help but think of Mulder and Dana as role models. Her problems with Nick paled in comparison to those of the two older agents. And yet, Chloe knew that it still wasn't going to be easy for any of them. "Don't worry, Dana," Mickey said, setting aside the profile. "We'll find her." Dana nodded, hoping they were right. "Mickey," Nick said, after a few moments of silence, "can we discuss the profiles for a moment? I'm sure Dana won't mind." "Oh, by all means, don't let me interrupt," Dana said. "Sure, something you wanted to ask?" Mickey asked. Chloe, on the other hand, was enjoying watching her fellow agents completely cover their differences in order to impress the older agent. Too bad they hadn't done that for me, Chloe thought. "Yeah, you noticed that our profiles are radically different, usually profiles are *very* close in that respect when they come from two different agents that have not discussed them together. Now my question for you, is why do you think the UNSUB is male?" Chloe had to smile at the use of the word "UNSUB". Nick definitely was trying to earn brownie points with Dana. Grant studied the other woman and knew that the jargon for an "unknown subject" was pretty far from the first thing on her mind. "Dana, these two have a bit of work to do, would you like to take a walk with me?" Chloe suggested. "I'm sure they'll give Mulder the message that we'll be back in a few minutes." "Sure, let's go," Dana said. She seemed kind of eager to get away anyway. ----- Chloe Grant enjoyed the change of atmosphere that Dana's presence created. It had been getting much more difficult for her to deal with Callavelo and Shane, even though they seemed to be getting along much better lately. As far as Chloe was concerned, it was about time. "Chloe, let me ask you a question, if I may," Dana said, once they had broken into a brisk pace away from the hotel. Chloe's brow furrowed at the tone of Scully's voice. She shrugged and said, "Sure, what is it?" "You and Agent Shane are lovers, are you not?" Dana asked. Chloe stopped dead in her tracks. Dana had taken a few steps more and had to retrace them back. "Did I say something wrong?" the older agent probed. "No. I just didn't think I was being so hopelessly transparent," Chloe said. "Not hopelessly transparent," Dana said. Then she laughed. "You may not believe me when I say this, but I noticed something that gave it right away." "And that would have been?" "Agent Shane had lipstick on his finger," Scully said. Chloe first blanched and then a deep red colored her cheeks. She reached up and touched her own lips, nodding. "Oh," she said. "Sorry, I don't think anyone normally would have noticed that, I just happened to notice because of the way he waved at me." "Which reminds me. You've met Agent Shane before?" "Yes. And it never occurred to me to put two and two together, Agent Grant. I had actually met him before I met you. And I had heard rumors that he'd been seeing a near- graduate. When you told me, on that case in Orangeburg, that you'd just had a horrible break-up, I didn't think much of it," Scully explained. "How, if you don't mind my asking, did you meet him?" Chloe asked. Dana took a deep breath and guided Chloe to a bench. "Agent Shane came to see me because he said that he'd lost someone very important to him recently and he'd known that I was one of her idols, or something. He made it seem like the ex-girlfriend was dead. And this was about a week before I met you." Dana paused, taking a deep breath. By this time, Chloe was completely entranced by what the older agent was saying. "I don't understand," Chloe said after a few moments of silence. "It's very hard to explain, Chloe. I'd heard of Agent Shane before--the man is a brilliant agent. He desperately wanted me not to think him weird and I think he knew that I might understand. I mean, considering my relationship to Mulder at that point." "So Nick came to see you because he knew that you were one of my favorite agents?" "Yes. I think he wanted to try and make amends and this was the only way he knew how. I assumed it was because he could not speak with you, but I had assumed that for the wrong reasons." "Oh," was all that Chloe could say. With this strange new revelation, Chloe thought she now understood why Nick had been so delighted when she'd come back. He sincerely wanted to try again. Finally, Chloe found enough sense of mind to ask Dana about how she and Mulder were holding up. "The man tried to ditch me again," Dana said and shrugged her shoulders. "But I managed to hang on and he knows that I'll kill him if he tries it again. I'm okay, but it's just as tough on me as it is on him." Chloe nodded. "I can imagine. I have faith that we'll find her. I just wish I could say the same about this damned killer." ------ Metro Hotel Mickey and Nick were getting nowhere. They couldn't agree on anything. So it was a good thing when Mulder came downstairs, freshly showered and looking exhausted. Mickey waved and Mulder came over to their table. "Where's my wife?" he asked. "She and Chloe went to check up on something," Mickey answered. "Agent Mulder. It's good to meet you. I'm Nicholas Shane," Nick said, sticking his hand out for the other man to shake. "Hi," said Mulder, looking slightly uncomfortable and as though he wasn't sure what to do. He shook Nick's hand and sized him up. He was attractive in a dark way, clean cut, wearing an expensive suit. His tie was a bit oddball, but not too much so. The epitome of an FBI agent on his way up, which was what Mulder had heard Nick Shane was. A brilliant profiler with the added benefit of not being too spooky to deal with. "I've heard a lot about you, and I'm thrilled to have to opportunity to consult with you on this case," Nick continued. The words sounded like brownnosing but they were spoken honestly, straightforward. He meant them. Mulder was tired and pissed off. All he wanted was his sister back, safe. He couldn't rid himself of the nagging fear that this was all his fault. The last thing on earth he wanted to deal with was a killer playing games. He glanced around again. Dana was nowhere to be seen, his lifeline, and he needed her. Maybe this would take his mind off of things. He sank into the chair, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "All right, tell me what you've got." ----- Chloe and Dana swung around the corner and started back to the hotel in silence. Chloe fought to tear her thoughts away from Nick and Mickey and the case and think of something to say. "How's Mulder?" she asked. "This is tearing him apart." Dana answered plainly. "He has all of these unresolved feelings tied up with his sister and her disappearance and for this to happen again...he blames himself." "We'll find her." Chloe had never noticed before how incredibly empty the words were. "I know we will," Dana said, determined. "I'm just worried about what will happen in the meantime." "Samantha's a smart girl. She can take care of herself." Chloe said stubbornly, the words she'd been repeating over and over to herself since she'd first gotten the news. She would be crushed if something happened to Sammi. "I know," Dana said. "Chloe, do you..." she began and then stopped herself, as though she were fighting what she was about to say. Chloe waited. "We don't know what happened to her in the years that she was gone. Or why when she was returned, she was still a child. Do you ever think that maybe...somewhere...she remembers her experiences? That she carries them around with her, even though it's like a blank spot in her conscious mind?" Chloe thought about it for a moment. "I thought you didn't share Mulder's views on deep regression hypnosis." "I don't," Dana answered. "And even he never suggested that she be regressed. I think he was afraid of what she might remember." "Do you think they hurt her?" Chloe asked, not wanting to think about it. Wishing something could be done about the nameless, faceless 'them' regardless of whether they were little gray men, as Mulder believed, or government conspirators, as Dana believed. She remembered the mysterious cigarette smoking man and shivered. "I don't know," Dana answered. "I think it's possible." She felt sick thinking of it, and the untapped memories of her own abduction. "It's just that she's so smart, so wise beyond her age. I can't help thinking sometimes that she carries those missing years with her somewhere. Do you know what I mean?" "Yeah," said Chloe, "I think I do." ----- "I think you're both right," Mulder said after a long silence in which he'd studied Mickey's and Nick's profiles of the killer, along with their case notes. The two men relaxed visibly and exchanged a look. Mulder didn't miss it and couldn't help wondering why they seemed to be in rivalry with one another. "The killer's obsession with this myth is obvious." He glanced over the profiles again. Nick's leaned heavily on the paranormal, the sort of thing Mulder himself might have come up with. But it didn't all seem right to Mulder, not in this context. He liked some of Mickey's ideas as well. "The killer must be terrified of the Perseus figure in all of this. And that is us. He--or she--is taunting you with this latest statue stunt. The killer knows who you are," said Mulder, "and is planning an attack." "What do we do?" Mickey asked, willing to accept the advice of his supervisor. The voice of wisdom. Even though Mulder looked about ready to put his head down on the table and pass out. He'd been through hell, Mickey thought, and it wasn't over yet. He hoped Sammi was all right. "That doesn't bring us any closer to knowing who the UNSUB is." Nick said. "You have one more murder. The perversion one. I think you're on to something with the child pornography idea," Mulder said. "And then the killer will be coming after you." "Should we take precautions?" asked Nick. "You're safe until after the next murder," Mulder stated, reaching for the thick case file. "Now, let's go over this again..." ----- He couldn't keep still. He trembled with excitement, his hands shaking so violently he could barely do his work. The blood pounding in his head nearly obscured his thoughts. He struggled harder to focus his thoughts on the matter at hand. The body was not so easy to manipulate as it had been in its corruptible mortal state. It was perfect now, untouchable. No longer flesh. Immortal, although that made his work more difficult. He twisted the limbs into the positions he desired as a child moved a doll, bending it at the hips and forcing it to sit in the chair behind the large, regal desk. He'd removed the clothing beforehand, discarding it haphazardly in a trail from the open bathroom door. He's also removed the man's head, but he was not so careless about its placement. It went under the desk, trapped by the man's own dead body. Artwork. He was so excited by its exquisite message that he could barely breathe. He made sure the photographs were neatly arranged on the desktop, the underground magazines and Polaroid snapshots of children that one would not think a man of such political power would have in his possession. He placed the corpse's loving hands on top of the pictures, caressing. Finally, on his way out of the room, he popped a tape into the VCR and turned on the television, which was hidden in a mahogany cabinet across from the heavy desk. He pressed 'play' and glanced at the screen for a moment. He left the room with the image of the politician and a small child fixed in his mind. He had other things to do now. Important things. He had to slay Perseus. He had the advantage; he knew the myth. Perseus was going to be trying to kill him. So he had to kill Perseus first. ----- "What did you come up with?" asked Chloe, taking the chair next to Mickey, across the table from Nick. She tried to avoid looking at Nick, but she couldn't help it. Their eyes met and locked. "Not much," he answered, gazing at her. He was so lucky to have found her again, Nick thought. Mickey looked away, not wanting to watch his partner make googoo eyes at Nick. "And you?" asked Mulder, looking at Dana, barely daring to hope. She shook her head, and his face fell. She took his hands into hers. "We will find her," Dana promised her husband. "I know." Mulder whispered, feeling hot tears in his eyes. "I know," he repeated, nodding, trying to believe. Dana squeezed his hands tighter and kissed his lips lightly. He leaned in to her warmth and life and tried to cling to her when she moved to pull away. Mickey stared at the tablecloth thinking that maybe he should excuse himself. Go and find himself a girl. He couldn't help but sneak a glance at Chloe. Her blond hair was falling into her eyes and she looked pale. This case was taking its toll on all of them. As though she could feel his eyes on her, she looked at him. "Mickey?" she said. "Mulder thinks the next murder will represent Medusa's other sister, and perversion. And then the killer will be coming after us." "Why us?" asked Chloe. "It's in the myth," Nick said, taking control. "We represent the force that will bring the killer down." "All of us? I didn't think the killer was into the group scene," Chloe commented wryly. "Besides, how would the killer know who we are?" "He knows," Mickey said, convinced. Chloe looked at him sharply. "Do you think that all of your injuries on this case might be related?" she asked incisively. "Maybe this woman--the one who's always there when you get into trouble--could she be involved?" "What woman?" asked Nick and Mulder at the same time. "Her name's Purity. She's not involved," Mickey insisted. "The killer is a woman," said Nick. "The killer's a man," snapped Mickey. "How do you know?" Chloe asked gently, her eyes fixed on her partner. "I know, Chloe. I'm not stupid. She isn't involved." Mickey insisted. "I can't explain it." "She doesn't have any records on file anywhere," Chloe said quietly. "What?" asked Mickey, his eyes widening. She couldn't have said what he thought she'd said. "No birth certificate, Social Security...the man at the symphony doesn't even know anything about her. It's like she dropped out of the sky, Mickey." "You investigated her!" Mickey shouted, feeling the anger building inside him. His face was hot. "You would do the same thing!" Chloe said loudly, trying to reason with him. "I would not!" screamed Mickey. "I've sat back and watched without saying a word while you and *Agent Shane* here--" "Mickey!" Dana said sharply. He ignored her. "--carry on your little affair. I've turned my eyes away without saying anything." "Your life may be in danger!" Chloe shouted. They were both on their feet now. "You don't know anything about this woman and every time you see her, you end up in the hospital! She may be the killer, Mickey." "The killer's a man," he repeated. "And what do you know about Nick? You don't know what he's capable of, you haven't seen him in six months--" "You're jealous, you--" Nick cried, jumping into the fray. "So what if--" Mickey began. "That is enough!" Dana said commandingly and the three younger agents stopped to look at her. She looked furious. "If you children can't behave yourselves properly, I'm going to send all of you to your rooms without supper!" She didn't realize how incredibly stupid her words were until Mulder began to laugh. "Don't laugh at me," she snapped at her husband. He shook his head, holding back his smile. He reached out and pulled her against him. "I love you so much," he said, hugging her. Chloe was shocked to see Dana blush. Mickey and Nick took the opportunity to slide, embarrassed, back into their seats. "So, the killer is coming after us," Chloe said, bringing them back to the matter at hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dana move off of Mulder's lap and back into her own chair. "That's what this morning's fake murder was about. The killer bringing us out into public view," Mickey said. "So he can find out who we are." "If she didn't already know," added Nick. "Well, we have some time to figure out who this...person...is." said Chloe. "Maybe we can find a way to prevent the next murder." Her cell phone began to ring at that moment and she answered it. "Grant." The door to the restaurant opened. "Damn it," Chloe said into the phone, and hung up. "Purity?" said Mickey, his eyes fixed on the woman who'd just entered. "There's been another murder," Chloe said, tucking her phone away, and then looked up. "Oh my," she said. "Samantha?" Mulder's voice broke on the name. He pushed his chair back and it fell over, but he didn't care. "Fox!" Samantha threw herself against her brother, who'd knelt down to her level and they hugged tightly. "Please don't be mad, I just missed you so much!" "You're Purity?" asked Chloe, her eyes on the small woman standing off to one side and looking uncomfortable. As though she wanted to run. Chloe had no doubts about the woman's identity, however, based on the description she'd received at the symphony. The man's words had been true. She was beautiful, and even the scars on her face and hands could not mar that. "I think you have some explaining to do," Dana said coldly, looking from Samantha to the woman who had accompanied her. "This can't be how it looks," Mickey said, meeting Purity's hazel eyes, daring her to say different. His stomach felt as though it were tied into knots. He could already feel her betrayal and it hurt. A lot. "Mickey, I--" Purity said, taking a step toward him. "Hold it right there." Nick ordered, drawing his gun on her. "What the hell are you doing?" Mickey demanded. "The killer is a woman," he said. "Chloe's suspicions may be correct. And apparently, this woman's a kidnapper." "I'm not--" she began. "Are you all right?" Mulder asked Samantha, examining her with his eyes. She nodded. "I'm fine," she said. "Well, hungry. And she didn't kidnap me. She helped me." Samantha looked down, feeling guilty. "I ran away, Fox. I missed you and Dana, and it was so strange at home with Mom. She's not...like I remember her." "It's all right, Sammi," Mulder said, stroking his sister's hair. "Put the gun down," Chloe told Nick without taking her eyes off Purity. She still looked ready to bolt. "Not until I get some answers," said Nick. "Nick--" "All right," he agreed, slipping the gun back into its holster. That was when all hell broke loose. ----- The door to the restaurant opened violently, slamming against the wall. A wild-eyed man strode in. He was trembling and sweating and he had blood on his hands. "Get down," Mulder ordered, pushing Samantha to the floor and encouraging her to crawl under the table. He wanted her safe and the insanity in the man's eyes reminded him of Duane Barry. "I've come for you," the man said, but his eyes roamed wildly. Purity took the opportunity to slip out the door. Mickey saw her go and wanted to run after her, but he couldn't move. This man was the killer. There was no doubt in his mind. "Perseus, we meet at last," said the man. "But this time I will triumph!" he cried. He blinked back the darkness at the edges of his vision, his focus so intense he threatened to black out. He could feel his heart pumping the blood so powerfully. He could barely breathe with the excitement of it all. His triumph. At last. He would gain his immortality by this. He moved toward the man, feeling the powerful implement he held in his pocket. He stroked it with his fingers, feeling the almost electrical surges it sent through his body. He could barely stand the excitement. Nick thought the man was staring at Chloe. He was terrified. He'd been wrong about the killer's gender, but he remained convinced that the killer feared women. And he could not let the killer hurt Chloe. The man began to withdraw his hand from his pocket and Nick's FBI training kicked in. The adrenaline shot through him with the fear that that man would blow Chloe's brains out before she had a chance to react. Nick screamed as he threw himself at the killer. The killer turned his head, tearing his eyes away from the dark-haired man he had been trailing through the city. The man he had attacked in the library. The man he had thought to be Perseus. He had been wrong. He turned his body and knocked Nick to the carpeted floor of the restaurant. His hand came out of his pocket quickly as his other hand forced Nick's jaw open. He struggled but the killer was too quick. "Nick!" Chloe screamed. A gunshot rang out and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room. The killer flew backwards, stumbling for only a second before he fell dead on the floor. Samantha let out a small squeak of horror. She'd never seen her brother kill before. She wished she'd stayed hidden under the table, her face buried against the carpet. But she hadn't. She'd seen her brother kill. Fox sank to his knees, sobbing, and Dana was right there to hold him. She didn't know why this man had such a profound effect on her husband, but she had seen it in his eyes from the moment the killer walked in. Fox buried his head in her shoulder and cried. "Nick!" Chloe screamed again, scrambling across the floor, instant hot tears flowing down her cheeks. She hadn't done anything, she hadn't reacted, she hadn't been fast enough. Sirens began to scream outside, too soon, and the flashing red and blue lights filled the room psychedelically. Purity had called for help, Mickey thought, taking a deep breath. He felt sick. He'd watched a man die. ----- "Nick!" Chloe cried again. He was laying flat on his back, a look of pain permanently frozen on his face. She immediately reached out and found the base of his neck, searching desperately for a pulse, although she knew, deep down, what was really happening to him. She could feel a weak, very thready, pulse. Seconds later his body began to twitch. "Oh my God, somebody do something!" A state of panic washed over her and all Chloe could do was run her hands through his hair and wait for the inevitable to happen. Chloe's heart pounded in her chest, feeling as though it were about to burst. She was watching him twitch, caught in a daze. It was seconds before she realized that Dana Scully was yanking the device out of Nick's mouth. From behind, someone was calling her name, but she was just watching Nick. She saw his facial muscles, his beautiful face, twist in a gruesome expression. His eyes fluttered and as the solidification of his body continued, Chloe watched as Nick slowly slipped from their world. Eventually his body lay still. And it was then that Chloe saw it. His leg was crystallizing, just like all the other victims had. He had been taken from her in the most hideous way possible--he'd been turned to stone. Chloe lost it then, slumping forward and hugging Nick's body to her chest while the hot tears streamed down her face. She felt someone take a hold of her shoulders, slowly prying her away from the body. Paramedics had arrived on the scene, and Chloe missed the horrified looks on their faces as she focused on her partner's face. Michael Callavelo, her partner and friend. And he was here for her. His embrace was so warm and strong. It was on his shoulder that she wept the rest of her unfinished tears. ----- Chloe sat on the edge of her hotel bed, staring numbly at the wall. She heard the knock on the door, but chose to ignore it. Another knock was followed by another, until finally she could stand it no longer. "What the hell do you want?" Chloe snapped, not caring who was at the door. "Chloe, it's Mickey. Can I come in?" Mickey. The man who had hated Nicholas so much that he could probably taste it. He was the one who had nearly killed Nick himself on more than one occasion. But he was her partner, and friend. And Chloe knew that even as she was trying to formulate some way to hate Mickey for everything that had happened, there was no possible way she could. "Yeah, it's unlocked," she said, curling up on the bed and hiding her face. Michael Callavelo entered her hotel room only to be shocked by the sight of his partner. She wore blue silk pajama's and was curled up on the bed opposite from the one he knew she normally slept in. He could not see her face, but Mickey knew that she would prefer to stay curled up. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder, unsure of what to say now that he was actually here. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make her feel any better--nothing that would take the deep remorse away. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, Chloe," Mickey began, feeling his own eyes burning. Even though he had not particularly liked Nick, the man had been a good agent and one that the Bureau had been proud of. It was literally a waste. Someone could have stopped this from happening, if they'd just draw their guns a fraction of a second earlier. It had been too late. Nick was now a solid statue, due to be cut into pieces by one of Chloe's closest friends--Dana Scully Mulder. But Mickey was not here to tell Chloe that, he was here to apologize, even though it was too late. Far too late. He would not have detected the sob if his hand hadn't been on her shoulder. It was a light little intake of air that alerted him to the fact that she was crying. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. And he meant it. Nick's death could have been avoided. Mickey had been the closest to the man, could have easily done what Mulder had done. But that, Mickey knew, was just wishes and regrets. No matter how sorry he was, how much he *wished* he could go back and take those few seconds into his own hands, Mickey could not change things. He couldn't do a damned thing. Mickey found himself facing his own emotions for Chloe too. He found that he'd been jealous of Nick because he had Chloe. In a sense, Chloe was Mickey's too, but not on the spiritual level. Not like *that*. Even if Michael had felt the urge to tell Chloe this, he was absolutely positive that now was not the time. There would never be a time. He sniffled a bit himself, patting her shoulder gently and rising off the bed. He allowed his hand to trail down her arm in a comforting gesture, but before he could take his hand back, Chloe had reached out and grabbed it. He felt the lightest squeeze, and when he looked back, Chloe was looking up at him. He knew that this was an act of trust. She was revealing her emotions to him one last time before she replaced the mask and went on with her life. He saw the tears streaming down her face, the puffiness beneath her eyes. He offered her one of his most sympathetic smiles and knew that she had forgiven him, for whatever sins he had dreamed up for himself. For whatever burdens he carried buried deep in his heart. He knew that she had forgiven him for his guilty feelings. "Michael, you couldn't have changed it," she said, quietly. He felt the tears sting his eyes again and he turned away, letting go of her hand. "I know," he said, and then briskly extracted himself from her room. You couldn't have changed it. The words echoed in his mind as he entered his own room, finding sanctuary to shed his own tears. ----- Medical Examiner's Office New York, NY "How's she holding up, Mulder?" Dana asked as her husband wandered into the autopsy room. She didn't like the fact that Chloe hadn't been told about Agent Shane's autopsy, but Skinner had insisted on it when she and Mulder had called him. "Chloe?" he asked. "Yeah," she answered, concentrating on the cut she was just about to make. "I just talked to Mickey and he said she's okay. She's a little shaken up, but he said she would survive. Like she always does, he said." Mulder wandered around to the other side of the autopsy table, gripping the edge until his knuckles turned white. "Mulder?" Scully asked, knowing that something else was bothering him. She had a pretty clear idea what was, but she wanted to hear him say it. "Samantha watched me shoot that man, Dana," Mulder said quietly. Suspicions correct, she put down the scalpel and peeled off her rubber gloves. "I can do this later, Mulder," Dana said quietly. "No. This is more important," Mulder said, shaking his head. "I just wanted you to know the score. My little sister watched me shoot that man and now she's having nightmares. Nightmares that *I* created." "Nightmares that any child would have," Dana told him. She slipped her hands around his waist and looked up into his hazel eyes. "Nightmares that will go away with time." "Is that the voice of reason I'm hearing again?" Mulder asked, his eyes gazing down at her lovingly. Dana got up on her tip-toes and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I think so, although sometimes I can't be sure." "Well, I suppose you should take some time to find yourself sometime, huh?" Mulder said. "Nah, I'd rather find you when I'm done here. You up for coffee or something?" Dana asked. "Sure. You have two hours tops," Mulder said and winked. "Are you trying to rush an official autopsy, Agent Mulder?" "No, I'm testing your skill, Agent Mulder," Mulder mocked. He bent down and kissed her again, this time longer and harder. "I'm rather hungry, too," he added, smiling mysteriously. "We'll see what we can do about that, now get out of here," she said, swatting at his chest. She wandered back to the scrub sink to wash up again before putting on some fresh latex gloves. Mulder watched her for a moment, knowing that he probably wouldn't have been able to make it through this without her. He smiled once more and slipped out the door. ----- Three Days Later New York City, NY Chloe Grant felt numb. It was as though part of her had been stripped away from her and she had been left exposed. Things happened in a blur. Mickey had ended up filling out much of the reports and had made sure that Chloe only had one thing to do--concentrate on what she had to do and then get herself back into control. She had wondered, over the past couple of days, why she had been so affected by Nick's untimely death. After all, she asked herself, hadn't she hated the sight of him when she first arrived here? Hadn't she wanted nothing to do with him? Yes, she told herself. But the tables had turned and he had become, once more, the man that she found herself trusting as the special one. Chloe thought about all these things as she stooped and ducked into the back seat of the rented sedan. Mickey was driving, but she didn't want to occupy the front seat, not at a time like this. He seemed not to care, or if he did he said nothing. Accommodating, Chloe thought. "Chloe, are you ready to go home?" Mickey asked, turning around in his seat to look her squarely in the eye. Having shed no tears that day, Chloe's answer could be heard loud and clear. "Yes, Mickey, let's go home." Mickey Callavelo nodded to his partner and turned around. He slid a pair of shades down on his nose and put the car in gear. She was ashamed that they had to catch the flight so soon after Nick's funeral, but sometimes these things just happened. Chloe suspected that it would best if she forgot New York all together. Too much had happened here to make that an easy task, but maybe--just maybe--with Mickey's help, she'd be able to do it. Just until the pain healed. Just until she moved on, like she always managed to do. ----- Medical Examiner's Office New York City, NY Finding the killer had cleared the FBI agents of the investigation. But the Medical Examiner was always on duty. Although the older FBI Agent had conducted the last autopsy, the one on the male FBI Agent, he was left with the final victim of the crazy "Medusa" murderer. While he worked, he thought about motives and how strange the case had been--or what little he knew of it. By the time they found the statue the press had been around, possibly alerted by the killer himself. The case was no longer hush-hush. Those FBI, he thought, should be damned thankful that the killer had been caught before the press had the chance to mess around in the case. Somewhere, someone had horseshoes where the sun didn't shine. Except for that poor FBI Agent who had ended up just like all the others--exactly like this man before him on the steel table. After what he and the young blonde FBI Agent had found in the throat of the one victim, he wasn't surprised when he found the pouch in this one's. This pouch held the same red liquid, leaking from its center, reminding him of the blood that *should* have been rushing through this man's body. Careful not to let any of the substance touch him in any way, the ME deposited it in an evidence bag which was ready to be placed in the box to be sent to those FBI Agents. He shivered only once, before continuing with his work. Precise cuts and careful measurements followed as the ME did what he was trained to do. His training didn't allow him to ponder the myth. It didn't make him wonder what, if the other pouch was a serious poison, this new ruby-red substance could possibly be. ----- Summer House Quontochataug, RI Samantha Mulder pulled the covers right up around her chin. Her brother sat on the edge of her bed, and Dana stood close beside, her hand on Fox's back. "Sammi," Fox said quietly, leaning closer to her to whisper conspiratorially, "I think you're in for a big surprise tomorrow." "Really?" Sam whispered back, a huge smile on her face. "Yeah, can you guess what it is?" Sam could only shake her head. She had no idea. "Breakfast, Sammi! I'm cooking breakfast," Fox said quietly. Sammi immediately screwed up her face and made a grotesque noise that simulated throwing up. "Gross! Remind me never to wake up," Sam said. Dana chuckled and Mulder shot her a mock-hurt look. "Samantha, dear, are you dissin' your brother's cooking?" "No. Let's just say that I'll make sure I'm up first." "That was really the plan," Fox whispered. "Hey, that's an unfair scheme--" Sam complained, happily. "Serves you right, Sammi. Now, I think it's time for some sleep," Fox said. He smiled and then leaned the rest of the way forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. Getting up and moving to the side, Fox allowed Dana to move in and whisper, "Don't worry, Sammi, I'll cook." She winked at the little girl and kissed her cheek too. "Sweet dreams, hon," Dana said. A few moments later they were gone, leaving Samantha to the dreaded darkness. It seemed to consume her, paralyzing her heart with fear. But tonight, her bedroom door crept slowly open. Her mother stood at the door, the lamp-light from the hallway beyond illuminating her frail body. "Samantha?" her mother called quietly. "May I come in, dear?" Samantha smiled warmly, although the darkness covered it. "Please," Sam said quietly. "I brought you something," her mother said, walking carefully into the room and navigating her way to the lamp beside Sam's bed. When the light was turned on, Sam saw the softness in her mother's face--a softness that she hadn't seen in a long time. Sam sat up and reached for the older woman's hand, watching her mother's eyes light up. Sam didn't know what to say, so she just squeezed her hand. Mrs. Mulder's eyes filled with tears of happiness and she had to take a moment to choke them back before saying, "It's a night light. I've had it for years, since you were little." Samantha studied her mother's face and realized the happiness that the woman was experiencing from the fact that she could offer this one little gift. "It's a small thing, but when Fox told me of your nightmares, I knew it would be the perfect remedy." "Thank you," Sam said, squeezing her mother's hand again. "Mom?" Mrs. Mulder looked surprised. "Yes?" "I love you," Samantha said. This time the tears did spill. They were silent, but they spoke volumes to Samantha. Her mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stood up. She found a small wall-plug for the night light and gently plugged it in. "Samantha," she said, turning to face the young girl, "you never know what you're missing until it's gone. Please don't ever leave me like that again. I realize my mistake and never want to make it again. If you can forgive me, I'd like to start again. I'd like to be your mother." Sam smiled warmly and slipped out of the bed. She padded across the room to her mother and said, "You'll always be my mother." "I love you too," Mrs. Mulder said, dropping a kiss into Samantha's hair. "Perhaps you should get some sleep now." Sam nodded. Mrs. Mulder tucked her in again, then disappeared. When she was gone, Samantha was able to close her eyes for the first time without seeing the image of that horrible man flying back--a gaping hole in his chest. And she knew that love, perhaps combined with that little night light, would see those nightmares turned to dust and vanish. Sam's last wish, as she dropped off into a nightmareless sleep, was that perhaps it would work just as well for Fox too. ----- Summer House Quontochataug, RI Early the next morning When Samantha opened her eyes, it was still dark. For a moment she was afraid until she saw the night light that her mother had brought her the previous evening. The small token made her smile sleepily as she sat up in bed, trying to remember what she had dreamed. It had been about that woman, the one who had helped her in New York. But she couldn't remember what the dream had been about. There had been a lot of darkness, so she should have been afraid-it should have been a nightmare--but it wasn't. Sam shook her head. She didn't remember. There were a lot of things she didn't remember. Dana told her not to worry about it, so she didn't. Deciding she wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and walked quietly through the house in her pajamas. The wood floor was cold under her feet, reminding her of Christmases in the other house, with Fox. Christmas was coming soon, she thought as she entered the living room on her way to the kitchen. A cold wind fluttered the curtains around the sliding glass door, which stood wide open. Samantha's heart began to pound and instinctively she looked behind her, although she wasn't sure what she was expecting to see there. Maybe she should go wake up Fox... She looked back outside. Pink streaks were beginning to brighten the sky, and in the pale light of the fading darkness, she saw someone outside in the yard. Squinting, Samantha approached, slipping out through the doors with a final look back into the house. Dana wasn't started when Samantha suddenly appeared by her side. She simply pulled her robe more tightly around herself. She glanced at the girl quickly and then returned her gaze to the ocean. "You had a bad dream," Samantha said. Dana nodded silently and Sam could see the tension in her shoulders and her face. "It's all right," she said, sounding much too old for her ten years suddenly. "It isn't real." "But it is," Dana said softly and put her head down. Samantha was shocked, and scared to see that she was crying. More scared than she'd been when she thought there might be an intruder in the house, more scared than when she'd been all alone in New York City. She didn't know what to do. Sam touched Dana, thinking maybe she should hug her, but then she didn't think it would help. So she did the only other thing she could do: ran inside and woke up her brother. The warmth of Fox's arms sliding around her body roused Dana and it almost broke through the cold that she felt down to her very soul. "What's wrong?" he murmured softly against her ear and she could feel his breath on her neck. For a moment she let her eyes slide closed, savoring the feel of this man, so strong and so alive, holding her with love. "Samantha said you had a bad dream...?" he tried. Dana nodded and reluctantly pulled out of his arms so that she could face him. "I remembered something," she said. Fox knew from the tone of her voice and the fragile, vulnerable look on her face what she was talking about. Tenderly he brushed the hair out of her eyes and wiped a tear away, waiting for her to speak when she was ready. "She was there...that woman, the scarred one from New York. She was younger. They were...um..." Dana didn't have any words to describe any of it. "There was an injection, I think...it was given to all of us, I..." She searched her memory but came up short. This was so frustrating and so hard. She wiped another tear away and wished she could stop crying. She didn't even know why she was, but there was an ache deep inside her and it kept the tears welling up and she couldn't make them go away. "They burned her. On purpose, a test or...something. She looked the man in the eyes before he did it, but then...when they started...she couldn't help it...she turned away and put her hands over her face to...I...They stopped right away. I don't think it was supposed to hurt her. I don't thi--I don't know." "It's all right," Fox told his wife, pulling her against his chest and stroking her hair, although he knew that the words were meaningless. "The man who was responsible is dead." And if he hadn't been, Mulder would have murdered that goddamned son of a bitch personally. "The women...in Allentown...they said this would happen. They said it would start coming back to me," Dana sobbed. "But I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember it." There was nothing Fox could say, although he had a thousand questions in his mind. At least she hadn't remembered them doing anything to her. They hadn't hurt her. Not yet. There was nothing he could do but hold her while she cried. Samantha watched from inside the house, where her mother made breakfast and tried to pull her attention away from the silent scene on the other side of the glass. She wondered what Dana had dreamt that upset her and it sent a dark chill through her body. As though she already knew. ----- Angel's Wing Rest Cemetery Washington DC Something had been calling Chloe to this spot and she hadn't resisted this time, as she had all of the other times in the past three weeks that she'd thought of visiting. Every time she thought of him, every time she remembered something, she felt that knife of loss go through her again. And she wanted to come and see. But she'd stayed away. Until now. "All right, Nick. What do you want?" she cried out into the still, foggy air of the late morning. She looked down at the headstone next to her foot. He wasn't going to answer. He hadn't called her here. His spirit was just with her today, that was why she thought she could feel his presence and why she kept thinking about him. Of course there was no answer. He was dead and buried, under the ground that was just beginning to freeze with winter. She waited, listening in the quiet. There were no other mourners around. It was a quiet place for him to rest. Chloe felt she should be doing something, but she didn't know what. She'd feel silly talking to him and she didn't have it in her to cry again. So she stood there, wondering what to do. She'd never been close to someone who died before. She had no ideas. She was just turning to leave, thinking that she had been stupid to come, when she saw the figure approaching her with a determined stride. Chloe recognized the flame orange hair first and the silly high heeled shoes second. Dana Scully Mulder. "How are you doing?" the older woman, her mentor and her friend, asked with concern. "I'm all right," Chloe replied, nodding. "I just...felt like I should come here today." The look in Dana's eyes told her that she understood. "It sounds stupid, but it was almost as though he was calling to me." "I know," Dana said, surprising her. "I could feel it too." A silent look passed between the women. "I found this in my desk today. It's addressed to you, so I thought you should have it. He left it in keeping for you with me. I don't know why." "Thank you." Chloe said, accepting the heavy white envelope with stiff fingers. "I'll leave you to it then," Dana said after a moment, looking uncomfortable. "Unless you'd rather I stayed...?" "No, that's all right," Chloe answered. "I'll be all right here." "I'll see you later then," Dana said and really meant it. It was almost an order. Chloe nodded and watched her walk back to her car. Alone again, she looked at the envelope. She didn't know if she wanted to open it. It would open the wounds again that were just beginning to heal. She felt the heavy bond of its paper in her hand. But he wanted her to have it. She looked over at the tombstone and then back at the scrawl on the envelope. Her name. The way Nick always wrote it. He did want her to read it. She couldn't disobey, not now. There was a letter on the same heavy bond paper. Nick hadn't even bothered to try to make his writing legible. He knew she could read it even when no one else could. "My dearest Chloe," it read, "If you're reading this, it means I've been stubborn. And very probably stupid. I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm sorry for everything I did and I hope I was able to tell you before it was too late. Words come hard in writing, you know that. I love you, Chloe, and I should never have done anything to hurt you. I know, too late, that you meant more to me than a thousand promotions. I sincerely hope it is not too late, that I was able to find you and tell you myself. That maybe a spark of that love remained for me, the love that continues to burn within me. Because I have seen the future, Chloe, and without you it is bleak." It was signed, "I love you, Nick." Chloe looked down at the tombstone, not certain what she should do. "You know I forgive you, Nick. And I love you," she whispered. There was something else inside the envelope. A small band of gold, worn with age, had hidden itself into one of the tight corners. Chloe pulled it out with shaking fingers, looking at its familiar filigree design and the small gem set into the center. Nick's grandmother's engagement ring. Passed down through the family. It had come to Nick when his mother died, and Chloe remembered encouraging him to wear it on his smallest finger to remember her. He'd refused. He told her to wear it, but she'd been stubborn and ignored his implications. They weren't ready to marry, she knew, it was Nick's mother's ring and Chloe didn't know her. It wasn't right. Now it was right. Chloe slipped the ring onto her finger. She could face the future. But she would always remember him. She turned away from the grave and was startled to see her partner standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets against the cold day, looking very uncomfortable. Obviously waiting for her. Chloe took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Mickey," she said. He approached, coming to stand next to her near Nick's grave. She saw his eyes flicker over the headstone and turn dark with guilt and something more. Regret? Sorrow? His eyes fixed on her face and she met them boldly. "Chloe," he said in a soft voice she wasn't sure she'd ever heard from him before. "How are you doing?" His hand moved as though he wanted to touch her and then thought the better of it. She nodded, self consciously wiping her eyes to make sure there weren't any tears lingering. Mickey caught her hand with his. His skin was warm and rough against hers as he turned her hand over and looked at the ring she wore. "It's beautiful," he said in a tight voice. "It was Nick's. His mother's. He...wanted me to have it." Chloe explained awkwardly but let him continue to hold her hand. He touched the ring and then let her go. "It's such a shame that he's gone, Chloe. A waste. I should have done more." Mickey's eyes went to the ground again. "I've been meaning to say something but I--" "No," Chloe said. She didn't want to hear it. "There was nothing you could have done. There was nothing anyone could have done." It cast a creepy feeling through her, but now she knew. Nick had known, before the case had even begun. Somehow, with that odd sense he had, he'd known. "I'm sorry," Mickey said with such a terrible look that she actually wanted to hug him to try to make him feel better. But she didn't move and for a moment they were silent in the cold cemetery. "I got some information today," Mickey said, his manner sliding into a more professional mode. He paused, as though trying to find the best way to tell her, one that wouldn't hurt. "Just say it, Mickey, I'm all right," Chloe said. He looked at her and nodded. "A report appeared on Agent Pendrell's desk this morning." "Appeared?" asked Chloe. Mickey nodded. "Someone knew he would get it to us." Agent Pendrell had come to be very useful to them in recent months, devoting a great deal of his time and talents to the X-Files. "Information that was covered up by the disappearance of the killer's body and the Medical Examiner before the autopsy report could be finalized." Chloe waited. "The killer's name was John Stavros. He emigrated to America from Greece as a small child with his father." "What happened to the mother?" Chloe asked. "She died, that was all it said. He had a history of mental illness following after his father's death ten years ago. In between hospital stays, he found time to become a scholar of the classics and a professor of mythology at one of the smaller universities in New York City." "So he was psycho?" Chloe asked. It made her feel cold inside for reasons she couldn't explain. Maybe it was better to think there was some sort of paranormal cause, to make this case special, distinctive. Not just another damned psycho out on the streets. "There's more to it than that, Chloe," said Mickey. "The killer had one of those blood filled packets in his throat at the time of autopsy." "But..." Chloe's mind whirled with thoughts. How did it get there, if he'd been shot? Had someone placed it there after the time of death? Or was he some kind of freak, had it been there all the while? "The analyzation of the blood was detailed in the report we received. It's not like the blood that killed...that he used to kill with. This blood had a different unidentifiable element in it. With the capacity to heal rather than kill." "It what?" Chloe's eyes widened. "Heal. It's amazing, Chloe. The scientists have never seen anything like it." She grew very quiet for a moment. "He could have helped people," she said. "But instead he chose to kill. Why?" It was a rhetorical question. It was likely they would never know the answer, or why the men had died, beyond the twisted legend of Medusa. "Everything's just...gone." Mickey said, feeling frustration well up within him. Always, the vital clues slipped through their fingers. It didn't matter that the conspiracy had seemingly gone down. There was always another one waiting around the corner, another bureaucratic cover-up with unknown agendas. "Then how did we get the report?" Chloe challenged him. There were answers out there, somewhere. For them to find, no matter how hard it would be. "Someone's looking out for us. Trying to make sure the information is known." Mickey said. "We have a friend, Mickey," Chloe said, looking at her partner and feeling a strange ray of hope. Maybe not everything was bad. Maybe someday they would be able to know the things that were being kept from them, and learn who was doing the keeping. She managed to smile at him and he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him as they started back to the road. Knowing that there was work to be done. And they were the ones who had to do it. ----- The End Bedsprings III By Megan Reilly and Char Hall Disclaimer: The X Files and its characters belong to Fox, 1013 and Chris Carter. They are used without permission. The original characters of Chloe Grant and Mickey Callavelo were created by Char Hall and Vickie Moseley in "Bed Springs." They are used here with permission and great thanks. Part One ----- Reflecting Pool 5:45 am A light breeze carried fragments of a weathered old newspaper through the air. They swung in a carefree fashion, until something seemed to reach out and snag it. If you looked, you'd probably be able to find the entire newspaper. Part of the business section clung to a fence; the sports section was hanging from a tree branch. Just her luck, the comics section had a fixation with her leg. Chloe Grant bent down and plucked the lonely newspaper page away from her leg. She sat back on the bench and folded the page in half, tucking it under her arm. She been sitting on the bench for nearly twenty minutes, just observing the early-morning joggers. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She was actually watching one man in particular, but he seemed oblivious to her relaxed gaze. Either that, or he chose to ignore it. He continued to run around the pool, like he was running from the demons that she knew still existed within him. Fox Mulder, to her, was a frightening man. He had intimidated her from day one--not that she ever let anyone know that--and still remained something of a wonder. His brilliant mind was incomparable to other men who were in his age group, and she knew he had a knack for frightening away most people that were in their line of work. Most people, of course, did not include the woman Chloe held the most regard for--Doctor Dana Scully Mulder. With Dana, Fox Mulder had found happiness, and a sense of security. He had found love. Chloe smiled as she watched him approach again. He was concentrating on something, and she knew that he wouldn't notice this time around either. She watched him pass, but this time she stood quickly and followed. Dressed in a pair of cut-off jogging shorts, Nike running shoes, and a light T-shirt, Chloe looked just like any other jogger who had graced the beaten path. It wasn't much of a struggle for Chloe to catch up to her boss. His long legs carried him swiftly, but her equally long legs had won her many athletic awards while she had been in training at Quantico. And so, when Special Agent Chloe Grant came up beside him, Section Chief Fox Mulder only glanced sideways at her. They shared a similar adoration for a little bit of adrenaline to start off a fresh new day. "Chloe," he said, nodding. "Mulder," she said. She realized that she'd been running oddly, one arm still pressed tightly against her side. The newspaper. He must've thought she was a nutcase. She pulled the newspaper out from under her arm and crumpled it into a little ball. She kept the ball in her fist, refusing to return the newspaper back to its original carefree form of blowing in the breeze. "What've you got there?" Mulder asked, barely glancing her way. "Just a page from a newspaper," Chloe said. "It's the comics, isn't it?" Mulder asked. It was the mark of a keen observer. And it was classic for the man she had recently come to call a friend. It was also something she found fascinating about him. She had often asked herself how she could be so intimidated by the man, while still holding an intense fascination for him. And the answer was simple--she could learn from Mulder. She could learn the vital tricks for to use when out in the investigative field. "Yes," she answered simply. To her surprise, Mulder stopped running and began to jog on the spot. Chloe had to back-track to where he stood. He held out his hand. She placed the crumpled ball of paper in his outstretched hand, and watched him curiously. Her observation skills kicked in. His ruffled brown hair was sweaty, tousled, and looking like he hadn't even bothered to brush it before hitting the pavement. He was wearing a light gray sleeveless shirt, and a pair of dark blue jogging pants. His hazel eyes had that feverish look to them that instantly told her that he'd had a nightmare the night before. She heard him chuckle at one of the comics, and smiled. So complex, yet so simple. That was the thing with Mulder--he was contradictions within himself. He looked up when he sensed her eyes on him. "Was there something bothering you, Chloe?" Chloe swallowed. Here it comes, she thought. The real reason she'd come out here. "Sort of," she answered. She still hadn't sorted through it herself, and she had avoided thinking about it, but she had come here with the intention of mentioning it to her superior, and she was determined to do it. "Mickey's gone and opened his mouth again," she mumbled. Mulder laughed. "Is this what's been eating away at you?" Slowly, Chloe nodded. "Chloe, Agent Callavelo came to see me shortly after the incident. He asked me for advice on how he should proceed." Michael Callavelo was Chloe's partner. He had recently given a presentation at a local high school. The talk had gone fine, until after, when he was gathering his things to leave. He'd offended the principle. It was really just a ridiculous situation, something that hardly warranted worry on her part, but it was beginning to become a habit. But Mickey didn't do it on purpose. He never did it on purpose. In fact, he was one of the sweetest men she'd ever met. What was bothering her about the whole thing was that he hadn't told her himself. He'd kept it under his hat. "You see, that's just it. I wish he had told me. Doesn't he trust me?" Mulder looked at her, a stern look commanding his face. "Chloe Grant, after what you two have been through together, I am surprised that you would ask that question. The situation is not that serious, and I forbid you to give it any more thought," Mulder said. His seriousness dissolved into a look of compassion. "Look, Chloe," he reached out and put a hand on her arm. "Mickey looks up to you. I know he trusts you more than anyone, but I know that he didn't want you to worry about his 'little problem'." Chloe nodded, dumbly. She had been stupid to be so worried about it. And second guessing Mickey's trust was the lowest thing she'd ever done, or at least it felt that way. She felt a hell of a lot like the scum that was swirling on the surface of the water which they stood beside. He patted her arm. "Chloe, it's going to be a rocky road for a long time to come. Once you two fully understand each other and they way you each operate, you'll fit together like hand in glove. Eight months of working together may seem like a long time, but its hardly enough time to learn the pros and cons of each other." She knew he was speaking from the core of his experience. It had been much the same for him and Dana, she expected. "Thank you, Mulder," she mumbled. "Any time, Chloe." After observing the look on her face, he added, "I won't mention this to Mickey. It wouldn't do him any good to worry that *you* didn't trust *him*." It's just a big circle, Chloe thought. "It's about time for my second cup of coffee, you want to join me?" he asked. Feeling comfortable in his presence, Chloe nodded. "I'd like that," she answered. Together they walked off the path, heading towards parking lot. ----- X-Files Offices FBI Headquarters Washington, DC 7:30 am Michael Callavelo pursed his lips together as he ran a hand through his dark locks of hair. He sat behind his desk, a steaming cup of coffee next to him, and an empty IN box before him. Seconds later, Dana Scully Mulder wandered in, with a thick folder tucked in her arms. "Dana, any idea why this is empty?" he asked, picking up the plastic box which would normally hold scads of files on cases they were working on. Solemnly, the auburn haired woman nodded her head. "Unfortunately, yes," she answered. She tossed the file folder on the desk before him. She drew up one of the extra chairs and sat down wearily. The day had hardly begun, and Michael was getting the sense that it was going to be hell. "Assistant Director Skinner wanted me to clear up our cases so that we could focus on *that*." She sounded disgusted. Mickey opened the folder and immediately knew why. He raised his eyebrows. "A VC case? Mulder isn't going to be happy, is he?" Dana shook her head. "Quite the opposite. I think, although I'll never be able to prove it, that he requested this one." "Requested it?" Mickey was interested. "That doesn't sound like Mulder." Dana remained quiet, staring at the office wall over Mickey's shoulder. After a moment of reading, Mickey glanced up and saw that she had closed her eyes. She looked so vulnerable and diminutive. He recognized that as one of the many ways that looks could deceive. If given the chance, Dana could take out a man twice her size. "Take out," Mickey reminded himself, for her meant that she would incapacitate, and possibly render the person unconscious. And all of that was wrapped up into this little five-foot tall package. The redheaded wonder. "How is Samantha?" Mickey asked, trying to bring her back to the present, with a neutral topic. Her eyes opened and she smiled. For once he'd picked the right topic to touch on. He could tell by the way her blue eyes shined with love for the young woman. Samantha Mulder, Fox's sister, was living with Dana and Mulder. On their very first case together, Mickey and Chloe had accidentally stumbled upon the then missing girl. It was a good thing, when he thought about it, because it had also brought the four agents closer in their friendships. If the Mulders need someone to keep an eye on the girl, Chloe and Mickey took turns. He often found himself delighted by the young woman's maturity, and sense of self-preservation. It was almost impossible not to fall in love with the adorable dark-haired angel. "Sammi's doing great. I had to drop her off at a friend's house in order to come in here early and get those cases sorted out and ready to go to the other agents, but she doesn't mind that," Dana replied. "No, I don't imagine that she would. Have you planned anything for this weekend?" Mickey asked. Dana shrugged. "Fox might have, but I don't think so. Why?" "I wanted to know if you think she'd like to go to the mud wrestling tournament with me," Mickey said, a wide grin spreading on his face. Dana looked shocked. "Uh, I don't think so, Mick," she replied. Mickey did his best to appear saddened, but the smile was too hard to suppress. "Okay, how about to the Derby? I promise that she won't partake in the gambling." Laughing, Dana shrugged. "Run it by Mulder." "Run what by Mulder?" A familiar voice drifted into the office, and Fox Mulder followed it. "He wants to take Sammi to the Derby," Scully said. "Only if I get to have a 'Derby' of my own while she's gone," Mulder joked and winked at his wife. Mickey saw the red that crept into Dana's cheeks, but he also knew that his own were turning red. "Well, you find yourself a racehorse, Mulder, and we'll see what we can do for you," Dana answered. She stood up, and walked over to him. "But she'd better not be blond." "Hey! What's wrong with blondes?" Chloe Grant asked as she strode into the office. The Mulder's broke into laughter, and Mickey just shrugged, slightly embarrassed. Chloe looked from one to the other, blinking rapidly. "I have a feeling I missed something." "Nothing vital, Chloe," Dana said. Mickey looked over his partner. She was wearing a blue business suit, which complimented her sandy blond hair. Her azure eyes shone with the intelligence that he had become familiar with. And he could almost tell what she was thinking. "From the way Mickey has brightened, I'd say it was pretty vital. C'mon, Big Boy, 'fess up," Chloe teased, dropping into the chair that Dana had recently vacated. At Mickey's continued silence, Chloe decided to skip to the next topic. She leaned forward and tapped the empty plastic IN box. "What's up with that?" "We have better things to do, apparently," Mickey said, throwing a cautious look at Dana, who refused to meet his gaze. "Oh," Chloe said, ignoring the slight tension that leapt through the office. "And what would that be?" "Helping the behavioral sciences unit with this violent crimes case," Mickey said, handing Chloe the folder. "I've only read the first bit, but I'd say it's going to be tough." Chloe arched an eyebrow at him, but quickly looked away, focusing on the case file. She skimmed through the preliminary stuff, right to the report. She licked her lips. "We have six victims so far. From what it says here, there are no apparent links and no distinguishable motive." Chloe sat back and closed the file. "How quaint." "That's an interesting way of putting it, Chloe," Mulder said. He glanced at his wife, before stepping forward and asking Chloe for the case file. "May I?" he asked. Chloe shrugged. "Well, I wasn't planning on making it my breakfast. Be my guest." Mulder thanked her and carried the case file over to a table he'd cleared off the night before. He opened the folder and flipped to the very back, where several photographs had been slipped into an envelope. He took out the photos and spread them out on the table. "Chloe, Mickey, come look at these and tell me what you think," Mulder said. The agents glanced at each other, but quickly moved to Mulder's side. Mickey glanced down and wrinkled his nose. Fine job of mutilation, he thought. "Bet they couldn't identify some of these people right away," Mickey said. In fact, he was pretty sure there'd be no telling gender either. Blood-typing would be required for identification and an autopsy in order to find out the gendertype. And that was mutilation in the highest, most grotesque form. How any human being was capable of such an atrocity was *far* beyond Mickey. Layers of skin had been flayed off the chests of each of the victims, the entire face was missing. Hair was nowhere to be seen, and teeth had been surgically removed, from the look of the picture. As surgically as the psycho who did this could get. Of the skin that was left, there were deep incision lines, that seemed random--but not. He glanced sideways at Chloe, trying to get a feel for what she thought. She was looking down at the photos, a look of deep concentration on her face. Instead of waiting for her to finish her observations, Mickey began to rearrange the photos. Something was bugging him, and he wanted to look at the photos in different positions on the table. His hands worked quickly, like he was on a strict time limit. By now, Chloe had stopped looking at the photos, but was studying his face intently. The look on her face clearly asked, "What the hell are you doing?" He swallowed hard as he slipped the last photo into its respective place. He pointed down at the mess of overlapping photos, his hand shaking slightly. "Mickey? What's wrong?" "Look," he said, his voice weak. He followed the lines of the "random" slashes. They weren't so random anymore. In fact, that painted a frightening picture. "Oh my God," Chloe whispered. She had finally seen what he had been trying to point out. "Is that an ear?" Mickey nodded. "The murderer is drawing a picture using humans as the medium?" Chloe asked, incredulously. "But that's six victims and we've only got part of an ear and a bit of an eye." "Exactly," Mulder said. He and Dana had been watching silently from a few steps away. "That's why we had to get those other cases reassigned." He took the folder from the table and flipped it open again. "Each of these victims was found exactly six days apart. We can tell you when the next one will turn up, right down to the last minute," Mulder said. "That's the only pattern that we can distinguish. Whoever is doing this is probably an obsessive compulsive who takes pride on doing everything on a schedule." ----- Bed Springs III Part Two By Megan Reilly and Char Hall Dana shuddered. "God, that's horrible," she said softly. The three agents looked at her - Chloe and Mickey curiously, Mulder with more worry and compassion. After a moment more of looking down at the photographs arranged on the desk, Dana realized she had made herself the center of attention. She looked up and elaborated, "Knowing that someone is going to die, and when, but because the killer has not maintained any sort of a pattern, there's next to nothing that we can do." She shook her head and looked away. Mulder's eyes lingered on his wife. "Well, we have a little time to figure something out. I don't want to see anyone else die, either." Chloe and Mickey exchanged a look. "Do we have any witnesses?" Mickey asked. He had the idea that Mulder knew more than he was telling - after all, he had known the corpses assembled into a photograph before he asked for their ideas. "We have the profile from VCS. They've been working with it for two weeks, but haven't come up with anything," Mulder said with a grim look on his face. Mickey began to dig through the file to locate the profile. Chloe watched Mulder. "What do you think?" she asked him. "Have you done your own profile?" Dana looked at her sharply, but said nothing. Mulder nodded once. Yes, he had done a profile. But he did not speak. "You're the one who figured out the photographs formed a larger picture," Chloe said, figuring it out. No wonder he had taken this case from VCS, she thought, they had no clue what they were dealing with here. But Mulder did. She didn't know how he did, but he did. She looked at him, trying to see what was going on in his mind, but he was unreadable, as usual. "This profile is crap," Mickey said, tossing it back down onto the table. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "I could write a better profile than that - the killer feels inadequate, he wets his bed, he failed art classes and was probably traumatized by fingerpainting in kindergarten?" he read from the paper. "No wonder they've gotten nowhere." He shook his head. Chloe crossed her arms over her chest and looked Mulder in the eye. "What do you have for us, Chief?" "The killer's an artist, probably amateur, or not very well- known. I'd guess pen and ink studies, judging from the style of the picture we have forming here. He or she makes a living taking photographs, but not artistic ones. GlamourShots, school photos, weddings...strictly small time. The killer resents the fact that the world refuses to acknowledge their talent." Mulder said, the words spilling out in a flat tone as though he'd memorized and rehearsed them. Or was channeling them from some higher source. "Why do they kill?" This from Mickey. Mulder shrugged slightly. "Power." "Recognition?" Chloe asked. Mulder shook his head. "If they wanted recognition for this, they would have stepped up their efforts when nothing appeared in the press following the first few killings. It's been more than a month, and still the killer stays on the schedule. They have all the time in the world. And the bodies are dumped in out of the way locations. Not meant to be found." "Could there be more bodies out there that we don't know about?" Chloe asked. "I doubt it." Mulder responded. "Not until the next one." "Okay," said Mickey, reassembling the file and putting the photographs back out of sight. He set the documents out of the way. "Where do we start? You mentioned possible professions - do we start asking questions?" Chloe's lips quirked in a faint smile. Forthright, eager Mickey, she thought. She could imagine him knocking on doors, questioning every one in the city who owned a camera. Wait...camera. She looked to Mulder again. "If the killer is working with photographs, as we are, to document the killings...those pictures have to be developed somewhere." "The killer must have access to a lab," Mulder said. "These aren't exactly the kind of thing you take to get double prints at the drugstore." Chloe's mind began to work double-time. "We could check out that angle, then, it's a place to start. People who work at taking school photos don't have access to labs, we can leave them out. That leaves -" "I think the killer has a home lab, Chloe. Or access to a school darkroom." "School?" Mickey asked, his voice slightly choked. "You think the killer's just a kid?" "College. Possibly a returning or older student - I'm not sure," Mulder said. Mickey let out a breath. "That's a lot of places to start," he said warily. "That's why they put the 'I' in the FBI, kid," Mulder said ironically. Mickey rolled his eyes. He hated it when people treated him like a kid. "I'll get right on it, then," he said and left the room to locate a telephone book and a cup of strong coffee. It was going to be a long, long day. But maybe he would get lucky. Chloe merely grinned at Mulder's statement. "How do you come up with this stuff?" she asked him softly. She wished she could do what he did. See the connections as he did. She wanted to learn how. Mulder shook his head and his eyes were dark. "It just comes to me," he said. "I have one question for you, Mulder," Dana said abruptly, her tone harsh as she spoke for the first time from the corner where she'd been silently standing, listening. "Where's the X File in this?" Chloe's eyes darted from the agent to his wife and back again. Dana sounded upset and Chloe couldn't imagine why. Mulder looked as though he had no idea either. "There isn't one," he said shortly. Chloe had the feeling they were going to argue. It made her stomach feel strange, the bottom dropping with uncomfortable fear. It was as though she were a child who had stumbled across her parents fighting. "Excuse me," she said and headed for the door. She'd catch up with Mickey. Maybe formulate some theories of her own. She wanted this case solved, now, before someone else died. Mulder and Dana watched the door close behind her, and then turned to each other. Mulder looked at his wife's stiff posture, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft. He wanted to walk over to her and touch her, but he wasn't sure she wouldn't bite his fingers off. "Why drop everything for this case, Mulder?" "People are dying, Dana." "People die every day. Why this case, why now?" she demanded. "VCS is floundering -" "They aren't really the idiots you always make them out to be, Mulder. I'm sure they could handle it," she snapped. "They asked for my help." "And you just dropped everything. Without asking me." "Is that what this is about?" Mulder said, his eyes wide. Dana's head jerked from side to side. No. "This didn't come across your desk this morning, did it, Mulder?" He looked down at the floor. "Four days ago - five?" she asked. He nodded. "And you didn't tell me. You just let the nightmares take you, tried to keep them from me. Why are you having nightmares about this, Mulder?" His eyes flashed at her. "I have nightmares, Dana. They're part of the package. You knew that." "I'd just like to wake up with my husband once or twice, Mulder. Not have him take off on a running binge at four in the morning. If that's really what you're doing." He gaped at her. "I would never cheat on you," he said in a low voice, his eyes fixed on her with intense love. "I know," she sighed, and dropped her arms. "I just...it makes it really difficult." "Why are we fighting about this?" he asked, moving in to stand next to her, so close that she had to tilt her head all the way back to look up at him. She shook her head and shrugged. She had no answer to his question other than irrational fear. Mulder put his arms around her and hugged. After a moment, she gave in and accepted his embrace. "We're going to be fine, Dana," he promised her ardently. "I just have a bad feeling about this case," she admitted. Mulder nodded. "We can't stop talking to each other," he said. "No matter what happens." Dana nodded and managed to smile. Everything was going to be all right. He was right, she thought. ----- Mickey had gone in to use Mulder and Dana's office while they remained in his and Chloe's. They were all one big happy family on the X Files, they wouldn't mind, he thought, slogging through the yellow pages with notebook in hand. "How do you think he does it?" Chloe asked, taking a seat across the desk from Mickey. She took a phone book from the stack and opened it. "What?" Mickey asked, glancing up at her for only a second. He knew she meant Mulder. "Come up with stuff like that out of nowhere, stuff VCS in all their infinite wisdom never thought of," Chloe elaborated, flipping through pages to Community Colleges. She wanted to check out the darkroom angle. Mickey shrugged. He looked at Chloe again, not really comfortable with the note of awe he heard in her voice for their superior. He knew that Chloe and Mulder had a terrific relationship, and that Chloe saw the older man as something of a role model. The type of agent she wanted to become. But at the same time, she didn't seem to see that Mulder had problems, too. "It's the way his mind works, Chloe. He has a different base of experience than them, is all, so different things come to mind. It's not anything amazing or mystical," he said practically. "They're in there arguing," Chloe said, glancing over towards the door, as though she thought she should do something about it. "It's their right," Mickey said. "Marriage isn't a bed of roses all the time, you know." Chloe nodded and they fell into silence looking through the books together. Mickey's eyes lingered on his partner. She seemed unusually quiet. He wondered if he'd said something that offended her. "I was thinking of taking Samantha to the Derby this weekend, if you'd like to go," he said, striving to sound casual even though he really wanted Chloe to come with them. Sam was fun, but with Sam and Chloe together, the three of them always had a blast. "We'll probably be working on the case, Mick," Chloe said distractedly. "Yeah. You're probably right," he said, feeling awkward, like he shouldn't have even asked. He stuck another post it note in the yellow pages. "I wonder if we could get employee's names from the IRS and run broad-spectrum checks on them," he mused. "Go for it," Chloe said, smiling at him briefly before burying her nose back in the book. "What do you think our killer might have on their past record?" Mickey asked, doodling on his notepad. Chloe looked up while she thought for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe nothing. A lot of serial killers appear to be model citizens." "Why do you think Mulder wouldn't commit himself to a gender on the killer?" Mickey asked. "I wondered about that," Chloe admitted. "Most serial killers - and perpetrators of such violent acts - are men. I think because he didn't say, that he suspects the killer might be a woman. But he doesn't have anything to back that up, so he doesn't want to say it for sure. We should keep our options open." "Makes sense," Mickey said. He got to his feet but didn't move away from the table. He wasn't sure why he hesitated. "Well, I guess I'll go check this out then." Chloe nodded. "I want to get online and see if I can get enrollment lists from these colleges." She looked at him. "Then we can cross check our references, okay?" "Yeah," Mickey smiled. "Hey, Chloe?" "Mm?" She didn't look up. "You don't this is going to turn into an X File, do you? That the killer is going to turn out to think they're possessed by the ghost of Van Gogh's grandmother or anything?" he asked. "You never know," Chloe said with a charming grin. Mickey thought about that for a second. She was right, they never did know what they'd find. "Well, see you later." Chloe just waggled her fingers in a tiny wave as he left. ----- Bed Springs III part three by Megan Reilly and Char Hall ----- Dana stepped out of the autopsy bay and into the changing room, feeling chilled and alone. Gore from the horribly mutilated bodies covered her gloved hands and clothes. The procedure had not answered many questions. For her, it had only brought up more. She sighed and pulled the bloody clothing from her body, dropping it into the biohazardous waste can as she headed for the shower. She stood under the spray for a long time with her eyes closed, letting the hot water and steam soak into her skin, trying to get warm. She wished she could relax. All she wanted to do was go home and get into bed, pull the covers up and never peek out - and have Mulder by her side. His distraction bothered her. This case bothered her. She'd just examined the ripped apart corpses of two young, healthy women who had been killed to serve as a twisted artist's canvas. It made her sick. It all made her sick. And it had never done that before. She shut off the shower and got out. Automatically, she pulled her suit back on and began to think about where she might find Mulder. No one was in their offices when she arrived there. Everyone was out, checking out leads, following up on their ideas. Leaving her here alone. Dana smiled sadly and walked over to turn on the computer. She'd best write down her thoughts about the bodies now, while they were fresh in her mind, before she forgot the questions she wanted answered. She began to type, looking over the photographs she'd taken herself and replaying her tape recorded notes. But her mind wandered. The silence in the office was deafening; the absence of another human presence too profound. She found herself staring at the wall where Mulder had his news items tacked up, some of them layering over others. A glass skull that was purported to scream. Fuzzy photos of UFOs that were probably just US test planes. A poster printed with Mulder's philosophy: I want to believe. The photos of the bodies he'd shown to Mickey and Chloe were taped to the wall like a jigsaw puzzle. From where she sat, Dana could clearly see the picture drawn with the killer's incisions. She stared at it a moment, mesmerized. And then she felt her stomach beginning to rise up into her throat again and turned away. She had to get out of the office. Into the fresh air and sunshine, clear her head a little bit. ----- There were no leads. Damn it, thought Chloe, tapping her pencil against the desk in a nervous rhythm. She could feel the pressure of time on this case. None of the victims had anything in common, so in essence they were flying blind and hoping that Mulder's profile was more accurate than VCS's had been. Because his intuitions and notions about the killer, wherever he had gotten them from, were all they had right now. She'd been staring at a computer screen for the better part of the afternoon, calling up work records and enrollment lists at local colleges. None of them were a match. Maybe they were barking up the wrong tree here, maybe Mulder was wrong. But she didn't think so. She could feel it, he was right. She glanced down at the scribbles on her notepad. He had to be right. A light touch on her shoulder made her jump. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Mulder said even as she began to turn around. She looked at him. "Any luck?" Chloe shook her head. "I hate this as much as paperwork. I want to be out there, in the field, *doing* something." Mulder nodded. "I know what you mean." There was a haunted look in his eyes again, she noticed. "What about you? Did you find out anything?" Chloe asked. "No. I left Mickey about to begin interviewing owners of camera shops about applicants they've turned down recently. I don't think it will do any good, but...we have to try everything," Mulder said. Chloe nodded sympathetically. She wished Mickey had stayed in to play on the computers and that she had been allowed out, but it didn't really matter. And she could type faster than he could, and understand more about the way computers worked and their shortcuts, so it was more efficient for her to do the boring work. "I was looking for Dana." "Isn't she still in the autopsy room?" "I went there. Apparently she finished. The computer in our office is on, but there's no sign of her." A twinge went through Chloe's stomach. "Are you worried?" "No, she took her purse with her." Mulder flashed her a pained smile. Chloe touched his hand. "Is everything all right between the two of you?" she asked, not sure she should bring it up, but unable to let it slide by. "I mean, she didn't seem to happy about taking on this case." "She's not happy about it. Something about it is bothering her." Mulder drifted into silent thought for a moment, as though trying to determine what it could be. "It bothers me too, but Dana doesn't usually let things affect her." Chloe nodded. It was one of the things she admired about her friend - her ability to keep a clear head no matter what was thrown at her. "It'll be all right," she said, knowing it was inadequate. "Yeah," said Mulder. "I'll let you get back to it." He began to withdraw from the small computer space. "I was going to pick up some dinner, do you want me to bring something back for you?" "Sure," Chloe said, turning back to the computer screen. It was going to be a long night. The door closed behind Mulder and she sighed, beginning to type again with one finger, wishing she was outside. A second later, her pager went off. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it, expecting to see Mickey's cell phone number in its display window. She frowned at the number she saw there. It the telephone number of her apartment. ----- The camera shop owner wouldn't let Mickey see his filed applications, or his hiring records. "But I'm with the FBI!" Mickey cried, displaying his badge once again. "No, no, no!" was all the answer he received. "Listen to me, people are dying. And the only lead we have is-" "Not at my shop they aren't!" replied the owner. "What I do, is none of your business." "I'm a government official and you're blocking the progress of an investigation." The owner, who stood a couple of inches taller than Mickey and at least fifty pounds heavier, crossed his arms stubbornly. "Then where's your warrant?" "I haven't got -" "Then get out of my shop!" the man roared. "It's closing time." "Sir," began Mickey as diplomatically as he could manage. "We're closed. Bye-bye." The two men stared each other down for a moment. Then Mickey retreated, unwillingly heading for the door. "I sure hope you have nothing to fear from the IRS," he muttered under his breath. The guy really pissed him off. A hand closed over the back of Mickey's jacket. "What was that, you scrawny little punk?" Oh jeez, thought Mickey. Didn't this guy know that FBI agents carried guns? He shoved the man away from him. "Let me go, I was just on my way out. Sir. I'll be back when I've got a warrant." This had become a supreme waste of his time. It was highly unlikely that this man had any piece of information that they would need. They were grasping at straws and Mickey had drawn the short one again. He wished Chloe had come with him - she was good at this sort of thing. "I'll have you know my brother works for the IRS!" the man said. Mickey didn't say anything. He knew when it came down to it that if he opened his mouth again, he was going to get a fist slammed into it. He opened the door and went through it. A glance over his shoulder from half a block away assured him that the shop owner was still watching him. He got into his bureau car and slammed the door. That's enough, he thought, I've had it for today. He swung out into rush hour traffic and heard the horns blast behind him. Hopefully Chloe or Mulder had better luck. Or Dana had found something that they were overlooking. That was her specialty. Rational thinking and detail. She and Mulder balanced each other in almost every way, Mickey mused as he sat at a traffic light. When Mulder tended to run on intuition and hunches, Dana remained calm and was able to sort through them. They needed each other. They were the perfect team. He smiled. And they were doing a terrific job with Samantha, a child who should have been a holy terror, but who with love from her family, was growing into a beautiful young woman. Mickey wondered if he would ever find someone who balanced him so completely. He and Chloe were a good match as far as partners went, but they both tended towards hotheaded flights of fancy. Different flights, different fancies, but they didn't function as the same sort of well-oiled machine that Mulder and Dana did. Not yet. Their supervisors kept telling them it would come in time. In the meantime, Mickey tried to stay as calm and rational as possible and keep his mouth shut. But he was rarely successful. And he could see that Chloe idolized Mulder. He could see the wheels turning inside her head every time she looked at their team-leader, trying to scientifically analyze the thought processes in his head to figure out how he knew the things he knew. What a mess, Mickey thought, looking at cars blocking the intersection ahead of him. His cell phone rang and he grabbed it. "Yeah," he said, expecting it to be Chloe, or maybe Mulder, with a lead for him to follow. What he heard instead was a soft woman's voice on a recorded message. "You have reached the office of Schoenberg and Shine. We're not open right now..." Mickey listened to it, wondering what exactly it could mean. It was an answering machine message, but how had he received it as an incoming call? It had to be a clue. The message stated the address of the office, and he was ridiculously close. He cut across a lane of unmoving traffic into the left turn lane and caught the end of the yellow light, zooming across the intersection just as it turned to red. A moment later, he saw red and blue flashing lights behind him. "Darn it!" muttered Mickey, pulling over to the side of the road and fishing out his FBI credential. He rolled down the window as the officer ambled up. "What kind of move was that, young man?" the officer inquired. "I'm with the FBI," Mickey said. "Where's the fire?" "Huh?" Mickey didn't follow. "You don't have a light on the top of your car. You don't have a police escort. What's the hurry?" the officer asked him. "I just got a lead and -" "And it was so important you had to go endangering the lives of innocent citizens to pursue it?" the officer asked him frankly. Mickey didn't know what to say; he just clutched his badge tighter between his fingers. The officer pulled out his ticket pad and Mickey clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything. "Let's see, illegal lane change, running a red light, speeding, reckless driving..." Mickey ground his teeth together. His father had been a policeman. He knew better than to argue. "May I?" he asked, pulling the badge from Mickey's fingers to copy his name and number. "What's the license number?" "It's from the bureau car pool," Mickey answered. "I don't know. I have the papers -" "That's all right, I'll just jot it down." The officer walked in front of the car to get the number, then handed Mickey the ticket. "Drive safely," he suggested. Mickey rolled up the window and shifted back out into traffic. This was turning into a terrible afternoon. It occurred to him that the way his luck was running, there could be danger awaiting him at the offices of Schoenberg and Shine, whoever they were, and so he dialed the X Files office phone on his cellular. There was no answer. They were probably out on leads or at dinner. It went to voicemail after four rings and he disconnected without leaving a message. ----- Mulder headed for the deli he liked to get sandwiches from near the J. Edgar Hoover building, but as he got closer, he saw that the line was out the door. At least half of the people in line were wearing suits and shoulder holsters. It was going to be a busy night at the FBI, he thought. Agents would be earning their overtime. He walked on past the deli. It was a pleasant spring afternoon, fading into evening. The sun was just beginning to think about setting and was changing the sky to oranges and pinks. Mulder stopped to wait for a walk signal and just stared up at the sky. He wasn't really a sunset person - he got his kicks looking at the pure darkness of the night sky - but he could appreciate its beauty. Dana would have liked it, he thought. The colors made him think of her. The light turned to walk, so he did. He wondered where his wife had gone. He hoped she was out on a lead. They needed one, and if she came up with something, it would mean she was getting drawn into the case. She was resisting that, so far. She didn't want to be involved. It troubled Mulder. There had only been a few cases that he'd seen shake her this strongly from the outset. One that would remain etched into his mind was the case with Donnie Pfaster, when she almost become the killer's next victim. Mulder sometimes thought Dana had a sense about things like that - when a case would end badly. He knew she would deny it fervently, and he tried to convince himself that it was merely woman's intuition and not some inclination to precognition. He couldn't accept that for the same reason she couldn't. It scared him. But the thought was there in the back of his mind. Something about this case had Dana on edge. Mulder had lost track of where he was going and found himself on the mall near the Smithsonian museums. He checked his watch, but most of them were closed by now or would be closing in a few minutes. He stopped outside one of the art museums, wondering if the killer spent their days among the works the masters, being inspired and wishing their own art adorned the same walls. The killer had a secret yearning to go down in history for their art. Even if it was a history of serial killings, Mulder thought. He watched the people who milled around the doors for a moment. Tourist families, with kids who were bored and tired and cranky from a day walking around looking at paintings. Older ladies and men in tidy clothing. Art students in funky dress. He turned away and walked on. He thought better when he was outside, when he was moving. Mulder switched to a fast walk to get his blood moving again as he headed over for the memorials, his brain on auto pilot so he could process information without thinking about it, let his subconscious chew on the case for a while. The cherry blossoms would be in bloom soon, he thought as he approached the Jefferson monument and tidal basin. The city would be inundated with beauty, and tourists with cameras. That thought stuck in his brain for a moment, but just as quickly dislodged. The killings had been spread over a six week period so far. No one turned up that early for spring in DC. He began to walk around the water, looking into its depths. The sky was turning to a brilliant orange and it reflected in the gentle ripples of the pool. He passed a couple making out on a bench, two skaters on another bench who had stopped to tie their shoes, and an older couple reading poetry to each other. Spring was waking up the city and life was all around. He saw a woman sitting on a bench alone, with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, staring thoughtfully into space. The sun glinted off her hair. She was beautiful. He'd found Dana. "Is this seat taken?" he asked softly. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked up at him. "Mulder. What are you doing here?" "I went out to get some dinner and got sidetracked. Chloe's probably starving." "Chloe? I thought you went out with Mickey." "I did, but I came back to the office alone, looking for you. Chloe's still trapped in front of the computer and it's driving her crazy." "You couldn't bear to sit still, either," Dana said, looking at her husband. "Something was drawing me here," he said, joking mildly. "I should have known it was you." She didn't say anything, just nodded and continued to look off into the distance. Mulder's manner turned serious. "What did you turn up in the autopsy that's bothering you?" She glanced at him. "Why aren't the bodies decayed?" Mulder had no answer. He hadn't thought of it before. "The core body temperature and generations of scavenger flies are much lower than I would expect in a body that's been dead for so long," Dana explained, "but the bodies show none of the damage consistent with being dumped into a freezer. There's also no apparent cause of death." "What about the wounds?" She shook her head. "They were incurred after death." "Interesting." Dana nodded. "I think the bodies were submitted to cold temperatures and died naturally as a reaction to that induced state. They were then frozen, not in a freezer, but in a block of ice." "Before or after the wounds were inflicted?" Dana shook her head. She didn't know. "But we're talking about a process that takes a fair amount of time." "Like six days?" he asked. She merely nodded. "So the killer probably already has the next victim." She nodded again, closing her eyes for a moment. Mulder looked at her. "That's not all that's bothering you." She looked at him, her blue eyes bright with something akin to anger. And fear. "Who took those pictures you showed to Mickey and Chloe? The ones that assembled so neatly into the greater whole?" "Some of them were taken by VCS," Mulder answered. "Who took the rest?" "I did," Mulder admitted, trying to figure out why that was such a crime. Dana didn't say anything, but he could feel her muscles turn rigid and feel the waves of anger coming from her body next to his on the bench. "What is it, what's wrong?" he asked, touching her. She didn't respond to his touch, and he dropped his hand. "You looked at the pictures VCS took and figured out what was going on. That the killer was making a drawing using incisions on bodies, and taking pictures that assembled into a greater whole. And you went to the other corpses and were able to find the right spot to fit into the painting. You took the same picture that the killer must have taken." She looked at him, and could see that he didn't understand. "You saw what the killer saw. You got that deeply into their mind, into their thoughts." "Do you want to solve the case or not?" Mulder demanded. She looked stricken by his anger and he relented. "I can't help seeing things the way I do. It's not something I do on purpose. You know that." "It scares me," Dana admitted, and he heard a vulnerable tremble in her voice. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Your nightmares scare me. Because they're part of it." "And you don't understand," Mulder said, wishing there was a way he could explain it to her. "You don't believe." "It's not a matter of believing," she informed him. "Then what is it a matter of?" he asked gently, his fingers playing in her hair. "If you see as the killer sees, if you feel what they feel - and you do, in those dreams, don't tell me that you don't - what makes you different?" Mulder swallowed hard. "Because it affects me differently. I use their anger to find them. Not to satisfy myself. I don't have the urges that they do." Her eyes were clear on his. "But you do," she said. He was shocked, but she continued before he could argue. "That's why you go on those running binges after you have the dreams. Seeing the killing gives you energy. The same kind of rush as the killer experiences. And pounding the pavement for a couple of hours is the only way to drive that back. Isn't that right?" One eyebrow went up. "No," Mulder said. "That isn't how it is at all." He was telling her that she couldn't possibly understand it, she thought, but she didn't believe him. She wasn't a psychologist, like he was, but she knew that she was right because she knew him. "Running like that isn't normal," she said. Mulder just shook his head. "Let's go back to the office." "I want to stay here a little while longer." "It's almost dark, Dana." "I'll be all right." His hand on her arm implied force, force she knew he would never use against her. "Come on." After a moment, she looked up at him. And rose from the bench silently, giving in. ----- Mickey stood outside the closed, locked, glass doors of Schoenberg and Shine. It was a nice office. An investigative firm that worked on insurance claims cases. He had no idea what he was doing there. He paced around the hallway for a moment and then peeked in through the glass doors again. There was no movement inside; no one staying on late. Perhaps someone had been about to meet him and given up when he didn't arrive right away. Because he'd gotten pulled over for that ticket. Mickey still felt incredibly stupid about that. He'd pay it, and not mention it, but he couldn't believe it. There were at least fourteen thousand other bad drivers in DC on a given day, why did they have to get him? And at such an important moment? His number had been up, he thought. Mickey shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. The light above the elevator lit and dinged with its arrival a second before he pushed the button to call for it. Shrugging, he stepped inside. "What are you doing here?" he asked the woman who stood in the elevator car. She smiled a mysterious smile at him. "It's a small world, isn't it?" she said. "Purity, what are you doing here?" Mickey demanded. He knew this woman - she had been involved in a case that had taken him and Chloe to New York about four months ago. He'd never been able to determine if it was coincidence that she kept showing up, or if she had been involved in the killings in some way. And now she was back, in all of her frustrating glory. As if he didn't have enough to deal with. "Here, in DC, or here, in this elevator?" Purity asked, the image of innocence. But Mickey knew that looks could be deceiving. She looked into his eyes and saw the anger darkening there. "The symphony's in town." "What a coincidence I should run into you," he said roughly. The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened. Neither of them moved. "Are you the one who called me?" Mickey asked. Purity didn't answer. He hadn't expected her to. She looked down at the floor for a moment, letting her long dark hair sweep over her shoulder and across her face. Then she looked up and met his eyes again. "Do you want to go out?" she asked. "Get some coffee? Talk." "I don't think that's a good idea," Mickey said. Every time he saw this woman, he ended up drugged or beaten up. He didn't think that was coincidence, either. She nodded. "It is good to see you again," she said, putting her hand up on the side of his face and pulling him down into a quick kiss before he knew what was happening. She released him just as quickly. "Just remember, time is of the essence," she said and darted out of the elevator. Mickey's jaw dropped in shock. He ran after her, but she was nowhere to be seen. He felt anger rise up in his chest for having been such an idiot. For letting her not answer his questions, and then get away. "Time is of the essence," what the hell did that mean? He couldn't help thinking that somehow, it related to their case. He couldn't believe she had shown up in his life again. It had been a really crazy day, he thought, and started for the car. ----- Chloe picked up the phone in the office and dialed her home number. This had to be a joke, or some kind of a trick, she thought, but it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. There was no answer. The machine picked up, and she broke the connection. She stood there with the phone in her hand, thinking. If someone wanted to get in touch with her, why wouldn't they just use her cell phone? It was still in her pocket and it hadn't rung. That was the number Mickey would use if he got himself into trouble, and that was the number that was printed on her business cards, if someone had a lead about something. She couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't have that number. She also couldn't think why her pager would ring with her home number. It was weird. She dialed her number again and this time she punched in the code to pick up her messages. As Chloe listened, her muscles became tense and her eyes grew wide. She hung up the phone and grabbed her bag. She had to get home. ----- Bed Springs III part four The lights were on in her living room when Chloe reached home. The sun was just beginning to set and turn the skies dark. Yet the light over the door already blazed, welcoming her home. It was not a light Chloe ever left on for herself. After all, she was an FBI agent; she could take care of herself. She wasn't afraid of the dark. She sighed as she paused by the door, her fingers working against the metal of her house key. She didn't have time for this right now. Not in the middle of a case, and especially not in the middle of this case. This was big. She could feel that in her bones. Some of it came from the intensity Mulder had displayed in the past day or so - a feeling that was contagious. The rest was just a hunch. This wasn't just a simple murder. Things rarely turned out to be simple, though, did they? Chloe turned the key and opened the door. "Chloe! Darling!" She only got two steps inside her apartment before she was enveloped in the sweeping hug of arms clothed in bright colors. "Hi, Mom," said Chloe, pushing her mother away slightly, although she couldn't hold back a smile. Her mother was just as flamboyant and unexpected as ever. Her eyes went over her mother's shoulder to the face of her father, halfway across the living room. He looked distinguished, as always, with his proud features and steel gray hair. Chloe's smile widened into a grin for a moment. "Hi, Dad." "How are you doing, Chloe?" asked her father, approaching to clap her on the shoulder. "Good," she nodded, just as he was reconsidering his formal move and decided to pull her into a hug. "What are the two of you doing here?" she asked when he released her. She looked from her mother's face to her father's and back again. For a moment, neither of them answered and Chloe began to feel worried. "We missed you, sweetie," her mother said at last. "So we thought we'd drop by for a little visit." "Unannounced?" Chloe asked, trying to keep the edge of tension she felt out of her voice. She was happy to see her parents, but their timing could have been better. Her mother's face fell. "If you don't want to see us - if we're inconveniencing you -" she began. "No, Mom, that's not it at all -!" Chloe began to try to smooth things over. "It's just...I'm in the middle of a big case. I won't really have a lot of time to spend with you two, as much as I'd like to. So I wish you'd called first." "That's all right," her mother said, her smile returning, although dimmer than before. "Your father and I can tour the city together. We just wanted to see you." "We understand that you've got your work," said her father. "We're very proud of you, Chloe, and everything you've achieved." Chloe couldn't help smiling at that. "Thanks, Dad." "But we've been worried about you," he continued in his deep voice. "We've barely spoken to you since that whole...New York...thing." Chloe looked down. When he said 'New York,' they both knew he really meant Nick. It hurt to be reminded of Nick, again, just when she thought she was beginning to be able to heal and move on. Her parents always supported everything she did, and she loved them dearly for that, but she never felt that they'd understood how she felt about Nick. No amount of explaining would ever make it clear to them. They'd been upset for her when she and Nick had split. She hadn't told them about their brief reconciliation in New York before Nick's death. She hadn't told them half the things that had happened to her since she'd begun working on the X Files. Suddenly she felt guilty for worrying them needlessly. She should have tried harder, been a better daughter. After all, they had done so much for her. "It's okay, honey," her mother said, arranging her hair away from her face as though she were a young girl, still in school. "We know it takes time." Chloe nodded. She didn't know what to say. There was a huge lump in her throat all of a sudden and she was determined not to let them see her cry about this. "We wanted to see how you are, that's all," added her father gently. "We just want to know you're happy." Chloe nodded again. Then she blinked and pulled herself out of it. "Have you had dinner yet?" she asked them. "'Cause there's a great little place just down the street, and I'm famished." "Are you eating enough?" her mother asked immediately, and Chloe had to laugh. It was strange, the way being in her parents' presence made her feel like a child again, but at the same time, there was something comforting about the way some things never changed. ----- Mickey was almost frantic. He'd rushed back to the basement offices of the X Files, needing to talk to someone about the clue he'd been handed. Or, at least, he thought he'd been handed. He didn't know what it meant, even though his mind was racing trying to fit the piece into the puzzle. He wanted to talk to Chloe. Maybe she'd be able to figure it out. Although she wouldn't be happy to hear that Purity had made another appearance. Chloe suspected the woman. Mickey had to admit that his partner was right, that when Purity was around, things tended to happen - but he didn't think she was bad, exactly. He didn't know what he thought about her, except that he would never see her again after New York. Otherwise he would have done some checking. But there was no one in the office. Even more disturbing, the door was standing wide open. The lights were on. The computer was on and humming, although its monitor displayed a multicolored screensaver. Mickey walked over to it and tapped the space bar. The screen saver disappeared. Someone had left the computer running with their password still typed inside, allowing anyone who walked up free access to the Bureau's many resources. He frowned and cleared out of the system, wondering who had left in such a hurry. And why. It wasn't like Mulder do such a thing. He was much too paranoid. And Dana shared some of her husband's paranoia, even though Mickey had to admit she tended to be a lot more rational about it. Although she had seemed a little distracted and out of sorts earlier in the day. Chloe might have done it, but only if she'd left quickly. Even then, he thought she would have turned off the lights as she passed by. Chloe was concerned about the environment and waste. Maybe the lights were left on by whoever broke in to use the computer, Mickey thought. Now who's being paranoid? he asked himself. He sat down in the chair, feeling more frustrated than before. He was an FBI agent, and he couldn't even figure out who had been the last person to leave an office. A smile touched his lips as he thought, maybe I should dust for prints. "You're losing it, Mickey," he murmured to himself as he typed his password into the computer. It was futile to sit around wondering about the computer at a time like this. He had better things to worry about; there was a killer on the loose. As well as his mysterious informant whose presence usually preceded his being drugged, knocked out or injured. He couldn't be too prepared. With that in mind, he got up and locked the door to the office. If his partner or one of the Mulders returned, they would have a key and be able to get in. That done, he set about collecting information about Purity. He heard the sound of a key in the lock and turned, waiting. Mulder appeared a moment later. "Why is the door locked?" he asked, a frown carved into his face. "Precaution," Mickey answered. "Against what?" Mulder asked, not willing to let the matter drop so easily. Mickey shook his head, indicating he had no answer to give. "Do you know where Chloe is?" "She was here when I left," Mulder replied, tossing a bag down on the table next to the keyboard. Mickey recognized the logo on the brown sack as belonging to the deli down the street, where many of his colleagues went to pick up meals while they slaved away on cases. "Guess that means you can have her dinner. Hope you like roast beef." Mickey rolled his eyes, recalling the infamous tale of the FBI agent abusing his position by showing his badge to demand a meatier sandwich. Regardless, he reached for the bag and began eating. "What did you learn at the photo shops?" Mulder asked. "Nothing," he replied, wolfing down his food. He noticed Dana watching him just as he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and felt his skin redden with embarrassment. "Sorry," he said in her direction, looking in the bag for a napkin. "We think we know the cause of death," Mulder told him. Mickey's eyebrows went up, but it wasn't Mulder who elaborated. "Freezing," Dana said with a strange edge to her voice. "From performing the autopsies, I believe the killer immersed the victim in water and slowly lowered the temperature until the water transformed into ice." "So, they drowned?" tried Mickey. "No," Dana frowned. "They froze. Judging from the lack of tissue damage, I think it was done slowly. Which may account for the six day spacing of the crimes." "He already has the next victim!" "We think so," Mulder agreed grimly. "And we have no leads." Mickey's heart hammered within his chest. It was now or never. Even though he didn't have a good explanation, he had to tell them about his informant. He wasn't sure how to put it, exactly... "I think I might have something, actually," he began. "There was a fortune cookie in that bag I didn't see?" quipped Mulder wryly. Dana rolled her eyes, but Mickey didn't acknowledge the joke. "My cell phone rang and - in New York, a few months ago, there was this girl - um, woman - well, she was there - and it's probably a bad sign or it doesn't mean anything, but I have the feeling it does so -" Dana reached over and lay her hand on his wrist. "Michael. You're not making any sense. Slow down." He took a deep breath, feeling foolish. "I got a weird call on my cell phone. It connected me with an answering machine for some sort of office - Shoenberg and Shine. I thought it meant something, so I went there. I didn't find anything, but I did meet up with an old acquaintance. Someone who was always in the right place at the right time during the New York case, a few months back." "Who was it?" "Purity," he answered. "What did she tell you?" Dana asked him with an intense look in her blue eyes. "She said time was of the essence. Whatever that means. I don't know what to make of it, the entire experience was just really weird." "It may be weird," Mulder conceded, "but it gives us a place to start." He indicated that Mickey should move from the seat in front of the computer and he did so. "Were you looking into Shoenberg and Shine?" "No, I was trying to find out about...her," Mickey admitted, moving to sit next to Dana and Mulder sat down in front of the computer, his fingers moving rapidly over its keys. "They look pretty clean," Mulder said after a moment. "Insurance brokers. Mostly auto. Some upscale clients, big accounts. Investigation department..." He broke off, pushing the keyboard away. "I don't know what I'm looking for." "It's all right," Dana said quietly. "It's not all right!" Mulder cried, his eyes blazing. "People are dying. More people are going to die." "We're doing what we can," Dana told him firmly. "It's not enough," Mulder snapped. Mickey just watched them, wondering what was going on. Had they had a fight? Dana was being unusually quiet, he thought. Mulder's desk phone rang and the older agent grabbed it. "Yeah," he said roughly into it. Mickey watched as his face changed. He could feel Dana tense beside him, equally aware of the change that washed over her husband. His face grew white and his shoulders tightened as his head dropped forward slightly. Bad news. Mickey felt himself clutching the seat of his chair, where his fingers had been merely resting a few moments before. Chloe, he thought. Mulder hung up the phone. "What is it?" Dana asked, rising from her seat as though pulled to her husband. "Time is of the essence," Mulder said almost philosophically, swallowing hard. "What does that mean?" Dana demanded. "It's been six days. They've found another one." Mickey thought he saw Dana physically sway at the news. "We have to find Chloe," he said. Both agents looked at him sharply, and he realized there was probably a better way to have said that. A way that wouldn't have worried them. "I mean, she probably just ran home for a minute. You two go on to the crime scene; I'll catch up." Mulder looked at him for a moment before Dana took his arm and they left the office together, steeling themselves for the horror they would undoubtedly be facing in only a short amount of time when they reached the crime scene. Another death. One that should have been prevented. Mickey turned off the computer with one hand and dialed Chloe's cellular number on his phone with the other. It rang, but there was no answer. He flipped off the lights and closed the door soundly behind him. Hopefully he was right, he thought. She was probably at home. ----- Chloe's mother was keeping her entertained with stories from home while the three of them ate take-out from the place down the street. This is nice, Chloe thought, wondering why she hadn't made the effort to keep in better touch with her family. But she knew she had been busy. When there were crimes to be solved, it unfortunately didn't leave a lot of time to catch up on old times. Her father had just begun to tell her about the annual picnic for employees and their families at the large corporation he'd founded when there was a knock at the door. Chloe started to get up from her place on the carpet - after all, she lived alone, so she didn't need that many chairs - and found it more awkward than she'd expected. "Don't bother," her mother told her airily from her seat near the door, jumping to her feet and opening the door. "Hello there," she said just as Chloe was getting up. "Can I help you?" There was apparently no answer, because Mrs. Grant turned to gesture to her daughter. "Chloe, dear, do you know this young man?" Chloe hurried to her mother's side and saw Mickey standing on the other side of the threshold, looking pale and suspect under the harsh glare of the porchlight. "Chloe," he said. There was a perplexed look on his face as his eyes lingered on her mother. "Mickey, what brings you here?" Chloe asked. "Come on in." She moved out of the doorway, moving her mother along with her so that her partner could come inside. She closed the door and Mickey just stood there, looking awkwardly at her parents, who were looking back just as awkwardly. "Mickey, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is my partner, Michael Callavelo." "So nice to finally meet you, dear," her mother said warmly, taking Mickey's hand and shaking it. "Chloe's told us ever so much about you." "She has," Mickey said as though he didn't quite believe it. Or didn't want to believe it. Chloe wasn't certain which. "It's good to meet you," her father said gruffly, rising to shake Mickey's hand. "And you, sir," Mickey replied. Then his eyes slid to Chloe. "I didn't know your parents were in town." "I didn't either," she admitted with a smile. "They decided to surprise me." "I'm sorry to have interrupted," Mickey said, moving slightly back towards the door. "You didn't say what brought you here," Chloe said, afraid he was going to run away before he told her. It had to be important, or he would have just called, wouldn't he? With a sudden burst of guilt, she remembered thinking she heard her cell phone ringing as they came in the door from getting the take out. "I'm afraid there's been another victim," Mickey said as delicately as he could manage. "Oh, man," breathed Chloe. "Victim?" cried her mother. "Yes, ma'am," said Mickey because some sort of response seemed to be called for, although he wasn't sure that was the right one. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to go," Chloe said to her parents as she rushed around the living room, sliding her feet back into her shoes and collecting her jacket, her ID and phone and her gun. "I'll probably be gone for a few hours - maybe more. Lock up when you go to bed, and don't worry about me. I'll take the couch and I'll be quiet when I get in. I'm sorry about this, Mom. Dad." She leaned in to kiss her father on the cheek, and then her mother as she neared the door. "But it's dark outside," her mother said. "Mo-om," Chloe complained and Mickey had to smile at how much she sounded like a teenager. "I'll be fine." "I'll wait up -" "*Don't* wait up for me," Chloe ordered. "It could be really late before I get back. I'll be perfectly safe, Mom, honestly. I'm an FBI agent, remember?" "I know, sweetie," her mom replied. "But you're still my little girl." "Mom!" Chloe cried. "Catch the bad guys and kick their butts, okay?" her mom suggested and Chloe just ground her teeth and opened the door. "Nice to meet you, Michael!" "Nice to meet you," he smiled at her and waved back over his shoulder. Chloe pulled the door closed behind them with brute force and turned the lock, clearly aggravated. "They seem very nice," said Mickey. Chloe rolled her eyes at him. "They do," he insisted. "I'm so sorry you had to be a witness to that," Chloe told him, heartfelt. "What? They love you." "They're nuts!" "But you love them, too," Mickey told her. That much was obvious. "Yeah," she agreed. They went to his car in silence, and he allowed her to go around and claim the driver's seat. "So tell me about the latest victim," she said, serious and instantly focused on the case. "Dana and Mulder are already there. They went on ahead. We'll be there soon enough," Mickey said, wondering what would be waiting for them at the scene. Bed Springs III part five The bathroom was immaculately clean. The contrast to the body was startling. A red, destroyed person in the middle of a pristine white floor. A floor that looked as though it had been scrubbed with a toothbrush for hours until it shone. Counters and sinks that could be in a TV ad. And in the midst of it all, a horribly dead body. The paramedics were tending to the person who'd discovered the body as well as the policeman who had followed up on the call. Chloe tensed when she heard Mickey sigh beside her even as they crossed the threshold into the small room, but he didn't turn away. He had a strong natural revulsion toward dead humans, one that was quickly overcome by most agents. He was learning, Chloe thought, looking at Dana and Mulder. Nothing could turn Dana's stomach, yet she was looking pale and drawn, Chloe observed. Mulder's face was screwed up with disgust and thought. "What have we got?" she asked quietly, almost unwilling to break the peace in the small room. Mulder glanced at her as though he hadn't noticed her come in. "It's another one." "Specifics?" Chloe asked. She felt silly almost as they all four stood around the tight space and looked down at the body. There was nothing they could do, but it felt wrong to stand here and talk over it. Dana shook her head quickly, a short jerk conveying all there was to say. "As with the others, we'll need to do an autopsy to learn anything. DNA testing is our only hope of identification." "Whose house is this?" Mickey asked. "It's a model home. This is a fairly new complex, and they haven't sold many of the houses yet. No one lives here." "Who has access?" Chloe asked. "During the day, almost anyone," said Dana. "But it's kept locked at night." "Has this body been here since earlier today?" Chloe asked. Dana shook her head again. "And we don't know who else has a key, besides the manager who let us inside. He's the one who found the body." "What was he doing here so late?" Mickey asked. Mulder raised an eyebrow. "He says he had a fight with his wife and she tossed him out for the night. She's done it before, according to him, and he spends the night here." "Can she corroborate his story?" Mickey reached for his cell phone. Mulder raised his hands in a gesture that said, I don't know so go ahead. "I'll just - um -" Mickey nodded toward the door and made his escape from the bathroom. The space still felt claustrophobically small. As though there wasn't enough air for the three agents to all breathe. "What happens now?" Chloe asked Mulder. "Do we have any more information than we did earlier?" "Where did you disappear to, by the way?" Mulder questioned. "Your partner was worried." Chloe almost chuckled at the idea of Mickey worried about her. "I had a situation come up I had to take care of at home." "A situation?" Dana said, sounding concerned. Chloe smiled. "My parents decided to drop in to town to check up on me." "They picked a hell of a time to do it," Mulder said darkly. "Didn't they," Chloe agreed. "We determined that the killer is using extreme cold as part of the process," Dana explained. "And Mickey had something that might or might not be a clue." "How's that?" Chloe wasn't sure she followed. "He ran into that woman from New York. Purity." Chloe's heart sank. She didn't trust that woman. She had thought they would never see her again, and was glad. She didn't know how to take the news that she had surfaced again. "Just what we needed," she murmured. Mickey stepped back into the room then, finding the other agents still staring grim-faced at the mutilated corpse. "The wife substantiated the husband's story," he said. "And the trace evidence guys are here, along with the coroner." "That's our cue to go," said Mulder. Mickey held the door as Chloe walked through it. Mulder put his hand against Dana's elbow, but she didn't react to his touch. Her eyes lingered on the body. "What is it?" he asked his wife. She shook her head, as though pulling her thoughts back to herself. "Nothing," she said swiftly. "I must be tired." Mulder nodded, understanding, and accompanied her out of the room as the other professionals moved in to do their jobs. "You don't have to do the autopsy tonight, if you're tired," he told his wife, looking into her eyes and moving the hair off her forehead with two fingers. "No, we need to stay on top of this," Dana informed him, even though she didn't sound happy about it. "I can catch a ride along with the coroner if you want to get back to the office." "I'll drive you," Mulder said, getting the feeling she was trying to push him away and he didn't understand why. "It will take some time to get the body transferred to the Bureau's facilities, anyway. If you want, we could go home first. Get a little rest." "It's all right, Mulder. You have things you need to investigate," Dana said, and walked away from him. Mulder simply watched her, shocked. "What happened there?" Mickey asked, walking up to his superior. "I have no idea," Mulder admitted, still feeling stunned. ----- The three of them went back to the office to go over the evidence, again. Having seen the body in person only lent more importance to Purity's words of warning: Time is of the essence. They were all feeling the pressure of this serial killer. "The murders are every six days," Chloe said, more thinking than asking. "Yeah," said Mickey staring at the file open before him and feeling very tired. "And Dana thinks the victim is killed by freezing, and then brutalized afterward," Chloe continued. "Yeah," said Mickey. "She should know more after she looks at this victim," Mulder added, but he sounded distracted. Both Chloe and Mickey looked at him for a moment, wanting to ask what was going on between Mulder and Dana, but they couldn't. Mulder didn't seem to know himself. "The killer takes the victim and it takes time to freeze them. That's why the six days. So the question is, how much time passes between the murder and the taking of the next victim," Chloe concluded. "Right," Mulder nodded, though he hadn't thought of it that way before. "Maybe Dana can figure that out from the autopsy as well," Mickey suggested. "Should we call her?" He reached for his cell phone eagerly. "No," said Mulder. "She'll be looking for the time of death. The freezing interferes with that determination, though." Mickey looked crestfallen. "But Chloe's got something there. How long does the effect of the mutilation of the body take to wear off, and the killer needs to feel it again?" "Or does he plan ahead," said Mickey. Chloe and Mulder just looked at him. "The pictures...the killer's working on an art project. He probably knows how many bodies it will take to complete it." "Complete premeditation," said Chloe, sounding shocked. "That's terrible." "It's also very likely," Mulder said, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Good thinking, Mickey. The only question then is, how does the killer select the victims? Randomly or not randomly?" "You're still saying 'the killer' rather than using a pronoun," said Chloe directly. "Do you think we have a woman serial killer here?" "Serial killers are almost always white males, with middle class backgrounds and some education," said Mulder. "That doesn't answer my question," Chloe responded. "Yes," Mulder sighed. "I think the killer is a woman." "But you don't have anything to back it up, so you didn't want to say it," Mickey said. Mulder nodded. "That helps us, though. It cuts our suspect list almost in half," said Chloe. "I don't have any proof," Mulder cautioned her. "When have you ever needed proof?" Chloe asked him with a charming grin. "You're a brilliant profiler, Mulder. If you think it's a woman, you're probably right." "Why do you think it's a woman?" Mickey asked Mulder. Mulder's eyes looked haunted. "It's a feeling," he said. "Just a feeling." There was silence in the room for a few moments. "There's nothing more we can accomplish tonight. Go home, both of you, and get some rest." "You look like you could use some rest yourself, Mulder," Chloe said gently as she got up. "What are you trying to say?" Mulder raised an eyebrow at her. Mickey just stood back and watched them both. "Don't stay here all night, okay? You look like you need the sleep more than we do," Chloe said simply, and turned to go. Mickey and Mulder shared a look, then Mulder nodded and Mickey left. Mulder sighed and reached for the file to go over it one last time. Then he was going to go home. To sleep peacefully in bed next to his wife, he hoped. ----- Dana was disgusted by the body, but she knew that other lives depended on whatever information she could glean from it. Most of the credit went to detectives in murder cases like this, she knew. And most of the time, that credit was deserved. Only occasionally did she wonder how much more quickly the case would have been solved if the bodies had been in the care of a skilled pathologist. She knew that she was very talented in her chosen field. That talent had benefited almost every X Files case. She looked down at the dead...thing...on the table before her and felt bile rise into the back of her throat. She swallowed it back and tried to keep the feel of death from clinging to her and clouding her thoughts. Maybe it was just because she was tired. There was nothing new she could learn from the body. The victim had died of acute hypothermia, by immersion in cold liquid, just as the others had. There was no evidence of liquid nitrogen or drowning. How did the killer get the victim to lie in a cold tub long enough to die? The question appeared in her mind. She wished there was enough to analyze for the telltale markings of an injection. There was enough blood to send for a toxicology report, but that would take time. Time the next victim didn't have. Dana could feel the responsibility for that person's life weighing on her. Mulder would need to take the photograph the killer had taken. Now she felt really ill. Her husband could see what the killer saw, think what the killer was thinking. She trusted him with her life and her love and she knew that he would never hurt her, but this frightened her. Because he hadn't told her. He'd tried to deny it. Could he not see it for himself? Again, she tried to determine the exact time of death. She didn't have much luck. Between two and four days ago, that was the best that she could do. Perhaps the results of the toxicology report would tell how long the drugging agent took to work and how it affected tissue. Perhaps that would give them a much- needed clue. How long did it take to freeze to death in water? That was something else she needed to consider. Did the killer kidnap and keep more than one person at a time? Was it some sort of assembly line approach to killing? One held hostage, one freezing, one being slashed in a sick attempt at art...It wasn't possible, was it? Was it any more possible or acceptable to take them one by one, and make the victim suffer in solitude? Dana was shaken by this, and by their lack of answers. She scribbled some notes to herself and finished up. She was exhausted by the time she put her clothes back one, but she knew she had to type up her notes at that moment, rather than waiting until later. Wearily, she made her way back to the office and turned on the computer. It was going to be a very long night. ----- Chloe let herself into her apartment as quietly as possible, fully aware of the late hour and the fact that her parents would be sleeping. She didn't want to wake them. They would just worry about her. They loved her and supported her, and part of that included worrying. She could accept that. She just didn't think she was up to facing them tonight. She was tired, and she knew this was going to be a very difficult case. They had barely even begun to work on it and clues were not easily coming to them. She heard a noise coming from the kitchen and reached for her gun, walking toward the room with silent steps, not turning on a light. Her heart was pounding. It could be anyone. Chloe hoped it was a simple burglar. Much easier to deal with. But she didn't want to deal with it at all... "Stay where you are," she said coldly, and flipped on the kitchen light. She found herself holding her gun on her father, who looked even more surprised than she felt. "Chloe," he said, watching her, not moving from his place in front of the refrigerator. "Can I offer you a sandwich?" There were two on the plate he held. "God, Dad, I'm sorry," she said, flicking on the safety and reholstering her gun. "I thought you were a housebreaker." "It's all right, Chloe. It's good to see you can protect yourself." Her father looked and sounded more shaken than his words conveyed. He put the plate down on the small table and sank into one of the chairs. "Sandwich?" he offered. She took it from him and lounged against the wall near the table. She couldn't believe she was starving in the middle of the night after coming from a crime scene, but she was. "Excellent," she said, still chewing her first bite. "How is the case?" her father asked. "Frustrating," she admitted. "We have hints and pieces but nothing so big as an entire clue to back up or disprove any of our theories. It's slow going." "But you'll find them eventually," her father said positively. "I hate to think what will happen if we don't." "Bad?" "Very bad." She took another bite. "There are so many twisted, psychotic people in the world, Dad. I had no idea before now." "There's no more evil in the world than there ever was," her father told her. "It just seems that way to you because you deal with these people every day. It's your job to find them and keep them from hurting the rest of us. It's an admirable duty, Chloe. But it's bound to affect your thinking. Try not to let it." "I have to be realistic, Dad." He gave her the look he'd always given her when she was a child, and he let her do things her way even though he knew she was wrong. She sighed. "And realistic is, you're right. There are good people in the world. I just wish I met more of them." For a moment she thought of Nick and she quickly pushed the thought away. "The people you work with are good people, aren't they? That young man who came by earlier?" "Mickey? Yeah, he's great. A little old-fashioned, but I'll break him of that eventually," she said with a smile. "Old fashioned how?" "He thinks a woman's place is in the home. And other related nonsense." "You know your mother still believes that in her heart." "I know. But she also knows that wouldn't make me happy." "All we want is to see you happy, baby." "I know, Dad." She smiled at her father and took his hand, squeezing it for a moment. "This is what I have to do." "Does it make you happy?" "There's nothing like the moment when the bad guy is behind bars and you know you put him there and he won't hurt anyone ever again," Chloe answered. "Well, that's a little simplistic, but -" "I know what you mean. I started my company to develop and make things that help people." "You don't still want me to take over the family business, do you, Dad?" Chloe asked, half joking. Her father chucked. "I don't think Richard would let you at this point." Richard was her father's protege and vice president of the company. "You don't still want me to marry Richard, do you, Dad?" Chloe was joking this time. But her father didn't deny it. "I know you've suffered a great loss with this New York business, Chloe, but it's time for you to move on with your life." She didn't say anything. "What about this partner of yours, this Mickey?" "He's my partner, Dad! You sound like Grandma." "What about the other people you work with?" "What about them?" Sensing his daughter's irritation at this turn in their conversation, he backed off. "Good people?" he asked gently. "Good people," she agreed. "Mulder is amazing. He's got so much to teach. I don't know how he does it. This work is his passion." Her father nodded. "And Dana, too." "Dana?" her father asked. "She was Mulder's partner. She still is. But she's his wife, as well." "How do you feel about that?" "What are you trying to say, Daddy? How should I feel about that? I love them both dearly, and I respect their work and their accomplishments as a team. And Mulder's...daughter..." She almost slipped and told him something she couldn't, not even her own father could know the truth behind that. "Is the most wonderful little girl in the world." "He has a daughter?" "Sammi's ten." "Sammi is Mulder's daughter?" He sounded surprised. Chloe had written to him about Sammi before. "I didn't tell you that?" "So he and Dana have been married for a while." "No, she's from...umm...before. Mulder and Dana have been married about a six months." "Newlyweds." "I guess," Chloe shrugged. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I need to get to bed. It's been a long day and I have to get up early tomorrow." "I'm sorry I kept you up," he said. "Your insomnia is no better?" she asked, placing her hand on his arm. "It doesn't bother me any more, Chloe. I just hate to disturb your mother." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Love you, Dad." "Sweet dreams, baby." Bed Springs III part six ----- It was almost dawn when Dana got home. She was exhausted, and she had to wonder if no sleep would be better than sleeping two hours and then having to get up. But she couldn't not go to bed. She had to take care of herself. Mulder was sprawled in the middle of their bed and she didn't turn on the light, not wanting to disturb him. She looked at him for a moment and saw the deep lines of a frown on his face, even as he slept. Then she moved away from the side of the bed to slip out of her clothes. Mulder began to mutter in his sleep. The bottom dropped out of Dana's stomach with unbidden fear. Not again, she thought. She couldn't take this, not tonight. The mutters grew into soft moans by the time she finished hanging up her suit. Reluctant to get into bed next to him, she stood and watched him. His eyes were moving behind closed eyelids, indicating REM sleep. He was dreaming. Another nightmare. She touched him, hoping to wake him. He threw her hand off, moving about restlessly in the dream. His muscles twitched with restrained movement. Dana took a deep breath and waited for the screams to begin. They didn't. After a moment, Mulder seemed to relax and no longer be fighting whatever had tormented his sleep the past few nights since he had been given this horrifying case. He murmured and the creases eased out of his skin. She touched his forehead and he didn't react. He was drenched in sweat with the intensity of the nightmare. But it seemed to be over now. Too exhausted to wonder or worry any longer, Dana got into bed next to him, not touching him. She curled up on her side and closed her eyes, feeling the pull of deep sleep the moment she put her head on the pillow. It felt so good to release everything into slumber. It would still be there, waiting for her in a few hours when it was morning, but for now, nothing felt more wonderful than her soft bed and the darkness and her body relaxed. The motion of the mattress as Mulder sat straight up in bed jostled her out of her newfound sleep and she'd just opened her eyes when he screamed for the first time. Her heart began to race and she sat up instantly. "It's all right, it's all right," she said, reaching for him. Mulder was sitting rigid in the bed, breathing hard, staring at the wall. He didn't react to her touch and for a moment she thought he was still in the dream. But his eyes were open. He was struggling not to scream again, even in wakefulness. "It was just a dream, you're safe now." Usually he went willingly into her arms. Even the past few nights, when he'd refused to tell her anything he'd seen or felt, he let her hold him for a brief few moments before he threw back the covers and got into his running shorts, scorning sleep and her desire to comfort him. But tonight he didn't acknowledge her at all. Because of their fight? she wondered. She'd be damned if she let herself cling to a man who didn't want her, she thought, moving away from her husband. She was angry. She knew she shouldn't be, because he couldn't help this. "It was different this time," he said, his voice flat in the darkness. "I thought you'd dreamed yourself out of it and would be able to sleep," she told him. "I saw you relax...but then you screamed." He flung the covers back and got out of bed, reaching for some clothes to put on. "Mulder, don't do this," she said. He ignored her, pulling the shorts up and turning his T shirt right side out before tugging it on over his head. "Why can't you talk to me? Why won't you even let me hold you, Mulder?" Still no answer. He finished tying his running shoes and practically ran for the door of the bedroom. "Get some sleep," he told her. "Mulder, talk to me," she said softly, feeling desperate. He paused at the door. "I love you." The words didn't come easily, and then he was gone. She burst into tears, unable to hold them back any longer. She fought them, but the sobs won. She pressed her face into the pillow so Samantha wouldn't hear through the wall and cried. She didn't even know why she was crying about it. Exhaustion. And like Mulder said, tonight had been different. He hadn't said, "I love you," any of the other nights. He hadn't run terrified from their bedroom any of the other nights. He hadn't woken with an erection any of the other nights. She didn't know what any of it meant or how to interpret his behavior. She wished that he would trust her with this and talk to her. It had something to do with the case - the nightmares and the running had begun when he took on this damned case - but until he told her, she wouldn't know what. Meanwhile, Mulder ran. He didn't know what else to do, how else to deal with the alien feelings and emotions that lingered over him when he woke from the nightmares. All he knew was he had to make those feelings go away. Tonight had been the worst. Tonight he'd seen the killing...he'd been the killer...and he'd liked it. God help him, he'd liked it. ----- Mickey arrived to the empty office a few minutes early and was surprised that none of his colleagues were there. He shrugged and opened the file, trying to come up with something that would help them solve this case quickly. The phone rang and he picked it up, thinking it would be Chloe pleading car trouble or something like that. Instead, he heard Assistant Director Skinner say, "Michael?" "Yes, sir?" Why did he feel like the principal had just called to ask him to step into his office? Mickey was already combing through everything he'd said and done in the last few days, trying to find the stupid thing he'd done now. Nothing came to mind. "I'd like to see you in my office, immediately. Can you comply with that request?" Skinner was really, really angry, Mickey thought. "I'll be right there, sir." What the hell had he done? He honestly had no clue. Every other time Skinner called him down to ream him, he'd had the notion in his mind that he might be in trouble. But he had no clue. And Skinner sounded furious. Skinner's assistant didn't look at Mickey when he walked into the outer office. That was a very bad sign. Sometimes she didn't say anything to him, when the hot water he was in was very deep, but she always looked at him. If it was a minor thing, sometimes she even gave him a commiserating look. It couldn't be easy being Skinner's assistant, after all. Mickey walked into Skinner's office. The Assistant Director didn't look at him. He didn't tell him to have a seat. That meant he wouldn't be there long, Mickey thought. How long did it take to say, "You're fired"? Mickey was really scared, because he didn't know what this was about. Oh my God, what if Chloe's dead? Or hurt or injured or taken hostage? Suddenly Mickey couldn't breathe. What if Skinner couldn't find the words to tell him? "What is it, sir?" he asked. Skinner tossed a newspaper down on the desk between them, facing so Mickey could read the headline. "SERIAL MURDERER DRAWING PICTURES IN BLOOD," proclaimed the headline. Below was one of the less-grisly photographs involved in their current case. Mickey could only stare at it. "This is bad, sir," he said. "It's very bad, Callavelo," sniped Skinner. "Maybe you should have a seat and read the story - although none of it will come as a surprise to you." Mickey shot him a look and wondered what exactly that meant, but sat down and began to read the article. "WASHINGTON, D.C. - Six people are dead. The only way the FBI could identify them was by their DNA. Today, a seventh murder has taken place. A body was discovered early this morning in a model home of the Wheeler Lakes subdivision. The cause of death and identity of the victim have yet to be released by the FBI. "This is the work of a very angry person, a serial killer," says Special Agent Michael Callavelo, who is part of the team assigned to catch the killer. "We've been working on this case more than two weeks without substantial leads. We only hope the killer won't strike again." As of yesterday, the FBI's investigation led them to question the owners of many local camera shops, hoping for a lead on the identity of a killer Callavelo describes as "an artist drawing pictures in blood." "Is any of this true, Callavelo?" Skinner demanded when Mickey looked up from the article, stunned. "I didn't say any of these things," Mickey told him. "I would never reveal information about a case -" "This information jeopardizes the investigation of these murders by this office," Skinner informed him. "It also has begun to create a public panic, which we are already struggling to put to rest. It also makes the FBI look incredibly foolish. Would you care to address any of this?" "I didn't say any of this," Mickey said again. "Why the hell would you go to the papers with this, Callavelo? What were you thinking?" "Nothing, sir -" "You admit that you weren't thinking?" Skinner's face was turning red with fury. "No, you aren't listening to me, sir. I didn't speak to the papers. I never gave them any information." Skinner stared at him as though he had begun to speak in Ancient Sanskrit. "Lying to me isn't going to help your situation, Callavelo. I think this is the time for honesty." "I am being honest, sir, I didn't do this. Did you call the paper -?" "The reporter who wrote the story confirms that her source was an FBI agent matching your description, with your badge, who insisted on being named and quoted. She had your badge number and your identification number. She called to confirm you were really an FBI agent before going to press with such an absurd story," Skinner told him. "I don't know what to say, sir. I didn't do this." Mickey felt chilled. This was bizarre. Mulder and Dana had hinted at cases they had investigated in the past where they had been undermined in similar ways. Mickey had thought it was the work of that cigarette smoking man who wanted to close the X Files. But that man was dead. Who would want to set him up this way? "It isn't as though you don't have a history of press incidents, Callavelo," Skinner said rather snottily. "I've learned my lesson, sir. I never intend to ever speak to a reporter or open my mouth in a public arena ever again," Mickey vowed. "I told you that when we resolved the matter with that school principal, and I meant it." "Well, you won't be getting another chance," Skinner told him. "Excuse me, sir?" Please don't let this happen, Mickey thought. But the look on Skinner's face told him it was too late, even for prayer. "You're suspended without pay, Agent Callavelo, until such time as this matter can be resolved. Please leave your badge and your weapon with Kimberly on your way out." Mickey was too stunned to move, and Skinner looked at him. "Unless you have something rational to say on your own behalf?" "I'll find the person who set me up," Mickey said quietly. "Good luck," said Skinner, quite sarcastically. With slumped shoulders and leaden feet, Mickey left the Assistant Director's office and stopped at Kimberly's desk. He put his badge down and then emptied the clip in his weapon before handing it to her. She didn't say anything, just held up one finger while she called for a guard to escort him out of the building. Mickey was too crushed and confused to say or do anything. He found himself standing outside of the FBI building in a light rain, not knowing where to go. After a moment, he turned from staring forlornly at the doors, now closed to him, and went to get some coffee. Then maybe he would be able to think about this. ----- Chloe was very aware of the tension in the office the next morning. She was fine-tuning her work of the day before on community college enrollment lists and searching other databases when Mulder arrived with a distracted, gruff, "Hello." He went immediately to his desk and began scratching on a piece of paper with a pen. Chloe waited for Dana to appear, but she didn't. Dana arrived almost an hour later and walked directly over to Mulder's desk. Chloe couldn't help looking up from her work and watching them. The Mulders didn't usually come to work separately. Something was wrong. She bit her lip and looked down, trying to give them privacy. But they didn't need privacy. "I completed my autopsy notes and put them into the case folder last night," Dana said, very businesslike. "I held the body for you because I thought you'd like to photograph it the way you did the others." Had they not even spoken the night before? Chloe wondered. They lived together. Something was wrong. She glanced up and saw that Mulder's face had turned white at Dana's words. "Thank you," he said gruffly, rising from his desk and rooting around for where he'd left his camera. The Polaroid was on the highest shelf that ran around the top of the office, close to the ceiling because it was sitting on a stack of books and papers. "It's right there," said Dana. "Where?" Mulder said. "There." She pointed to a spot high above her head. Mulder reached up and swooped the camera down. Then he started for the door. "Would you like some company?" Dana asked her husband in a tone of voice Chloe didn't think she'd ever heard before. "No," Mulder said. "Mulder," Chloe said, catching his sleeve as he brushed past her on his way out of the room. "Do you know where Mickey is?" Mulder's eyes focused on her and some of the tension faded from around his jaw. "No. Why?" "I haven't seen him yet today, have you?" Mulder shook his head. "You tried his home number?" "And his cell phone. No answer. You don't think anything's...happened to him, do you?" Mulder patted Chloe's shoulder. "He'll turn up. Maybe his informant's come up with a lead." "Purity?" Chloe snorted. "She's probably drugged him and hit him over the head. I'll start calling the hospitals." She reached for the phone, perfectly serious. "Let me know when you find him," Mulder said. "Will do, Chief," said Chloe with a smile. Mulder walked out of the office and Chloe sat back in her chair to begin calling around, trying to find Mickey. If Purity was involved, then she did have real reason to be worrying about him. She forgot the number she was dialing when she saw the look on Dana's face. The other woman was watching her with almost a glare, her eyes looking almost catlike with jealousy. Chloe looked away, certain she must be misinterpreting, but still it made her uncomfortable. "He's not in any of the hospitals," Chloe said aloud, addressed to herself and to Dana, when she'd finished calling. "Try his home number again," Dana suggested coolly. "Are you all right?" Chloe asked, looking at the other woman. "I'm fine," Dana said, "Why are you asking?" "You and Mulder both seem...tense. And I know something about this case disturbs you. I was wondering if you were having problems," Chloe said as delicately as she could manage. "It's a very stressful case," Dana said noncommittally. "Well, you know that if you ever need someone to confide in..." Suddenly Chloe felt very uncomfortable even saying the words. Of course Dana knew already. She nodded. "I'm worried about Mickey." "I'm sure he's fine. He can take care of himself." "I hope so." Chloe dialed Mickey's number again and listened to it ring as Mulder reentered the room. Instantly tension flared again. "Find him?" asked Mulder. Chloe shook her head. "Get the shot?" Dana asked. Mulder nodded, tossing the instant photo down on the desktop. It was only half-developed. "That didn't take long," Dana said. Mulder shrugged, standing idly by the desk and shifting the photo into its place in the puzzle formed by the pictures of the other victims. He set the camera down on the desk to do so and Dana picked it up and looked at it. "You only used one shot," she said. Mulder looked up at her, meeting her eyes. Then, almost as though he realized he'd been caught, his look turned nonchalant and his eyes slid away. "You knew exactly what you were looking for," Dana said, still waiting for a response. She received none. "How did you know?" "I just knew," Mulder informed her, moving away. Chloe watched him, amazed, and then got up to look at how this picture fit into the greater whole. It was chilling, the way the lines and details met up. They were beginning to get the line of a nose, she thought. "Any idea when we'll have the toxicology on the latest victim?" Mulder asked Dana. "It will be a few days," she said woodenly. "That was good thinking," he told her. "Thanks. It's my job." "Were you able to determine the time of death? Do we know how long it is between when he kills and take the next victim?" Chloe asked. "The victim had been dead between two and four days. I can't pin it down any closer than that. And I don't know how long it takes for the victim to die. The killer may have taken the next one before he killed this one." "No," said Mulder. Dana looked at him, surprised at his conviction. "It doesn't fit with the profile," he added, striving to sound more casual. "Where did you get that profile from, Mulder? It's just hearsay at this point, isn't it, with no evidence to back it up?" Dana asked. Mulder shrugged, shooting his wife a look full of darkness. "I think Mulder's track record with profiling is evidence in its own way," Chloe contributed. Instantly, she regretted speaking up. Dana gave her an odd look and got up. "Please excuse me," she said, and left the room. "What's going on here, Mulder?" Chloe asked. "We're working on a case." "Mickey's missing and you and Dana are both acting strangely," she pointed out. "That..." He began to say it had nothing to do with the case, but he couldn't. "Um, that's personal. It won't affect the case." "Go talk to her," Chloe suggested. "She went to the bathroom," Mulder said. "I can't help feeling that she's upset." "She's fine," Mulder said. Chloe opened her mouth to continue, but then her cell phone rang. "Chloe Grant," she answered it. "You what?!?" she cried a moment later. Mulder sat forward and frowned. "What is it?" he whispered. "It's Mickey," Chloe answered, just as Dana walked back into the room. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly & Char Hall part seven "He's been suspended," said Chloe. "What?" cried Mulder and Dana at the same time, both of them taking a step towards her. "Mickey's been suspended," Chloe repeated. "Let me talk to him," Mulder demanded, sounding angry. "No," Dana said quietly. "Let me." Her manner surprised them so much that when she put out her hand, Chloe handed her the phone. "Mickey, this is Dana. What's happened?" she asked him gently. "I've - ah - been suspended," Mickey admitted, and he sounded embarrassed. "By Skinner?" Dana asked. "He called me in this morning. It doesn't make any sense, but I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I have to." "Bottom of what?" "That story - I didn't talk to anyone. I know better than that. I was trying really hard, and I knew it would...I didn't talk to anyone. You have to believe me about that." "What story?" Dana asked, pressing. Mickey wasn't making any sense, and he didn't seem to be listening to her. He sounded agitated. Worried. She'd been suspended before, and she understood that, but he was talking as though he thought he had been framed for something. That hadn't happened in some time. Not since their "friend" had passed away. She'd shot him, and for a moment, that all came flooding back. She glanced over at Mulder and he looked at her expectantly. "Mickey, what story?" "In the paper. I have to go." "Mickey, where are you?" she asked, desperately. "I have to go," he said again and the line went dead in her hand. "Well," said Dana, handing the phone back to Chloe, but she was looking at Mulder. "You've trained him well." "What does that mean?" asked Mulder, a bit defensively. "He wouldn't tell me where he is. He sounded as though he thought he'd been framed for something, but he wouldn't say what. Something about a story - not talking to someone - I don't know." She sighed. "He did say Skinner had suspended him, however." "You should have let me talk to him," said Mulder. Dana just looked at him. "He's not answering," said Chloe, who had immediately tried to call Mickey's cellular phone. She looked worried. "I'm going to see Skinner," said Mulder, and before either of them could say anything, he walked out of the office. Dana watched him go, thinking that in his present state of mind, he could very possibly make things worse. He was tired and agitated and not thinking clearly. But she knew he wouldn't listen to her. Dana looked down and saw Chloe looking at her. "It will be all right," she told the younger agent, and even managed to smile. "Dana, I wish he would talk to me about these things," Chloe admitted. When Dana didn't answer after a moment, she returned to her paperwork on local art students, even though she had the notion it was going to be futile. However, two of the things they taught at the Academy were research and perseverance, so she kept looking. One of the things they didn't teach was that you took leads where you could find them. Dana didn't answer because for the longest moment, she thought Chloe had been talking about Mulder. The anger she felt, and the relief at realizing Chloe was referring to her own partner and not Dana's husband, disturbed her greatly. ----- Mulder burst into Assistant Director Skinner's office unannounced, trailed by Skinner's secretary. It had happened before and Skinner was used to the chaos. He merely raised his eyes from the report he had been scanning at his desk and took in the situation calmly. His assistant closed the door, leaving the two men. "Agent Mulder. I was just looking for you. Please sit down." "Is this regarding my suspended agent, sir?" Mulder asked, angry, refusing to sit down. "Why wasn't I informed of this?" "I said I was looking for you, Agent Mulder." "You had no right to suspend my agent without -" "I had every right!" Skinner roared, proving his voice could be loud enough to drown out Mulder's protests. Mulder stopped speaking and looked at his superior. "Have you seen the paper today, Mulder?" His eyes burned into the other agent, demanding a reply. The paper? Mulder cringed. Mickey had promised him he was never going to say another word. That school principal incident had only been a few days ago, and Mulder knew how furious Skinner and the rest of the establishment had been over that. Another offense coming so soon... "No, sir." "Have you had to deal with requests from news agencies all morning demanding information about the crazed killer walking the streets of this nation's capital because the FBI is too inept to apprehend them?" Skinner demanded, his voice lower and more controlled but no less angry. In fact, his control only made him more threatening. "He talked about the case?" Mulder asked, taken aback. He was supremely disappointed. He had thought much better of Mickey. He sank down in one of the chairs across from Skinner's desk, ready to listen and even ready to accept advice. Mulder had never managed other agents before. Obviously he was doing a bang-up job so far. Skinner tossed a folded edition of the paper at him and Mulder opened it. He read it slowly. Then he put the paper back on Skinner's desk and said, "Agent Callavelo couldn't have said those things." "Why not, Agent Mulder?" Skinner was not amused. "He wouldn't have said them. He mentioned to Dana something about being set up -" "He said the same to me, Mulder. I assumed his conspiracy defense was something he'd gotten from you." Skinner stared him down. Mulder did not flinch or look away, but met his boss's gaze head on. "You know as well as I do that there are certain forces at work." "To the best of my knowledge, Agent Mulder, those sources have been removed." Their battle of wills persisted another minute, and then Skinner relented. "I couldn't reinstate Mickey even if I wanted to. You know that." Mulder nodded grimly. "But that isn't why I was looking for you." "It's not?" There couldn't possibly be more, Mulder thought, feeling something very like dread as he waited for the next pronouncement from the Assistant Director. "There's been another murder," said Skinner. "A very public one. That's another reason we need serious press control, right now. I'd like to be able to tell the media that we have a suspect for this, Mulder, preferably a suspect in custody." It wasn't a very subtle hint. Mulder wanted to say it would be difficult now that he had lost a member of his team temporarily, but he couldn't make excuses. He also didn't want to open the door for Skinner to assign another agent to the X Files. "I'll see what I can do," he promised, and rose to leave. "And Mulder?" Skinner stopped him before he reached the door. "Be careful." ----- "But I've never seen you before!" Mickey cried, standing in the middle of the press room of the newspaper, surrounded by reporters who he was aware were hungry for their next story. The reporter he was speaking to, a woman named Kelsy Rogers, was looking at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Look, Mr. Callavelo, I'm very sorry that you got in trouble. But presumably you knew the risks before you ever spoke to me." Her eyes were flat and emotionless. "But I never spoke to you!" cried Mickey. "Let me remind you that you are the one who contacted me," Ms. Rogers informed him coolly. "Now if that's all..." she said, turning back to her desk. "That isn't all," Mickey informed her. "Who do you answer to?" She had returned to her computer terminal and didn't even look up when he addressed her. "I said, Who do you answer to?" he demanded again, jerking her computer monitor towards him, trying to capture her attention. "Please leave," said Ms. Rogers. "Before I call building security and have you arrested. That would make quite the story, wouldn't it?" she suggested coldly. "If I spoke to you yesterday, you must have some kind of proof." Mickey didn't like how desperate he felt. His palms were sweating and his heart had been racing ever since he had been summoned to Skinner's office early that morning. They couldn't take this away from him. This was his career and he had worked too hard to just let it slip through his fingers. There had been a message waiting for him on his answering machine at home informing him of an Office of Professional Conduct investigation. They were having a hearing the next day. He knew what that meant. They wanted his badge, and they didn't care how. He realized the article had been bad, but he also hadn't said those things. "Isn't proof your department?" Ms. Rogers asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow tauntingly at him. She had blue eyes and very dark auburn hair that had escaped her ponytail in wild curls around her face. She would be attractive, he thought, if she wasn't so unfriendly. "Notes, tapes, calendar, anything. I know I didn't speak to you yesterday." "I say that you did." "Look. This is evidence and it's needed for an FBI investigation," he began, trying another tactic. Even if she didn't respect him, she ought to respect the FBI. "I thought you said you weren't an agent any more." "I'm suspended, and this information about this interview that never happened is needed for my review." "I say it happened." "Then prove it." Mickey watched her, daring her to give him the information. He thought he'd won the battle when she picked up the phone. It turned out he was wrong - very wrong - on that score. "This is Kelsy Rogers. Please send someone to my office immediately. I am being harassed." She hung up the phone and smirked at him. Mickey turned around to get out of there before the newspaper's security guards could apprehend him, but they were only three feet away. They were fast. "Have a nice day," Ms. Rogers called breezily after him, as the guards escorted him off the floor. She above all people should have known his bad day was only about to become worse. ----- "It can't be related to this case," Mulder said down in their basement office a few minutes later. "We just found another victim yesterday - this morning! This killer takes six days between victims. There has to be a mistake." Dana bit her tongue on a sharp retort. There could be no mistaking this killer's mode of operation, the violence, the injuries to the victims. Mulder was just so stuck on his theory that he couldn't see it. "We won't know for sure until we check it out," Chloe said supportively. She grabbed a notebook and her jacket from the back of the chair and got up to leave. "What are you waiting for?" she asked them, looking from Dana to Mulder. Her eyes settled on Mulder. "Do you want your camera?" she asked. He took it from her without a word, his lips pressed tightly together in a line. That was when Dana realized what was really bothering him. He hadn't seen this murder in a dream, the way he had the others. The realization only bothered her more. There was no mistake when they reached the crime scene. The police were barely able to contain the evidence and keep the crowds back to leave the corpse undisturbed. Yellow tape had been set up around a perimeter, and a large, angry mob had gathered, including a few reporters, but mostly it was composed of frightened citizens who had read of the FBI's incompetence over their morning coffee. All sorts of things were yelled at the three agents as they passed under the police barriers and approached the victim. Blood stained the sidewalk. Dana immediately motioned for everyone who was working around the body to step back, but the puddle was too large and had already been compromised. This body looked different from the others involved in the case. It was beginning to decay already, and flies had gathered to alight on both the body and the blood. The coroner and crime scene photographer were hovering. The differences weren't enough to set this body apart from the others already discovered in the case. The method had been the same - ripping and tearing at the flesh to form lines and patterns in what was left. Looking at the body, it was impossible to tell what had been in the killer's mind. Except anger. The others had been butchered precisely. This one appeared to have been done in anger. With passion. Mulder walked up to the body and stared at it. Dana didn't bother to yell at him for tracking through the blood. It had already been disturbed, and would be disturbed again to attend to the body. The city would have to replace these sidewalk tiles. They would be irreparable. After a moment, Mulder raised the Polaroid camera to his eye and took one photograph. He didn't appear to have studied or calculated the angle at all, but they all knew that it would be the correct one. He stuck the picture in his pocket and looked up. Chloe reached out to him and he stared at her, his eyes looking unfocused and blank as though he was lost to the world of his own thoughts. She wiggled her fingers and he finally figured it out - she was requesting the camera from him. He handed it over and watched as she pointed it into the gathered crowd. She finished the package of instant film before tucking the camera under her arm. "Hope you didn't need any more pictures," she said to Mulder, tucking the still-developing photos she had taken into the pocket of her jacket. He shook his head. "I thought as much," she said. "How do you know?" Her voice betrayed her amazement and her admiration. He just shook his head again. "Bag 'em," Dana said, her voice hard and even as she spoke to the coroner's men, who immediately moved in with the heavy black bag they had been waiting with. The action surrounding this homicide had come to a stop waiting for them to arrive to make their own judgments of the scene. Dana then moved to join Chloe and Mulder. "I tried to get in touch with Mickey," she said, stuffing her cell phone back into her pocket. "No answer." "What are you thinking?" Mulder asked, his eyes not leaving his wife's. Chloe watched the two of them working together in perfect synchrony. There was still the faintest hint of the tension that had flowed between them before they had been called out to this murder scene, but most of it had disappeared in the face of their work. They were an amazing team. What if Mickey isn't allowed to come back? Chloe thought suddenly. It would be terrible for him, and it would be a shame for the FBI to lose someone as good as he was, someone who tried as hard. She didn't want another partner, she realized. That was probably wrong, as she knew agents were paired with many different partners and teams throughout the course of their careers, but she couldn't imagine working with anyone but Mickey and Mulder and Dana. Already they were feeling Mickey's absence. He would have had ideas about this, she thought. "This was done in anger," Dana told her husband. "The wounds are the same, but the way they were inflicted is very different from the others. The force, to begin with. There is less precision. And this victim wasn't frozen." "It was a rush job," agreed Mulder, and Dana nodded. "They want attention," said Chloe. "You said they wanted to go down in history. There hasn't been any press on this case up until now, and they were probably beginning to feel very frustrated about that. That's why it was done here in the open." "It can't have been easy to pull this off here without anyone noticing," Dana added. "Okay, we need witnesses," ordered Mulder, making a list of things that had to be done. "We need an autopsy. We need a thorough search of the area for any trace evidence that has been left behind. I think this is the one where we're going to get lucky, people." There was excitement in his voice, and it made Dana stand there and look at him even after Chloe had walked away to ask the police officers who had been the first to discover the body and other questions about the scene. Mulder noticed her watching him. "What?" he asked. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she asked. "We're going to solve the case," he told her, still unable to disguise the note of enthusiasm. She had seen him excited over cases before, but this was different in some way she couldn't quite put her finger on. Some way that made her feel slightly ill. She just looked at him and walked away, shaking her head. After all, there was an autopsy to perform. He hadn't even spoken to her about it. A sharp order and the expectation she would do it. That instant. And he didn't call out after her. "Who discovered the victim?" Chloe asked one of the uniformed officers standing near the perimeter. "One of ours." "One a call?" "No, walking the beat." "What time was this?" she asked. "About...two hours ago," he answered. She nodded and noted it in her book. "Was the crowd already gathered at that time?" "No." "When did they come? Later, but how much later?" "When the equipment began to arrive," he answered. "You know how it is." Chloe nodded. It seemed strange to her that a policeman had discovered the body, given how public a place the murder had occurred in. Unless the murder had been performed only moments before the policeman happened by. On his regular route, perhaps...? That would suggest a higher degree of premeditation than she was expecting, but it wasn't impossible, she supposed. "Let me ask you," she began, pulling the photographs of the crowd she'd taken out of her pocket. "Do you recognize any of these people as being the first to arrive after your crews did?" Often, criminals remained nearby to experience first hand the chaos their acts wrought - it added to the act for them. Taking photographs of the crowd at the crime scene could sometimes provide solid leads and documentation. The officer shook his head after examining them all and handed them back to her. "I don't know, to tell the truth," he answered. "I had my job to do." "Yes sir," she responded. "Thank you for your time. And if you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call me." She handed him her FBI business card and shot him a smile. He paused with the card in his hand. "Is it true," he asked when she'd taken a couple of steps away. She stopped and looked at him and he appeared to be embarrassed by what he was about to ask her. "Is it true you-all don't have any clue as to what you're doing with this case?" "Where did you get that idea?" she demanded, approaching him again. "From the paper. This morning. Some one of your own was quoted saying stay indoors cause there's a crazed killer on the loose and you don't know where to start. And I'd say this was the work of a crazed killer." The officer shrugged apologetically. "Guess it isn't any of my business." Casually, he dropped her card on the ground and walked away. Chloe watched it as it absorbed the victim's blood until the stiff white paper was saturated with it and she couldn't bring herself to retrieve it. There had been an article in the paper. Mickey. Would he really say something so careless to the press? Would he never learn? she asked herself. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt that he thought he had been doing the right thing at the time. A newspaper article also messed up her theory on the killer wanting attention. Unless the they hadn't seen the paper that day yet. Or perhaps she was entirely wrong, and the killer had been angered by the media attention. Could she really be so wrong? Could the killer really be so perverse? It disturbed her, and she decided to move on. She had to find a piece of concrete evidence. And she had to find it immediately. With the killer no longer on a timetable, the clock was ticking faster and faster. She didn't want it to run out for anyone else. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly and Char Hall part eight ----- She was tired, Dana realized, as she stood under the harsh bluish white lights in the autopsy room, facing yet another dead body. She hadn't slept much or well after Mulder had left their bed early that morning. She'd lain there and tried to put it all out of her head, but she couldn't. She knew she was right to be worried about him, but it didn't feel right. She hated worry and so did Mulder. She hated the way things were between them right now, but she didn't know how to remedy it. So she turned her attention to the task at hand. It was difficult to know where to begin. The procedures for a forensic autopsy were straightforward; however, when the body had been used for such a display, it was hard to ignore that and get straight to the cutting. They were less interested in how this person died - she would stake money that it had been massive blood loss - than why they had died. She began to examine the torn folds of skin. There was more detail than in the other corpses, which had been practically pristine next to this one due to their condition. She began to rinse away the blood, letting it pool against one edge of the table. The skin looked jagged, as though it had been cut with a knife that was sharp, but maybe not quite sharp enough. Dulled by all the killing? she asked herself. This victim had been killed quickly. The killer hadn't taken any time to consider the art they were creating - they had known already which strokes they wanted where. That suggested ultimate planning of this crime. Perhaps they hadn't intended this particular victim at this time - that had been selected in anger - but they had known which cuts were to be performed on their next body. The first cut had been to the throat. That explained the large pool of blood, and also the lack of noise that was necessary for the murder to have occurred in such a public place. The victim had been killed instantly, and the cut went deep. This - man? - wouldn't have been able to scream even if he had tried to. Slashed from behind, by a right handed person about the same height as the victim. Mulder thought the killer was a woman, Dana knew. This made her wonder if that was possible. Judging from this victim, the killer was probably about five foot ten. Women could certainly be that height - after all, Chloe was close to six feet - but Dana wasn't certain the average, run of the mill woman had the strength to do this to a heavily built man. Then again, the average, run of the mill woman probably wouldn't want to do this to anyone. She began to sift through the blood she had rinsed from the body, which was pooling. There were slivers of metal - pieces from the knife, she thought. She picked them up on a piece of gauze and put them into an evidence bag. She believed the murder weapon to be some sort of an X-acto blade, in which case it would be difficult to match the metal to any one mass-produced knife, but it was evidence. Next she examined under the corpse's fingernails, to see if he had put up a struggle. They were lucky - he had scratched the killer before having his throat slit. Perhaps it was his dying gesture. Thoughts like that didn't usually chill her, but this case was having an unusual effect on her. They had both a tiny amount of skin and clothing fibers. Those could be extremely useful. The rest of the autopsy was routinely performed, and went quickly. Dana was feeling worn from standing on her feet for several hours when she finally peeled off her gory clothes and walked into the shower cubicle. At least she had something to tell them. They were that much closer to catching the killer. That was all that mattered to her at this point. When this case would be over. ----- "How are you doing with that?" At the sound of Mulder's voice cutting through the silence of their office, Chloe raised her head. He was twirling a pencil between his fingers and his attention was focused on the ceiling tiles. His eyes came down for a moment to meet hers. "It's slow," she replied. "How are you doing with that?" She couldn't keep the note of humor out of her voice. Mulder had been staring at the ceiling for quite some time now. She knew he was lost in thought, but she couldn't help teasing him about it. He shrugged, and she lay down her pencil. "No, seriously," she said, leaning over the desk towards him. "What are you thinking? I'm interested. You know I want to learn everything that I can." "You're asking about my methods?" he asked, sounding amused himself. "I'm guessing the key isn't in the pencil," Chloe offered. He shook his head in answer to her question. "I don't know that I have a method, Chloe. I don't want to disappoint you with it, but it's true. I let my mind go, and things come to me." "And they're right?" she asked, already knowing that they were usually right. He nodded. He didn't look happy about the fact that he just knew things. She imagined it made them difficult to prove in court, to begin with. "I keep getting hung up on this press thing," he admitted. "Do you really think Mickey said those things?" Chloe had slipped downstairs for a newspaper to read for herself. She'd been shocked. Mickey knew better, and beyond that, she couldn't imagine him saying those things about the case. It was true they didn't have much to go on, but they weren't pessimistic. If an investigator believed the case wouldn't get solved, that made it more likely it wouldn't. With an active serial killer, it was only a matter of time until a mistake was made. They hoped this sidewalk murder was the mistake. She'd been trying to call him, but there was still no answer. "I don't know," Mulder admitted. "He had made these mistakes in the past." "But he told you it would never happen again," Chloe said. They all made errors in judgment sometimes. She wouldn't want to be judged by her errors for the rest of her life, and she didn't think it was fair to judge Mickey either. "That's right," responded Mulder. She couldn't read how he really felt about this on his face or in his voice. She could tell it disturbed him, but she didn't know if he believed Mickey was innocent or not. "He told Dana he was set up. I don't know why anyone would do that, but it's possible. It's happened before." Another allusion to the X Files before she and Mickey arrived on the scene. She'd read all of the case files voraciously when she'd first been assigned, trying to understand not only the nature of her work, but the two dynamic personalities involved. But not everything was spelled out in those official reports and case files. She knew things had happened and she suspected they had been horrible. She also knew she would never understand the full extent of that, or what it had been like for them as agents and as people facing the pressures they had faced. Dana and Mulder were very strong people, and excellent agents. She admired them both. "Those aren't the kinds of comments Mickey usually makes," Chloe pointed out. "He's more prone to giving his idea of the way things should have been done, if anything. That was what got him into trouble with the Attorney General, and with that principal the other day. He doesn't think before he speaks. This was...more deliberate. He had his own ideas of where to go with this case. I can't help thinking that if he'd spoken to the press, he would have told them that." "Chloe, I have some advice for you," Mulder said and she looked at him, waiting. "Never profile your own partner." She frowned at him, uncertain as to whether he'd been joking or not, and he walked out of the room. He brushed past Dana on his way out without stopping or saying a word to her. "Where's he going?" Dana asked Chloe, "Did you come up with something?" Chloe shook her head, still feeling confused. She felt faintly that Mulder had insulted her when he said that, but she didn't know why. Or was it a reference to himself and Dana...at some point...? She had no idea. "What's going on?" Dana asked, watching Chloe carefully and waiting for some sort of an answer. "We were talking about Mickey." Dana nodded. "I hope he'll be able to prove he didn't say those things, or at least come up with some sort of logical reason why he did." "Why do you say that?" Chloe asked. "He's been called into a Professional Conduct meeting tomorrow at ten a.m." Dana sounded grim. "Tomorrow?" Chloe cried. "That fast?" Dana simply nodded. "They're trying to run him out of the Bureau for this, without a fair shot!" Dana nodded again. "Why would they do that?" "I don't know, Chloe. Mickey does have a record of this kind of thing, and maybe they're tired of it." "He didn't do it this time, Dana," Chloe said fervently, ready to defend her partner to the ends of the earth. She didn't want to lose him. That realization startled her. Maybe eight months of working together was long enough. Chloe jumped up from her chair, ready to go off and do battle. "He's going to have to settle this on his own," Dana told her gently, stopping her progress toward the door. "What do you mean?" Chloe demanded. "We still have a case to solve. This is Mickey's problem and he will have to handle it without us," Dana said carefully and slowly, choosing her words. "How can you just say that?" Chloe cried. "Don't you even care -?" "I do care," Dana admitted. "I care a lot." "You would do it for Mulder," Chloe accused. Dana bit her lip and found herself unable to meet the other woman's eyes for a second. "I would want to do everything in my power to protect and defend him, yes," she told Chloe. "But?" Chloe asked, knowing there was more Dana wasn't saying. "But I would also have faith that Mulder could manage to solve it on his own," she finished. "You would just stand by and wait? And let them hang him for something he didn't do?" Chloe asked. Her voice was rising, and Dana could see that she was upset. Chloe couldn't believe she was hearing this from the woman she admired so much. Dana and Mulder had the perfect partnership, she thought. They were always there for each other, they always backed each other up. Was Dana only saying these things because of the weird tension they'd been experiencing lately? Or did she really mean it? Chloe just looked at her, feeling worked up. "It's about trust, Chloe. And belief in your partner's abilities. I know you feel it's your duty to protect Mickey -" Dana stopped. Chloe was giving her that stubborn look of hers, as though she was as immovable as a rock. "It's very difficult." "You went to jail to protect Mulder." Dana looked at her, surprised that Chloe knew about her little stint in prison for contempt of Congress. "Yes. I did. Because that was what I had to do. That was my duty, not running off to try to find him or find evidence to clear him. Right now, you owe this case your attention. Mickey can solve this himself." "And if he doesn't?" Dana took a deep breath. She didn't want Mickey to be kicked out of the Bureau so unceremoniously. She hated it. She'd been called to the hearing to take place the next morning, and she assumed Mulder had also. Chloe would also be called, she thought, and that meant Chloe had to calm down and look at things more clearly. "Then you'll have a new partner." She could see that she'd voiced words Chloe hadn't wanted to hear aloud. "I don't want that to happen. Which is why you have to fight for him, but you can't fight his battle for him. Do you understand the difference?" Chloe nodded, but Dana could see that she was still upset. "You would do it for Mulder, though, wouldn't you?" Chloe asked finally, in a subdued voice, but her eyes were bright with her ever- present curiosity. "Forget the case and help him?" Dana nodded silently. Then she met Chloe's eyes. "Mulder isn't just my partner. He's my husband," she said quietly. "I love him. That's why I've done so many of the things I have done regarding him in my career. I don't think that's the case with you and Mickey." Chloe nodded and looked away, letting their disagreement die away. "What did you learn in the autopsy?" she asked finally. "I found some trace evidence. Skin and fiber. We need to have them analyzed." Dana produced the small bags and held them up. "Great. Let's do it," Chloe said, taking one of the bags from her and starting for the labs up on the second floor. "Chloe," Dana said, stopping her for just a moment longer. Chloe paused. "It is going to be all right." Chloe nodded. "I know." And then she took off with hopes of cracking the case wide open. ----- When the security guards finally released him quite some time later, Mickey found himself walking the streets, trying to think. He was going to have to explain himself to the Office of Professional Conduct tomorrow, to save his job. And if he couldn't prove he hadn't said those things, he was going to need a damn good excuse for having said them. Too bad his mind was completely blank. Why would anyone do this to him? It didn't make any sense. He didn't have any enemies that he could think of, and if someone had wanted to do him serious harm, there were a hundred other ways to do it. Guns, knives, explosions...whoever had done this didn't want him dead. They wanted him ruined. Driven out of the FBI. And it looked at this moment as though they were going to succeed. It had to be someone who knew him well enough to know he was always opening his mouth to stick his foot into it. Someone who was aware of his record. That meant it had to be someone close to him, or someone with access to his personnel file - which had to be fairly thick with reprimands, and a few commendations. He didn't know who that could be, or even what he would do with the information if he did know. Confronting the reporter had only gotten him hassled by security guards and no real information. "Hey." A female voice spoke by his side as he watched a pair of small black boots fall into step with him. Mickey stopped walking and faced his new friend. Her eyes were shining and she was smiling at him. "Purity, what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. Her grin widened maddeningly. "I told you the symphony was in town." She began to walk again, obviously expecting him to join her. Instead he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at him indignantly, but he didn't let her go, even knowing he had been perhaps too rough. He realized he was looking at the one person who even if she didn't know him very well, had access to all sorts of things. He'd caught her with his personnel file once. She could very well have planted the story. "Did you set me up?" he demanded. Her eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "Did you set me up?" he said again, shouting at her. Then he realized he was gathering the attention of passersby, and he didn't want any of them to intervene. "Let's talk about this somewhere else." "Let go of my arm," Purity ordered. He didn't, and dragged her over to a park bench underneath a tree. She didn't sit down and neither did he, they simply stood there glaring at one another. "What are you talking about, set you up for what?" Purity asked again. "The story in the newspaper." "What newspaper?" Purity asked. Mickey looked at her. She sounded like she didn't know what he was talking about. Was that possible? He didn't know anything about her, and her motives had always been murky, but in spite of the muggings and the druggings, she had usually seemed to be helping him. "You're hurting my arm," she said, bending her head to look at it, sending a wave of silky dark hair cascading against his hand. "I'm sorry," Mickey said genuinely, releasing her arm. She didn't run away. He watched her rub the spot where he had grabbed her and felt guilty. "Why are you here?" "I wanted to catch up with an old friend," she said innocently. "Is that why you sent me to Schoenberg and Shine?" he asked. "That was a coincidence! A happy one." This time she was lying. And if he could tell when she was lying, he thought, that meant she was telling the truth about the newspaper...didn't it? Purity confused the hell out of him. He suspected that was her goal. "Yeah, right," he said. "Why don't we go get some coffee and have a chat?" she asked, and he could tell there was something she wanted to tell him. He hesitated a moment, and then decided that anything she had to say to him was probably worth listening to. The FBI - assuming he was still an agent after tomorrow - was always encouraging its agents to build relationships with informants, weren't they? And Purity seemed to know things. "Okay. Coffee," he said. "Great, let's go." She slid her arm through his, and they set off walking together. There was a Starbucks only a block over, and he purchased both of their beverages and they settled in at one of its cozy little tables. There weren't any other patrons in the restaurant, and he was certain the employees at the counter wouldn't be able to hear their conversation over the din of the coffee making machines. "What did you want to talk about?" "How is Samantha?" she asked. He saw real concern on her face for the girl, and that surprised him. "She's great," Mickey answered, and he couldn't help smiling. He had a large, soft place in his heart reserved exclusively for young Samantha Mulder. "She's a great kid. She's settled in with Dana and Mulder, going to school and getting straight A's, amazing everyone. She's going to grow up so beautiful and so smart. She says she wants to be a lawyer, but Mulder's trying to talk her out of it. I don't know - she argues pretty good, even now." Purity was smiling at him warmly and he smiled back. He opened his mouth to say she should visit sometime, but he stopped, thinking that he shouldn't. He didn't really know this woman, easy as it was to forget that fact. He didn't know her motives. It had seemed she'd helped Samantha in New York, but she could have just as easily been involved in harming the girl. "And your partner - Charly? - how is she?" "You know her name is Chloe," Mickey said, feeling a little testy at her ploy. "Chloe is fine. So are Dana and Mulder." The silence between them grew awkward. "How is the symphony?" "Same old, same old," replied Purity. "You know how it is. It's a job." Mickey nodded. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about specifically?" Purity shook her head. "What's wrong with wanting to talk to an old friend?" "I'm not certain we ever were friends," Mickey stated. She looked hurt. "We could have been much better friends," she offered, placing her hand over his on the tabletop. It was warm from holding her coffee cup. "Maybe we still could," Mickey said, leading her, not moving his hand. He would play her game and see what it got him. "Do you think so?" she asked. "Tell me about the case you're working on." "No." "You are working on a case, though?" "Not at the moment, actually, I've been suspended," Mickey replied. "For what?" Purity looked surprised. "I thought you were the model agent." "Hardly," he said, self-depreciatingly. "But this time it's different. It's weird. It isn't my fault." "Isn't that what everyone says when something happens that they don't like?" she asked. "'Isn't my fault.'" He could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew something, and it set his heart beating in a more excited rhythm. He had to get her to tell him what she was hiding from him this time. "This time it isn't. A story went out in the newspaper today with quotes from me, implying the FBI is mucking up the murder investigation I've been assigned to and we've been able to keep quiet up until now. Except I never talked to anyone, even though the reporter swears up and down that I did. She's lying, but I can't figure out why." Mickey explained. "Someone got to her," Purity said, sounding like she was repeating a phrase she'd heard in a spy movie. "Yeah. They got to her. And I have to produce some kind of counterevidence or a hell of a good excuse, or my career with the FBI will be over as of ten-oh-two tomorrow morning." "What will you do if that happens?" she asked seriously. "I don't know," he answered, and he felt himself getting scared again. He couldn't let it happen. He had to stop it some way, somehow...it only he knew how. "I could - I don't know, it's such an absurd question. Being an FBI agent is what I want to do. It's my life now, and I can't lose that." "Ever since you were a little boy watching the 'Untouchables' you dreamed of carrying the badge," Purity said, teasing him lightly. "Actually, I was a little boy attending the altar, thinking of wearing the collar," Mickey admitted. "You were going to be a priest?" Purity seemed floored by this. Embarrassed, he shrugged. He could feel his face turning red and he was sorry he'd brought it up at all. Seeing his embarrassment, Purity made another playful joke and let him off the hook. "You don't play piano, do you? You could join the symphony and travel the world with me." "With it, you mean," he corrected. "And I don't play." "Pity," she remarked, looking at him. "You wouldn't be happy." "What do you mean?" "Running about and playing cops and robbers with your friend Chloe is what makes you happy," Purity judged. "It's what I do, and I'm good at it. I love my job," Mickey said fiercely. "And Chloe?" Purity asked plainly, surprising Mickey with her implication. It took him a moment to recover from the shock of her asking him that to come up with a sensible answer. "Chloe is a terrific agent, and her abilities complement mine. It's a good pairing, and we have an excellent partnership. She's smart and she's bright and -" "You have a crush on her." "No, of course not," he said swiftly, and immediately he thought he had protested too quickly. Purity was just looking at him, a mildly amused look on her face. "I like Chloe a great deal - as a person." "Okay," said Purity, sounding like she didn't believe him one bit. It began to make Mickey feel angry. So what if he *did* have a crush on Chloe - not that he did, of course - but if he did and it didn't interfere with their work or his respect for her as a person, what did it matter, honestly? Purity got up to leave. "It's been good talking to you, Mickey. I hope we'll bump into each other again." "You seem to turn up in the most interesting places," he replied, rising to see her out. "You say that like you're not happy to see me when I do," she commented. They reached the door of the coffeehouse. She turned and faced him. "I wouldn't worry too much about the suspension," she advised. "These things have a way of working themselves out." She leaned up on tiptoe and places a soft kiss against his mouth and then in a flurry of cold air through the open door and the jingling of the bell attached, she was gone. Mickey stood there, wishing it would all be that easy. Then he set out to walk again and plan, feeling unnerved. Purity often had that effect on him. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly and Char Hall part nine ----- "What did you find?" Mulder asked his wife when she returned their office some time later. There was a feeling of discovery in the air, he thought, or maybe it was the look on her face that told him they were getting close to solving the case. "Skin and fibers," she answered. "All right!" Mulder cried, feeling better every moment. His congratulatory cry made Dana smile, and he liked to see her smile. He was very aware that she hadn't been smiling very often lately at all. He wished he knew what was bothering her. Maybe it was just this case, he thought, but he knew it was more. He was bothering her, and he didn't want to believe it. He loved being married to her, and he wished he had more confidence that she loved being married to him as well. "So we have the skin to DNA match when we have a suspect in custody. That will help. The skin was coated with a chemical commonly used in developing photographs. If there was any doubt of why the killer is committing these crimes, I think we can rule it out." She raised her head and looked at him. "You were right, Mulder." He nodded. "What about this photo chemical? Can we trace it?" She shook her head. "It's not a controlled substance. With more analyzation by the guys in the lab, I could tell you what brand it is, but there are hundreds of professional and home photo labs throughout this neighborhood alone." "Well, it was a good discovery in any case," Mulder told her and she nodded her acknowledgment of his thanks. "What about the fibers?" "Chloe's working on them herself. She should be back any time now. I hope she'll have had more success with those than we had with the chemical," Dana said, wandering away from him and walking around their office, looking at the things pinned to the walls. She couldn't meet Mulder's eyes any more, and was aware of him watching her as she looked around their office as though it was something she hadn't seen before. She stopped in front of the photo collage, the killer's painting in blood and slashmarks. The photo Mulder had taken that morning was pinned up already, and it matched perfectly. She had no doubt that the killer had the same collage up in their living space, perhaps blown up larger, like a painting. What drove them? Did they think it was art, to be displayed in a gallery at some point? Or did it just satisfy them in some sick way no paint could? She felt Mulder come up and stand behind her. A moment later, his hand came down on her shoulder. She turned around and looked at him. "What are you thinking?" he asked, looking into her eyes. She didn't want to do this now, but she couldn't lie to him. Not when it was so important. "I was wondering how you know," she whispered and was horrified to realize there were tears in her eyes. Mulder's face melted, and she could see sorrow in his eyes. At making her cry or understanding the killer, she didn't know. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes. His fingers were caressing her neck and she felt closer to him than she had in a long time. If she lifted her head, he would kiss her. She desperately wanted that, to know that he still loved her in spite of the case and the way she was acting and the way he was acting and...she raised her head. Their eyes met and then hers closed. His lips touched hers and she sighed and molded her body against his. The door to their office closed and they both looked in that direction, breaking their kiss but not their embrace. Chloe stood in the doorway, looking faintly embarrassed. She had a large manila envelope in her hand. "I - um- I can come back," she said, and turned to go back out of the office. "Chloe," Dana said. "Come back. It's all right." Unwillingly, she unwrapped Mulder's arms and stepped away from him. There would be time for that later, she knew, the case took precedent. A look over at him told her he knew the same thing, and that he was as sorry as she was for the interruption. "What did you find?" Mulder asked her. "Good stuff!" Chloe declared, waving the folder, but not offering it to either of them or opening it. "The fibers came from carpet." "Carpet?" asked Mulder. Chloe shrugged. "Don't ask me how the killer transferred it to the body, but it's definitely carpet fiber. That's where we get lucky. It's a new color. Brand new. Only manufactured and distributed by one outlet in the DC area. And they've only had one order for it." She grinned. "You're amazing!" Mulder cried. "This is it!" "What was the order?" Dana asked, a little more careful before she accepted this as a terrific discovery. If it had been ordered for an insanely public place, like a department store, their work would still be cut out for them. Better would be an order for an apartment complex, and best of all would be for one specific residence. "It's an art gallery. Not one of the big Smithsonian-ish galleries," Chloe told them. "Art," said Mulder. He'd been right. Chloe nodded. "I figure we go there, have a look at the pictures, and one of them should jump out at us as belonging to our killer. It wouldn't be great evidence to hold up in court, but it would give us a name, or a place to begin. Then we could get a warrant and we'd be set. We'd have them!" Her enthusiasm was contagious. Mulder looked to Dana, who smiled at him. "Let's go," she said. The agents scrabbled through the office for a few moments, searching for keys and cell phones and briefcases and the forms they might need to fill out to get a rush warrant, and then they were on their way. ----- Chloe stopped the car in front of Marble Art, the gallery where the carpet had been delivered only days before. It was in a mostly industrial area, which made her wonder what sort of people they expected to patronize it. Not many art galleries she knew of were tucked between factories. The area was deserted in the middle of the day, with the workers all hard at work inside the large, windowless buildings. No cars drove by on the street. She began to get a bad feeling, that this was going to turn out to be a false lead. She didn't want that to happen. The agents got out of the car and congregated on sidewalk. "Is it open?" Dana asked, peering at the plate glass window that made the front of the gallery. "One way to find out," Mulder said, striding up to the door. Chloe hurried after them and Dana brought up the rear at a leisurely pace. He tried the door and found it locked. There were no hours painted on the door, only the name "Marble Art." He pressed his face against the glass and looked in. "There's nothing in there." "Maybe they're not open yet?" Chloe suggested. "I mean there's *nothing* in there," Mulder said, and Chloe took a look. Even Dana leaned in to get a peek. "If they just got carpet put in a few days ago..." Chloe said. "Marble Art," said Dana, taking another look at the sign. "Our killer's not a sculptor - do you think?" Mulder shook his head, certain the killer was not a sculptor. "Maybe the name is misleading." "Maybe the clue is misleading," Dana said. "I thought this was going to be it," Chloe said. "Don't get frustrated," Mulder told her. "We still have a lot of options." Dana nodded. "The carpet manufacturers. The installers. Someone who works with the samples in the showroom." "They don't fit the profile," Mulder insisted. "We're on the right track here. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now." Dana wanted to tell him to forget his stupid profile, but she said nothing. She knew from experience that he was more than likely right. He banged violently on the door and tried it again. After a moment, a man appeared, but he hung back a few feet on the other side of the door, no doubt feeling trepidacious about greeting someone who pounded on his door. Mulder sighed heavily and opened his badge, pressing it against the glass. He motioned for the man inside to unlock the door for them. After another moment's hesitation, and another few seconds spent examining Mulder's badge against the glass carefully, the man opened the door. "Help you?" he asked, eyeing the three of them carefully. "This is an art gallery?" Mulder asked. The man nodded. "Not open yet." "When will you be open?" Chloe jumped in and asked, studying the man. He couldn't be their killer, could he? Maybe the killer wasn't an artist, but someone who wanted to be an artist? But the cuts had formed the picture too precisely, the killer had to be an artist. "By the weekend," the man said. "First big show opens Friday night. Guess that's tomorrow, isn't it?" Dana nodded in answer to his question. "I got work to do, so if you'll -" he nodded back into the gallery, as though trying to take his leave from them. "What do you do here, sir?" Chloe asked. "I'm the manager." "Of the gallery?" asked Mulder, taking in the man's stained white coveralls. "Of the property. And the gallery, I guess. The artists rented the space from me, and I'm getting the place ready for them. Good money, though I don't know who they think is gonna come out here to look at art with all those museums closer into town, you know?" the man said. "Do you have any hobbies?" Chloe asked, "Photography?" The man looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "This ain't one of those galleries, miss," he informed her. "No pictures of naked ladies or the like. I'm just here to make sure the carpet gets in and everything gets painted and the electricity gets on, that's all." Chloe felt embarrassed for taking such a false, forward step. At least it hadn't thrown things off too badly, she thought. "What sort of gallery will it be?" Dana asked. "The name Marble Art implies sculpture, doesn't it?" she asked. The man shrugged. "I don't know what anything implies, but there ain't no statues. It's just a bunch of art stuff - paintings, you know - some of it pretty amateurish, if I say so myself. You'd be better off up at one of those nice museums in town." "The paintings are here?" asked Mulder. "Stacked up in a back room, I guess. They keep it locked." He shrugged. "Artists." "Mind if we take a look?" Mulder took a step forward, ready to push his way into the gallery. "You want to look, come back when the place is open, buddy, hey?" asked the manager. He'd just run out of patience. "We're with the FBI, sir," Chloe informed him. "We are requesting access to those paintings and any other information you may have." "FBI usually requests access with a search warrant, don't they?" the man asked shrewdly. "I don't know what business you've got here, but if you want to come inside, you'll show me your warrant." He waited. They had nothing to say. He was within his rights under the law. "Okay then. See you at the opening, if you're still interested then. Good day." He stepped back and closed the door, making a good show of locking it between them. Dana walked away first, followed by Mulder and then Chloe. Chloe had her cell phone out and was dialing. "What are you doing?" asked Mulder. "Getting a warrant," Chloe answered. Mulder put his hand on her phone and prevented her from dialing any more numbers. "We don't have enough to get a warrant. Once we get inside, we might have enough to get one on the suspect. But now, we have nothing." "We have a few other leads to follow up," Dana added. "This is frustrating, but we've done everything we can here for now." "What do we do now?" Chloe looked to Mulder. "We come back later," he told her, backing up what Dana had told her. "And we check out the carpet people. It's the only lead we have, and much as I don't think it'll pan out, maybe one of them is moonlighting as an artist." "And a killer," added Chloe, but she didn't sound very hopeful. They climbed back into the car and set out again. ----- The backroom of the carpet showplace was noisy and dusty. Bits of fuzz from the carpets joined dust from carpet glue in flying about the room. There was sawdust in the cement corners of the stockroom. In one corner, carpets were being measured and rolled, sending more debris into the air. Another area was open, and trucks were being loaded with cranes and forklifts and dollies. "Know anything about art?" Mulder asked the foreman, raising his voice to be heard above the noise. "That's Art, over there," the foreman told them. Mulder shook his head and tried to explain it to him again. Chloe sneezed a couple of times and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. The dust was getting to her. It was a wonder these men didn't have black lung syndrome from working here. She wandered slightly away to begin asking them questions individually. "Can you tell me who installed a certain carpet?" Mulder asked, hoping to narrow their list of possible suspects from this source. "Sure," the foreman answered, moving to get his order book. Mulder and Dana followed him, but Dana shook her head at Mulder. He looked at her questioningly, and she took a deep breath to shout over the noise. They had moved to stand almost next to the carpet roller and cutter. "Look how many men handle the carpets," she called. "There's no way to tell." By this time, the foreman had found the page he wanted in his book and looked at Mulder. "Guy by the name of John Smith," he said, "delivered that carpet you're interested." "John Smith," said Mulder, looking amused by the name. Dana was right though, he thought, watching the men move about and do their jobs. And then there were the people who displayed the sampled in the showroom. This was an uphill climb. He looked to her to see what she thought, to see if she thought this was worth pursuing any farther, and saw that her face had turned white. "Dana? What's wrong? Dana?" He reached out to, but she shook her head with a sick look on her face. She put her hand over her mouth and hurried out of the showroom. Mulder stared after her. "What's with her?" the foreman asked him. Mulder shook his head, still staring in the direction she had gone. "I don't know." He had no idea, and that made him feel very confused. Very, very confused. Chloe had approached and was standing next to him. "Is she okay?" she asked Mulder. He turned his worried eyes to her. "I don't know," he answered, and she could see the shocked look on his face. "Do you want me to find out?" she asked, ready to go off to the ladies' room and find Dana. "No, I'm sure she's okay," Mulder said, although he didn't look convinced. Dana would be embarrassed by Chloe trying to tend to her, he knew. "Maybe it's the smell," Chloe said, trying to comfort him, "Or maybe she inhaled one of these dust pieces and it..." she stopped. "What smell?" asked Mulder. "The carpet smell, it doesn't turn your stomach?" Chloe asked him. He shook his head. "Well, women have stronger senses than men anyway." She sneezed again as though to prove her point. "Says who?" asked Mulder, trying to be funny although he didn't feel it right at that moment. "Proven fact," Chloe told him. "Goes back to prehistoric times when women found the food and men...um, did whatever they did. Stayed home and took care of the house." Mulder smiled because it sounded like something Dana would say. "Learn anything?" he asked her. She shook her head. "You?" "Not really. Dana pointed out everyone here handles the carpet. And even if they didn't, it's in the air, as you said. We can't really eliminate anyone who works here," Mulder said, and was faintly disappointed. Even though he thought the factory was the wrong trail entirely. "Here she comes," said Chloe, glancing over at Dana, who was walking toward them. Her face was still white and they could tell from the way she was holding herself carefully that she had been sick. Chloe turned away to ask the foreman if he could get her a list of all his employees. "Hey," Mulder said gently to his wife, touching her hair lightly. "You all right?" She nodded, and swallowed hard, meeting his eyes. She took a moment as though she was afraid to open her mouth or she'd be sick again. "I - sorry." She shook her head. "I think it's the smell. It's really getting to me." "That's what Chloe thought," Mulder said, and Dana looked embarrassed that they were discussing why she would be sick. "It's making her sneeze." "And this case is getting to me." "I know it is, baby," Mulder said, rubbing her neck lightly. She didn't lean into his touch. "I think I need to go home and lie down," she said. "Chloe! Let's go!" Mulder yelled instantly. Chloe held up one finger - she needed just another moment. "No, Mulder, take as much time here as you need," Dana told him. "I'll be okay once I get some air. I can get a taxi home." "No," Mulder told her. "We'll drop you off." "It's not necessary, really," she insisted. "I'll see you at home. Tonight. Don't let me interfere with the case." "Call me when you get there?" Mulder asked, and she nodded. "Feel better." He looked really worried and she felt terrible. He leaned over to kiss her, and she shook her head, taking a step back, looking at him like he was crazy. She wasn't really a candidate for kissing at the moment. Mulder persisted, although changing his target to her cheek. His lips lingered for a moment, and he whispered, "I love you," close to her ear, so softly she barely heard it. She left. Mulder was acting more normally. She had her husband back from the clutches of this case. That made her happy to no end. But things weren't better between them by a long shot. But dizzy and nauseous from the stench of the carpet dyes and glues, there was nothing she could say about it then. She caught a cab easily and closed her eyes on the way home, blocking everything out but the take of breath in and out of her body. She didn't get carsick, but she was still feeling nauseous. A nap at home would help, she told herself. At least she hoped it would. "Got the list," Chloe said, bringing it over to Mulder. "Where'd Dana go?" "Home." When Chloe raised her eyebrows, he added, "She got a cab." "You let her go?" Chloe asked. "She insisted." Mulder didn't feel right about it either. Something was going on. The tension had abated, but it wasn't gone completely. "Said it was the smell in here. You were right." Chloe nodded. "Let's get out of here ourselves before we're overcome," she suggested and they left the plant. "I feel bad for those workers. They should really be wearing filter masks." "I guess you're right," Mulder agreed, feeling distracted. His thoughts were still with his wife. After a second, he forced himself to focus. "We can check out the names on that list of employees against your list of school records. For now it's all we've got to go on." Chloe nodded. Her cell phone rang and she answered it. "Chloe Grant." Mulder turned his full attention to driving back to the FBI building, but he couldn't help overhearing her side of the conversation. "Mom, no...I have work to do...no, I really want to, but I think...this case it...Mom...Okay. I'll try...I'll try! I have to go now. Bye...Bye." Mulder looked at her. "Your parents are in town?" he asked. "Yeah," Chloe said, puckering her lips as though she wasn't pleased about it. "I love them, I really do, it's just...they don't understand how important what I'm doing is." Mulder nodded. "You want me to talk to them?" Chloe laughed. "You?" "I'm your boss, aren't I?" "Yeah, but Mulder -" she laughed again, then made herself stop and look out the window. "I don't think it would do any good," she said diplomatically. "They don't approve?" he asked, thinking of Dana's family. "They support my choices. They're proud of me. They just don't get it. And I still feel bad for not being able to be with them." "Then go," Mulder said. "What?" Chloe looked at him. "Then go. I can handle comparing the lists. If anything comes up, I'll give you a call." "Really?" she asked, not sure if she should accept his offer or not. "Really," Mulder told her. "Look at it as a once in a lifetime opportunity - to go home early even when there's a case to be solved." "Don't say it that way." "I'm telling you to go home and see your parents, Chloe." "Is that an order?" she asked, smiling at him. "It's an order," he smiled back. "I'll drop you at home." He made a quick turn and started down the route to her house. "It's nice of you," she said. "Very nice of me," Mulder added, teasing her. "You promise me you'll call if anything happens?" she asked again. "The second I hear anything. Have a good time." Mulder ordered. "Just give some thought as to what you're going to say at Mickey's OPC hearing tomorrow. I assume you were called?" Chloe nodded. "I feel so bad for him." "He has to help himself now. We'll do what we can at the hearing," Mulder told her. "That's what Dana said." "Is it?" asked Mulder, surprised. Chloe nodded. "Smart woman, my Dana." "Go home and take care of her," Chloe told him suddenly. "Thanks for the ride - and the night off." She got out of the car and went up the walk to her house. "Mom, I'm home!" she called. It made Mulder smile as he put the car back into gear and drove away. But he didn't head for his own home. He had work to do at the office. Someone still had to solve this case. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly and Char Hall part ten ----- She woke when he came into the bedroom. Dana sat up, feeling muddled and confused. It was dark outside. She'd slept longer than she'd intended to. She'd intended to lie down for an hour or so, until her stomach settled again, and then she'd go into the office. "Mulder," she said, and her voice still sounded sleepy. "Ssh, go on back to sleep," he suggested. "What time is it?" she frowned into the dark, looking around to try to see the clock. "About ten." "Ten?" she cried. She'd slept much longer than she'd intended. "Feeling better?" he asked. He'd finished pulling off his clothes and he climbed into the bed next to her. His skin felt cold against her body, even through the T-shirt she was wearing. "You're warm," he said, placing his hand against her bare thigh. "You're cold," she told him. "Yeah, I feel better. Thanks." "Good," he said, snuggling against her and closing his eyes. "So...did you solve the case without me?" she asked, feeling nervous. Mulder's derisive snort was reassuring. "Chloe got a list of employees from the carpet place and I've been double checking them against her art student list, and then I did some research of my own. Came up with nothing. Waste of time. As I expected." "On your own?" she asked. "Yeah." "Where's Chloe?" "I sent her home." "Why?" This was not normal Mulder behavior, and it made her feel worried again. Was he trying to own the whole case himself? Why would he do that? She should never have gone off and left him. She should have stayed by his side and helped him with the case. "Her parents are in town. There wasn't anything for her to do tonight, Dana," he said, shifting against her again, drawing closer, trying to steal all of her body heat. "We'll go the gallery tomorrow when it's open and get our answers then." "Mickey's hearing is tomorrow," Dana said. "He's a good agent," Mulder answered. "You're not worried?" "We all have to deal with these things in our own way." "Mulder, he could get fired tomorrow, and then what'll happen?" "He won't get fired." "What makes you say that?" "I never did." "You're cocky," she informed him. "And you talk too much, wife." "Just who are you calling 'wife'?" she demanded. "Shut up and let a poor man sleep," he suggested. He was teasing her, and she knew it, but it still hurt more than it reasonably should. Dana closed her mouth and kept it closed and within minutes, Mulder was sleeping against her. He must have been exhausted, she thought, but it didn't make her feel entirely better. She lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, unable to stop her thoughts. But eventually, she did relax and sleep again. Mulder's dreams came some time later, waking him with a cry that was muffled by his pillow. He sat up, disoriented, trying to pull himself out of it. His heart was still pounding in his chest as he tried to sort through the things he'd seen in his mind, the things he'd felt in his sleep. It was still dark outside, and the clock near the bed told him he'd only slept for four hours. The dreams disturbed him. He got out of bed instantly. He hadn't woken Dana this time, and he was careful not to as he slipped back into the clothes he'd left lying in the chair. He stood for a long moment standing over his sleeping wife. He loved her so much. Reaching down, he placed his hand against her cheek. She was so beautiful. She stirred in her sleep, and he risked waking her to watch her turn and cuddle into his touch. What would he do without her? Without the love he felt every day of his life, even when she was angry with him as she had been ever since he'd taken on this case. Hopefully he would never have to find out. It didn't occur to him that she would be angry when she woke and found he'd slipped out of their bed and the house in the middle of the night. He was too focused on his goal: he wanted answers, and he wanted them now. It was silly of him to think it was the case, rather than his behavior, that irritated Dana, but with the logic of the middle of the night, Mulder was certain that once the case was solved, everything would be perfect between them again. And with the X Files. If not for this case, Mickey wouldn't be on suspension, wasn't that true, he told himself. He didn't take the car, and he didn't ask himself why not. He had excess energy after the dream. It had been different this time, in ways he couldn't put his finger on. He didn't remember the dreams very clearly at all, no discernible images, only feelings and sensations and colors. The colors were odd, he thought. He knew it all went back to the case, and it was the dreams that allowed him to take the photographs and assemble them in the way that the killer did. He didn't believe he was channeling the killer, although he knew that was what Dana would say mockingly if he told her about the dreams, which was why he hadn't brought them up or tried to tell her about them. He wasn't psychic. It just seemed that way sometimes because he came up with solutions without knowing how he had arrived at them. What was it Dana had said to him one time? "A dream is a wish your heart makes?" No, that was from some stupid commercial. "A dream can be an answer to a question we haven't yet learned how to ask." He believed that. This dream was telling him go to the gallery. He thought of how crazy it sounded when put that way as he jogged along the quiet streets. Everyone in all of the houses he passed were sleeping blissfully. Single, lovers, married people, divorcees...suddenly he thought he shouldn't have left Dana alone in the bed. But the notion wasn't strong enough to send him running home. He had to get to the gallery. He had to see those pictures, now. He did reach into his pockets, looking for his cell phone to call her, but he didn't have it. He almost remembered the soft thunk of it falling out of his jacket when he'd slung it over the chair a few hours before. He would be back before daybreak, anyway. She would understand. He was breathing hard when he reached the gallery, although he didn't notice it until he stopped running. He hadn't thought about how far he had come. He was still of energy and driven to get inside. The front door was locked and he went around the back way, but there was no way inside from there. It would have to be through the front door. He didn't want to break the glass, but he felt certain that he would if he had to. The pictures were in there and he had to see them. They would tell him who the killer was. He had to know. He had to know now. He managed to coax the lock open with his credit card and a paperclip that had somehow found its way into his wallet. Lucky for me, he thought. Lucky for the glass door, he thought as he pushed the it open and went inside. He walked through the dark aisles of the unlit gallery. The pictures had been hung in anticipation of the opening that coming evening. The artists must have worked hard and long to get them all hung so neatly and perfectly spaced so quickly. False walls had been installed, creating a labyrinthine maze of display space, expanding the path through the originally small area. Mulder walked through almost quickly, not looking at the paintings and drawings and collages as he passed them. It was as though he already knew where he was going. He stopped in front of a painting. It was mixed media. Modern, abstract art. Lines slashed down across the canvas. In the center, materials were glued to the painting - papers painted differently and a hodgepodge of things. Mulder didn't know what it was meant to represent, but something primal inside him recognized it. The colors. He knew them from his dream. That brilliant, deep red. And the blue. That sad, sad, blue. He couldn't tell what it was a picture of, but he instinctively knew this painting was part of a larger whole, and perhaps the pattern couldn't be discerned until he'd seen all of them. He leaned over to look at the card attached to the wall a few inches over, bearing the work's title and the author's name. He didn't get close enough to read it. "Do you like it?" a calmly excited voice asked from somewhere in the darkness behind him. Mulder turned slowly. "I do," he answered, knowing that the shadowy figure he was facing was the artist. Obviously, someone had stayed late preparing the gallery for its first exposure to the world. "Do you know what you're looking at?" she asked, drawing closer. Her voice was low for a woman's, and slightly rough, but it betrayed that same edgy excitement he felt barely able to contain in himself. And art had never really excited him before. He still couldn't see her clearly in the darkness of the gallery. "No, but I recognize it," he said, not understanding the words even as he said them. He felt very strange, almost possessed. It was the same thing he felt in his dreams, and he was aware that it was dangerous and also that he could not control it. She moved in closer to him, but he didn't turn and look at her face. His eyes were fixed on the painting. He could smell her perfume, though, a light, beautiful scent mixed with something fainter, darker and more sour. The ammonia smell of photographic developer. Her hand closed over his and he was surprised by how soft her skin was. She pressed his hand firmly against the canvas and held it there with considerable force. "Are you ready to come with me?" she asked. And Mulder said, "Yes." ----- Sitting in his office the next morning, enjoying the play of the six a.m. sunlight across the reports he had to review, Assistant Director Skinner suddenly became aware of a presence in the room. He hadn't heard the door, or heard the person enter. He didn't want to raise his eyes from the report because for a long moment, he was certain if he did so, he would find himself face to face with a man who had been dead for eight long months. A man who had taken the liberty of entering his office unannounced and uninvited to give him orders he did not wish to follow, but he had no choice in the matter. But he didn't smell the cigarette smoke, and so he looked up. A woman was standing in his office, wearing a black coat and gloves. She had long black hair that had swung to cover a good portion of her face. She looked at him expectantly and for a moment, he saw something familiar about her blue eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked her, and heard the annoyance in his voice at being unexpectedly disturbed. How long had she been standing there watching him read? He looked at the door and saw that it was closed, as he had left it. He even seemed to recall having locked it. "How did you get in here?" She didn't answer his question. Instead, she offered him a thin manila folder. "Agent Michael Callavelo is coming up for a conduct review at ten o'clock this morning, is that right?" she said. "Yes," Skinner said, not in the least surprised that this strange woman had something to do with the X Files. If not for them and their contacts, his career would be a great deal quieter. Most of the time he honestly didn't mind, but at the same time, he found their appearances and disappearances and lack of names or histories rather unnerving. "He is not the one who spoke to that newspaper reporter. I suspect you already know that, but there's proof in there," she said, approaching to put the folder on the corner of his desk and then retreating again, as though she didn't want to get too close to him. Skinner opened the folder. It contained a copy of the article, which was circled in dark purple ink, a canceled money order stub, and a cassette tape. "What is all this?" he asked. This was not the week to have given up coffee, he thought. Then again, when was it ever a good week for him to give up coffee? "Proof," she said. "Of what?" "A conspiracy against Agent Callavelo." "Did Mulder send you here?" Skinner demanded, faintly annoyed, shoving the folder out of his way. She shook her head, although she looked amused at the thought. "I think once you review the evidence again, you will find this morning's hearing unnecessary. Although you will probably wish to contact the newspaper, perhaps to request a retraction, or maybe to confirm the story with the reporter. I'm afraid you won't find her there." "What are you saying?" Skinner demanded. He wished these apparitions would make more sense when they came in so early to harass him. "Ms. Rogers has unexpectedly taken a long vacation. One she is not expected to return from." The woman said mysteriously and began to move toward the door. Not the door into his outer office, the one he remembered locking. The other door. The one *he* had always used, before he had died. "Who the hell are you?" Skinner demanded, getting up from his desk. "Did you arrange this? Did you have a reporter killed to suit your little games? Answer me, damn it?" She cast him a smile before she slipped through the door. By the time Skinner reached it, she was long gone into the secret tunnels that burrowed through the interior of the building. She could be anywhere, that quickly. Anywhere and nowhere. "Damn it," Skinner said, slamming that door with a bang. He was not in the mood for the return of the shadowy conspiracy, and he was not pleased with having Mulder's weirdo informants come to visit so early in the morning. He shoved the folder out of his way again when he returned to his desk and tried to return to the report he had so peacefully been reading, but the sun had turned and was shining blindingly into his eyes. He couldn't get comfortable, even though his chair had been specially ordered to suit him. He couldn't ignore the materials she had brought him. Skinner muttered to himself, and played the tape. A few minutes later, he was on the telephone to verify its authenticity. That was when he was told of Ms. Rogers' sudden departure. He stared at the door. The phantom had been right. Again. ----- "Have you seen Mulder?" Dana asked Chloe as she walked into the office the next morning. "No," Chloe said, frowning slightly. "Haven't you?" Dana shook her head without saying anything. Her face was shuttered, as though she didn't want to reveal anything. She'd woken alone in their bed that morning. She must have slept through another nightmare and his escape. She didn't know what time that had been or if she should be worried. It was possible, she tried to convince herself, that he had left only moments before she'd woken up. Then he would have only been missing an hour or so. She'd driven around some of his favorite places to run on her way into the office, hoping she would find him. She hadn't. "Did you try his cell?" Chloe asked. Dana produced it from her pocket and placed it on the desk. "That's not like him," Chloe said, looking even more worried. Dana nodded, still without saying anything. Chloe looked at Dana's face and saw how disturbed she was by this. "Dana, what's going on between the two of you?" "I don't know," she said honestly. "I don't think it's anything." "You don't want to think it's anything." "It'll work out. Marriage is about being patient," Dana said halfheartedly. "What does Samantha think?" "She's used to our keeping odd hours and going away for long periods of time. She's at my mother's for a few days, until we get somewhere with this case." Dana shook her head. "Doesn't seem fair to her, does it?" "What do you mean? She loves you," Chloe said. "She should have more stability in her life." Dana was being impossibly hard on herself, Chloe thought. She tried to make her feel better. "Sammi's tough. She's had an unusual life, and I think she understands. She has your mother, and her own mother up north. She knows things have to be this way. She doesn't begrudge you your work." Dana just shook her head again, her eyes trained on the floor. "It's going to be all right," Chloe told her. "Mickey's hearing is in half an hour. Mulder will be here for that." Dana wasn't so certain. Mulder had been less flaky during Chloe and Mickey's tenure on the files, due to his being less driven after he'd found his sister. Maybe that was what was disturbing her so much. He was acting like his old self again, and this case didn't warrant it. "Did you get a chance to rest last night?" she asked Chloe. "Mulder told you my parents are in town," Chloe said. "I'd love to meet them, when this case is finished," Dana ordered. "I'd love for them to meet you all," Chloe grinned. "Are you feeling better?" "Yes, thanks," Dana said. "I think that new carpet smell got to me yesterday." Chloe had the oddest feeling Dana was lying, but she didn't know why. "Any new developments in the case?" Dana asked. Chloe shook her head. Dana took a seat at the computer and began to review the notes Mulder had generated the night before, to kill time before the hearing that would decide Mickey's fate. ----- Mickey was nervous. He had thought Chloe and Dana and Mulder would be here. He had hoped they would be there. Being away from the office the entire previous day - only one day - made him feel isolated and strange, although not quite so isolated or strange as he felt sitting in the outer portion of Skinner's office, waiting for the Assistant Director to be ready for him. He smoothed his slacks, and began to fiddle with his tie. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to get it to tie correctly that morning. He needed Chloe's help. He wanted to be as presentable as possible for this, to present his case - the one he hadn't prepared last night. He wanted to be as presentable as possible to lose his job. Why weren't Chloe and Dana and Mulder there? he asked himself. Maybe it was better that way. He could be humiliated in front of stranger who were his superiors, instead of people he knew, whose opinions he cared about. What was going to happen when they kicked him out of the building and told him not to come back? He hadn't been able to find anything to help himself. What was he going to do? He took a deep breath. This was only making him more nervous. He saw that Skinner's assistant was looking at him and he tried to smile at her. She smiled back with sympathy. She must have seen every agent in the Bureau at their very worst, he thought, and looked away quickly. The door opened and Skinner appeared. "Michael?" he said. Mickey rose. "Yes, sir." He started for the door, ready to enter Skinner's office and face the committee that would decide his fate. He dreaded it, but he had to get it over with. At least he hadn't had a long wait, a week or more, to worry about it, although with a week he might have been able to come up with something to clear his name. The wheels of justice turn quickly here in the justice department, he thought, and the irony was almost enough to make him laugh. Skinner didn't move from the doorway. He didn't allow Mickey passage into his office. Mickey looked up at the older man. "The hearing on the matter of your statements to the newspaper has been canceled. You have been reinstated, without disciplinary action." "Sir?" Mickey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You are free to resume your duties on the X Files, Agent Callavelo. I suggest you do so at once. There is still a murderer at large who needs to be apprehended as soon as possible." "That's all?" Mickey asked, still not believing his luck. "The matter has been dropped. The Office of Professional Conduct will not meet," Skinner told him. "Why was it dropped?" Mickey asked. There was something very strange about this, and as much as he liked the result, he wasn't certain he liked the method. "The matter has ceased to interest the Office." Skinner said cryptically. He was staring at Mickey and the silent message burning in his eyes behind those wire rimmed glasses was clear. In case it wasn't, Skinner said the words anyway. "Leave it alone, Mickey." "Thank you, sir," he said, and turned away to go join his team in the basement. "Agent Callavelo," Skinner said, stopping him in his tracks. Mickey looked back at his supervisor. "Watch your mouth from now on." "Yes, sir," Mickey said, and walked out into the hallway. Dana and Chloe were standing there. "Hi," he said. "We're here for your hearing," Chloe said softly, with a very sorry look in her eyes. "It's been canceled," Mickey said. "I've been cleared." Dana looked at him, her eyes wide. "Skinner said that?" "Skinner said 'The Office of Professional Conduct has lost interest in the matter,'" Mickey repeated. "That's odd," Dana said. "You're telling me," Mickey agreed. "So you're back?" Chloe said, sounding happy. "I'm back!" Mickey said, ready to get to work. "What's happened with the case?" "There was another murder," Chloe said and Mickey looked at her. "We tried to call you, but you weren't answering your phone. What was up with that?" Mickey shrugged, which she interpreted to mean that he'd forgotten to recharge the batteries, left it somewhere, or turned it off. Again. "This one was different, and we were able to find some trace evidence. We're gonna crack this one, Mickey, it's only a matter of time now. We have all the information downstairs." "And Mulder's missing," said Dana. Both of the agents looked at her. She nodded. "I don't know if he's ditched all of us, or if something's happened to him, but we need to find out and fast." "What makes you say that?" asked Chloe. "I have a very bad feeling," Dana replied. Bed Springs III part eleven by Megan Reilly and Char Hall "Where do we begin?" Chloe asked, watching Dana for an answer. "I've been thinking about that clue I got the other day - that insurance firm. Schoenberg and Shine. I think it bears further investigation," Mickey stated. He watched as Chloe and Dana exchanged a look, and he fully expected them to veto him. After all, informants were not the most reliable people in the world, and they had all had experience with Purity before. "Okay," Dana said, still thinking about it. "Let's start there." "What about the gallery?" Chloe asked. "I still think that's our best option," Dana told them, "but we won't be able to get in without a warrant until this evening, when they have their opening. We can go to this place of Mickey's and ask some questions, and if they don't pan out, we can pursue the gallery angle more thoroughly. Okay?" "Sure," Chloe agreed easily. "Great," said Mickey. Chloe tossed the case file with its updates to him, and he caught it without spilling any of the papers. "Got your art student list?" Dana asked her. "I'd like to be able to cross reference if anything turns up at this insurance place." "It's all up here," Chloe said, tapping her head. She'd gone over it so many times, she was confident if she ever heard one of the names that was on the list, she'd recognize it instantly. She could even recite the first part of it - Abrams, Stacy; Adams, John; Adams, Elizabeth; Adams, Jose; Addison, Maddie... "Bring the paper copy anyway," Dana suggested. Chloe grabbed it and they headed for the parking lot. "You're worried about him, aren't you?" Chloe asked, having watched Dana's frown not waver on the journey to the offices of Schoenberg and Shine. Dana couldn't lie to the young woman. "I can't help it," she admitted. "I'm sure everything's fine and he's just three steps ahead of us," Chloe said reassuringly. "That's what I'm afraid of," Dana said, and instantly thought the better of her statement. Chloe gave her an odd look, and she continued speaking to head off the inquisition that was about to be unleashed. She couldn't deal with it at that moment. "You'll understand someday," she said. "I already do," Chloe said, and turned away to catch up with Mickey. Dana realized she'd said the very wrong thing. The wounds of Nick and New York were still fresh with Chloe, even after four months. "Chloe, I'm sorry," Dana said when she got into the elevator. Mickey passed a curious look between the two women, but didn't ask what was going on. "No need," Chloe told her, and managed to smile to show that there were no hard feelings. By the time the doors opened, both of them had turned their attention completely to the case. "Hello," Chloe said to the receptionist. "My name is Chloe Grant, and I'm with the FBI. I was wondering if I could speak with the office manager and ask a few questions?" The receptionist was a girl of about twenty, who looked stunned and afraid when confronted with an FBI badge. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. The phones rang and lights on the console began to blink. "I'm the office manager," a man said, approaching them and saving the receptionist. After another moment of staring, she was able to return to answering the phones and processing calls with amazing speed. "Mr. Travois. And you are?" "Agent Grant, with the FBI. This is Agent Callavelo and Agent Mulder." Scully-Mulder? Scully? Even Chloe was never certain what Dana was using. Hyphenated names were liberating, sure, but they were also confusing. "We have a few questions for you, if you wouldn't mind answering them." "May I ask what this is about?" he asked. "Perhaps we should take this into your office," Dana suggested. "My office is rather small, but there is a conference room we can use," Mr. Travois replied, and ushered the three of them into a glass-walled conference room, furnished with heavy, expensive wood furniture. Everything in the office spoke of class. "What is this regarding?" he asked. "One of our investigations?" "I'm sorry, I had thought you were an insurance firm?" said Mickey. "We investigate insurance claims," Mr. Travois answered. "We had a tip about one of your employees," Dana said, taking the lead once more. Chloe was content to sit back and watch her work, because she had an excellent way of handling people so that they answered her questions and didn't panic. Chloe hoped Mickey was taking notes. "Specifically, that one of your employees may be involved in a case we're investigating." "I assure you, Miss - uh -" Mr. Travois floundered. "Agent Mulder," Dana supplied. "Agent Mulder, yes, I assure you that my employees meet the highest standards and are carefully screened. They must be, in our business, I'm sure you understand." "I do understand, Mr. Travois, " Dana said, and looked at Chloe. Chloe scrambled to take it from there. "May I ask what the usual procedure is for you to investigate an insurance claim?" Mr. Travois looked uncomfortable with the question. "I - ah - I don't understand what information it is you're looking for, Miss - uh -" He really should stop trying to use peoples' names when he doesn't know them, Chloe thought. "Grant," she supplied. "Do your investigators ever use cameras?" "Cameras? Of course they use cameras!" Now they were possibly getting somewhere. "Do they develop the pictures that they take here on site?" Chloe asked. "That is, do you have a photography lab on the premises?" "If our business practices are being called into question, I assure you that they are impeccable!" Great, now he was getting riled up again, Chloe thought. That was when Mickey jumped in. "This has nothing to do with business practices, sir," he said. "The individual we're looking for is probably a professional photographer with access to a darkroom. We're hoping that this person works for you." "I hope they don't!" cried Mr. Travois, looking nervous about having an employee the FBI would be interested in. "You do employ professional photographers?" Chloe asked. "We have a part-time staff of five. They go out and do preliminary shots, so we don't waste time. Most of them are students picking up extra money," he answered. Bingo! "May we see a list of these employees?" Dana asked. "Please." "I can tell you their names," he offered. Chloe brought out her pen and her notebook. "Edward Herman, Jorge Riviera, Sally - er, Sally Ann Preston, Wai Chang, and Susan Green." Chloe was nodding as she jotted down the names. "Are any of them at work today?" Mickey asked. "They all are. Jorge and Ed are in the lab, and Sue and Wendy are in the field." "Wendy?" asked Dana. "Wai's American name. You know how it is," he said. "My real name's Francois, but everyone calls me Ted." "Of course they do," said Mickey. "That leaves Sally Ann Preston." "She didn't come in today." "Was she scheduled to?" asked Chloe. Mr. Travois nodded. "She just didn't show up. I'm afraid she'll have to have rather a good excuse because -" "Thank you, sir," Dana said, and jumped up, leaving the room. Mr. Travois stared at her as she began to pace nervously in the lobby, and Chloe and Mickey looked at each other. Something was going on, and neither of them knew what. Dana gestured to them. "Thank you for your time," Chloe said, and rose from her chair. "Would it be possible for us to get Sally Ann Preston's address from your employee files?" Mickey asked. "Mickey, come on!" Chloe called from the door. "Wait!" he insisted. "Tell Dana that, she's probably halfway down the stairs by now and she has the car keys," Chloe said, and left. "Thanks," Mickey said, and hurried after his partner. "Bureaucracy," muttered Mr. Travois. "Gotta love it." Mickey and Chloe caught Dana on the ground floor. "What is going on?" Mickey cried. "I don't like this," Dana said, and she was so nervous it took her three tries to fit the key into the door lock. Chloe looked at her and saw that her hands were shaking. "Let me drive," Chloe said. Dana just looked at her. Chloe removed the keys from her hands, and said, "Let me drive," again. Dana backed off, slipping into the back and Chloe took the driver's seat. "Now why are you so nervous?" she asked as she pulled out into traffic. "If Sally Ann didn't show up today -" Dana said, and stopped herself. "You think she's working on the next victim," Mickey filled in. "And Mulder's three steps ahead of us," Dana said in a very small voice. "Mickey, get on the phone to the Bureau and get us Preston's address. She is our art student, and since your informant sent us to this place, she's probably our girl," Chloe suggested. "Dana, it's going to be okay. Mulder can handle himself. He just hasn't called because you've got his cell phone." "I know. It's fine." Dana said, and her voice sounded normal again. Chloe flashed a look at her in the rearview mirror and she looked all right. Good, she thought. "You're going to 2640 K Street, apartment 12," Mickey said after a few minutes. Chloe continued to drive. Dana's cell phone rang and they all started at the noise. On their way to apprehend the killer, with one of their number missing, they were all a little tense. "Scully," Dana answered. Her phone habits were the hardest to break, she'd found during these months of marriage. "Yes. Okay. Terrific. Thanks for calling me." "Not Mulder," Chloe said as Dana put the phone back into her pocket. "How'd you guess?" Mickey asked wryly. "She didn't kick his ass. Who was it, Dana?" "The toxicology lab on corpse number...the one we found the other night." "They came up with something?" Chloe asked. "The killer drugs the victims. That's probably how she gets them to cooperate so she can freeze them," Dana reported. Chloe noticed she used the pronoun "she" indicating that she believed Sally Ann was their culprit. "Here we are," Chloe said, stopping the car. Dana jumped out before Chloe even had time to turn off the car. "And we're off," Mickey commented, trailing Dana. Chloe caught them a few seconds later. "Where is she going in such a hurry?" "She's worried about Mulder," Chloe answered. "He's fine," Mickey said. "You know that and I know that and even she knows that, but until she has him in her sight again, she's not going to be able to believe it," Chloe said. "Don't you ever get that way," Mickey cautioned her, half- teasing. "If you go missing, I figure you've met up with your buddy Purity again and I start calling hospitals." "Ha, ha. She's not *that* bad." "Amazing what a pretty face can do to a man's memory," Chloe quipped. "Besides, Dana pointed out that she and Mulder are *married*. This isn't a partner's worry, this is a wife's worry." "When did she point that out?" Mickey asked. "Um, yesterday." "The lines blur with them, don't they," he commented. "Yeah. They do." They'd reached #12 at the top of the stairs. Dana had already knocked and was preparing to kick in the door. "Wait, are you sure you should -" Mickey began, just as the door banged open under the pressure from Dana's foot. "Guess so," said Chloe, following Dana into the apartment. It was very small and reminded Chloe of her student days. There were books stacked on the floor near the telephone. One of the notebooks was still opened, and a pen was lying on top of it, abandoned in mid-thesis. Chloe paused to glance at the handwriting. It was large and illegible. That could tell them something about their killer, provided Sally Ann was the killer. Manic, scribbling, and with no intention of communicating. A little further inside, clothes were strewn on the floor. Most of them were black. A plate was shoved under the edge of the couch, which looked as though it had been rescued from a dumpster. There was a television in the corner, but it looked more like a dressing table than a device for entertainment. A half-open, spilled bottle of hair dye lay on top, dried into a little puddle. A candle, burned almost all the way down, its wax melted over the holder and down onto the TV's surface. A dozen or so shades of nail polish and a couple of badly damaged lipsticks, both in blood red. The face powder was almost brand new and it was a sickly white. Sally Ann was an artist, all right, and Chloe would guess not a very old one. "Oh my God," Dana's gasp came from the tiny bedroom. Chloe started into the other room. A huge bed took up most of the available space. It was sheeted with black satin sheets, which were stained with various shades of paint and other substances that she didn't really want to guess at. There were more clothes, and a camera. Mickey's fingers were dangerously close to the camera and Chloe made a cautionary noise. He drew them back instantly, and looked at her. On one wall of the bedroom was a giant mural of Jesus on the Crucifix. It covered the entire wall. The background was blue, and Jesus had a ring of glowing gold light around his head. His face didn't look like the one you usually saw in works of art or on votive candles. He had the face of a middle-aged man, with thick glasses and hair that was plastered on one side of his head. It was really odd and incongruous with the thin body painted onto the cross. The window interrupted most of the torso. The artist had taken real pains with the blood painted onto the figure's hands and feet. It looked frighteningly real, and Chloe had to turn away after a moment, uncertain as to whether it was paint or real blood. As she turned, she saw an 11 by 14 inch framed portrait of a man. The man had the same face in the painting. The head was at the same angle and everything - the artist had obviously been using the photograph as a reference guide. Streaked onto the glass in what appeared to be candy red lipstick were broken letters, angrily formed, that said "DADDY." Sally Ann was a disturbed person, Chloe thought. The crushed lipstick was lying down in the folds of the sheets as though it had been dropped and forgotten about. As she completed her turn, she saw what Mickey and Dana were staring at, and the reason Dana had gasped the way she had. This wall was covered with photographs, blown up as large as it was possible to make them without losing quality. Most of them were poster-sized, and in full color. They matched exactly the Polaroid display currently hanging on the wall of the office back at the FBI building. The one where Mulder had recreated what the killer was going for. He'd been right. The large display was much more shocking than the small cluster of photographs in their office. The detail was more striking, and it was clear what the drawing would eventually become. Chloe glanced between the two art-covered walls, making a comparison. "She's drawing her father," she said. Mickey raised his eyes from his shoes - looking at those pictures, practically life size, had been too much for him - and looked at Chloe. "See the resemblance?" she pointed out, crossing the room and fetching the photo of daddy and holding it up against the display. "This is sick," Dana said, and Chloe could see she was visibly upset. Chloe had never seen anything that could bother Dana before. She was a forensic pathologist. She'd seen the worst there was too offer. And this horrified her. It bothered Chloe too, and standing there, even not looking at the photographs pinned to the wall, they seemed to throb with life, their pink and red color staining everything in the room. "Why would she do this?" Mickey asked Chloe, as Dana went back out into the living room. Mickey stared hard after her, but didn't say anything. He felt rather sick, himself, so if Dana was just upset, he could certainly understand that. "I'm guessing she had father-issues," she said, and it was such an understatement she laughed. A moment later, Mickey laughed too, but just as quickly they forced themselves to stop. It seemed a sacrilege to laugh in the face of such illness and carnage. "A love hate relationship. Mulder would love this." "I'm sure he'll get to see it," Mickey commented. "Or he already has," added Chloe. "The image of her father as her savior is an interesting one. It's almost as though the murders - and creating a portrait of him with them - are a testament to him." "That is really twisted," said Mickey. "Yeah," Chloe agreed. "Let's see what else we can find out." They emerged from the bedroom to see Dana picking through Sally Ann's belongings. "Looks like the father was an artist, too," she said. "How do you know?" asked Mickey. Chloe picked up on it first. "Look." She held up one of the books lying on the floor. It was a 1-2-3 how to draw book, authored by Maurice Preston. "Not exactly glorified by his peers," Mickey commented. "Maybe that's why she's acting out," Chloe guessed. "To impress him?" "He's dead," said Dana. "You're right. 1987," Mickey read from the back of the book. "Ten years ago. If Sally's in college now, she would have been a little girl." "Twelve," said Chloe. "He was abusing her," Dana said. Mickey and Chloe looked at her. "How do you know?" asked Chloe. Dana wasn't one for psychological insights, most of the time. Dana shuddered and didn't answer the question. All she said was, "We have to find Mulder." "Where do you think he's gone?" asked Chloe, looking around the room again. It was clear Sally Ann was not present, and neither was Mulder. There was no sign Mulder had been there before them, but with the condition of Sally's apartment to begin with, there was no real way to tell that. Dana shook her head. "I just see that there isn't a six foot freezer in here, so she can't have brought her victims here to process them," she said. "This is where she comes after, to enjoy the kill. To put up the photographs after she develops them, at night, at the lab where she works. To revel in it." "I noticed recreational drugs in the bedroom," Mickey said. "You know what recreational drugs look like?" Chloe teased him, and was rewarded by his embarrassed smile. "You'll have to tell me more about this later." She winked at him and he actually winked back. That was her guy, she thought. "There's more in the bathroom cabinet, along with some other interesting items," Dana added. "What kind of interesting items?" Mickey asked, not understanding. "Oh -" said Chloe, sharing a look with Dana, but there was no way she could explain it to him. He looked at both of them and when they didn't explain further, he went into the bathroom. They listened as he opened the medicine cabinet. The rattle of pills in a bottle. Then he returned. "I see where you get your abuse theory from, Dana," Mickey said quietly on his return. "What are the prescriptions for?" he asked. "They're antidepressants," Dana said. "Looks like they went too far the other way," Mickey commented. "Did you notice the bottles were full?" Dana pointed out. "I'd say she prefers the hallucinogenic effects of the drugs in the bedroom." "Would that explain the colors in the mural?" Chloe asked. Dana nodded. "It might. We have to find that freezer, though." "Where do you think it is?" asked Mickey. "The gallery?" Chloe asked her, and Dana nodded her assent. "I hope we find Mulder," she said. "I hope we don't," Dana contradicted, walking out of Sally Ann Preston's chamber of horrors. Chloe realized Dana had a point, and followed. Mickey joined them, not wanting to be left alone in that apartment where so much pain had been experienced. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly and Char Hall part twelve ----- She led him into the back room, which was very dark. "Have you ever wanted to be immortal?" she asked him. "That's every artist's goal, isn't it?" Mulder said, staring deeply into the woman's eyes. Woman - she was hardly more than a girl, for all her height. She smiled. It would have been a goofy smile if something hadn't been telling him to be very afraid of the intention behind that smile. Her eyes were dark, almost black in this light, and it took him a second too long to realize it was because her pupils were dilated. They would be, in the dark, he thought, but also knew it was something more than that. Did the drugs make her kill, or did she take the drugs to enjoy the kill? To elevate it to a higher experience? "The artist's subject is more immortal than the artist," she told him, still smiling at him, but her eyes were dangerous. "But only when that art is recognized by critics and buyers and man as something great." "I've never cared for the idea of eternal life, " he told her honestly. "No immortal soul?" she demanded. "No ghosts, no goblins, no reincarnation, no returning from the dead?" She burst out laughing. "You believe in these things. I know you do." "How do you know?" asked Mulder. "I feel it," she informed him. "You're willing to rely on a feeling?" he asked. Suddenly he wasn't comfortable in this situation. He'd just realized he was standing here talking to a girl who'd killed seven - eight? - people for a sick art project. It occurred to him that fact should make him a little nervous. "I know you," she told him. When he just looked at without saying anything, she repeated it with more intensity. "I know you, Mulder." "How did you know my name?" "If you think about it, you know mine." "Eternity." He looked at her in surprise. "What my father called me," she told him. "My father loved me. He was a great artist." "I'm sure he was." "What do you know about it?" she demanded. "The dreams. The dreams, you moron. I picked you. I made you. You are going to be a very important part of my masterpiece." She grinned at him again, and this time it looked like the toothy grin of a skeleton. Disgusting and frightening. "You think you're going to kill me?" Mulder asked calmly, reaching for his gun. His hand came up empty. Oh hell, he thought, his eyes widening. When had he taken it out of its holster? That had been a pretty stupid move. "I told you to," she said, seeing his confusion. "Want to try it again?" She pulled a large bladed cutting tool from her pocket, but didn't open it for a moment. She wanted to make sure she had his attention before she slid the blade from its protective housing, and then only a fraction of an inch. She sighed and wet her lips, looking at the knife it worshipful reverence. "Scissors cut paper," she told him with another smile. She met his eyes. "Paper's such a temporary medium. This one...this one's gonna last forever. No one can undo what I'm going to do to you. Not with solvents or ignorance or hurtful words." "Time," he said. "Decay." She was fixated on the rejection of her work, he thought. As well as her father. She shook her head. "It goes deeper than that. I have your soul. You are going to serve me now. You already are. I brought you here. You're good. You've been with me on all of the murders, you know. You've taken his place here on earth." "Whose place?" Mulder asked her. "Daddy's. Your eyes have seen the images I want you to carry up to him in the afterlife." "Why can't you just tell him about it, Eternity?" Mulder asked her carefully, not wanting to agitate her any more than she already was. "Don't you think I've tried?" she snapped. "I can't reach him. He's too far away. They always go far away when they're dead. The critics have pushed him away. He's hiding from them, not realizing they can't hurt him any more. That his work - and mine - will soon be celebrated. That's why I need you. You've seen what I've done for him. Now you can go and tell him." "If you can't reach him, what makes you think I can?" asked Mulder. "You're going to be dead first," she told him matter of factly. "But you want to do this, don't you, Mulder? You want to be my messenger. Because you like what I've been doing. You like it. It excites you. Just like it excites my daddy. And it excites them. I saw the article. They're already talking about it. What a great work of art it will be when it's finished. He'll be so thankful when you tell him what I've done for him. He'll be good to you." Her eyes sparkled. Mulder was horrified, and yet there was something in her words that sounded almost...understandable. Because she had been in his dreams, because he knew about her. He had seen the murders because she had wanted him to see them. Didn't it follow then, that...? He tried to pull his thoughts away from the void of her version of eternity. Her father had to be the devil if she was telling the truth, he thought, wondering if she could read his thoughts in the process of granting him hers. He tried to make himself strong thinking of Dana. He had to remember all that he had to live for. That love he had to live for. "She doesn't understand you," Eternity mocked him. She could see, he thought. "What would she think of you if she knew how much you liked it? The killing, the blood, the feeling of that life dying in your hands, because of you. It turns you on, doesn't it? Because you're just like my father." She smiled at him. "She's one of them. The critics. The ignorant masses who don't even deserve to be transformed by my art. She would never appreciate it. Or the way it makes you feel excited." "No, it doesn't," Mulder informed her coldly. She was moving in closer to him, dancing and rubbing up against his body in some kind of ritualistic dance. "Daddy, dance with me," she said. "Daddy, kill with me." "I'm not your father." "But you'll carry my message to him. That's your purpose in life. You're his vessel on this earth," she said seductively, trying again to draw him into her nightmare. "That's why I picked you. You see murder and death every day. You like it. It likes you. It clings to you, bringing down your shoulders and the corners of your smile." "How do you know think you know anything about me?" Mulder asked. She shrugged casually. "Must have been the brain-suck," she said cryptically, leaving him shocked and quite unwilling to ask her what she meant. It was a term a lot of abductees used, he knew. Was that had brought on her acute psychosis? he wondered, had she experienced an abduction trauma and twisted it into something so much more? "No," she told him coldly, "It wasn't aliens. It was my daddy who fucked me when I was eight years old." There was no trace of the easy, flowing personality she'd portrayed earlier. She was absolutely straightforward, and then she looked him in the eye. "That's how old your sister was, isn't it?" "What do you mean?" Mulder asked, feeling a quiet and furious rage rising within him. He would break her neck if she was saying what he thought she was saying. "Oh, the world has such a hard edge," she said, sighing like a long suffering martyr. "It's a good thing I know how to make it all feel so much nicer." From the deep pockets of the coat she was wearing, she produced a small bottle and a hypodermic needle. "This'll make it all nice and cozy again," she said, mostly to herself, as she stuck the needle into the bottle and filled it with liquid. "Fuzzy and pretty and happy." She looked at him and met his eyes. "This is the only one I've got. Sorry 'bout that. We'll have to share. But because I trust you, if you tell me you're clean, I'll let you use it first, how about that?" "I don't take drugs," Mulder informed her. "You've taken drugs before," she told him. "Remember how much you liked it? Remember how it made all that nasty pain go away?" "I don't take drugs," Mulder said again. "Well, you do now," she said crankily, and jabbed him in the arm with the needle. He cried out in pain, but it only lasted a second before the drug began to flow warmly through his veins. His eyes lost their focus and he blinked to try to keep them even halfway open. He sighed. "Better than a good review," she said, repeating the process on herself. Because she was a frequent user, the dosage didn't hit her as hard. It only took the edge off everything and made it easier for her to face what she had to do next. She had to make her daddy proud. "It's bathtime, Mr. Mulder, sir," she cried gleefully, supporting him as he staggered across the storage room in the back of the gallery. "Good thing you took those nice chemicals to keep you warm because it's gonna be a cold bath, sweetie. Might do you some good." Humming to herself, she began to undress him. "But it's gonna be so nice when you do your duty, think about that. You'll be fulfilling your purpose on this earth. And you'll make my daddy so happy. He'll give you good reviews for this. Gold stars and A pluses and a picture in the front of the gallery." Mulder didn't answer. He was lost in a whirling carnival of bright colors and her voice sounded so very far away to him. "Dana," he mumbled, reaching out as things started to go black, but she just slapped his hand back down. "I'll have to do, love," she told him, grinning that goofy grin again. ----- Dana drove to the gallery, and Mickey had been worried she was going to wreck the car and they would never get there. He kept opening his mouth to suggest injuries caused by excessive speed weren't going to do Mulder any good, but every time, he caught a look at Chloe's face and knew he couldn't say it. Chloe understood Dana's rush. So did Mickey. He just wanted to believe they wouldn't find Mulder in any danger. Stopping the car with enough force to throw them forward in their seats, Dana jumped out a moment later and ran toward the gallery. "Ready for this?" Chloe asked, turning to Mickey in the back seat. He nodded. "Think she's overreacting?" "The man she loves may be dying in there, do you think she's overreacting?" "No, but that doesn't stop me from hoping." "Me, either," Chloe agreed. They didn't know what they were going to find inside. Maybe art students and paintings. Maybe death. Oh God, she wouldn't be able to stand it if Mulder was in there with all of his skin flayed off. Please let us be wrong or in time, she prayed. She didn't really care which. The door was open and Dana slipped through it. Acting as her backup, Chloe and Mickey sprinted up to the door and paused a second, listening for any activity. All they heard was Dana's shout of, "FBI! Come out with your hands up!" An order that would have set them both giggling if it wasn't so serious. They went inside. The paintings had been hung on walls that blocked their path and seemed to double back at times. "Dana, I can't see you," Chloe called. "I'm okay," she yelled, "Stay with me!" "You don't see anything?" "No. Yes!" Chloe and Mickey began running, and they found Dana staring at a painting. It was red and blue and kind of weird. "The killer's," said Chloe, with barely a glance at it. Mickey looked at her. "Look at the colors! Just like the mural," she cried. Mickey leaned in to look at the title card. "Holy Ghost. Three in a series of three," he read, "Sally Ann Preston." "Father, Son and Holy Ghost," Dana murmured. "We know she has father issues," remarked Chloe. "Here's another one," Mickey said, moving ahead of them. He read the title and looked back at them. "It's called Daughter." "Father, Daughter, and Holy Ghost," Chloe corrected. "What a poor, sick girl," Dana said, then began running. "Mulder!" she yelled. "Mulder!" When Chloe and Mickey caught up with her again, she'd reached the end of the maze and was pounding on a door set into the back wall of the gallery. "Mulder! Let me in! Open the door!" "Locked?" asked Mickey. "Storage room," Chloe said, "by the looks of it." "Mulder!" Dana screamed again, but they heard nothing from inside. "Stand back!" Mickey shouted, and shot the lock off the door. It swung open on hinges that creaked sickly. Before Chloe could caution her, Dana dashed through it. "Mulder," she said, running to his side instantly. "Looks like a party," Sally Ann Preston, known to her father as Eternity, raised her head off the floor long enough to say. Chloe knelt by the girl's side. She had a needle hanging out of her vein, and the bottle lying next to her was empty. Her hand lay open in her lap and it was full of blood. She'd cut herself on the blade that had fallen from her hand. "I think we've got an overdose," Chloe called from Sally Ann's side, checking the girl's eyes. "This is bad, her pupils don't match. I don't think she's gonna make it." Chloe gently pulled the half-depressed needle from Sally Ann's arm and put it on the floor. She heard Mickey calling on his cell phone for 911 to dispatch a pair of ambulances. Chloe raised her head and saw Dana kneeling on the floor, crying. Please don't let him be dead, Chloe begged again, and steeled herself for the worst as she got to her feet and walked across the room to where Dana was kneeling. Her head was pressed against the side of a large freezing unit, the door of which was open and propped against the wall. As she moved closer, Chloe could see Dana's hand wrapped around a larger, masculine hand which was hanging out of the freezer. He was dead, she thought. Mulder was dead and it was their fault because they didn't figure it out fast enough, Chloe thought. It was his own stupid fault for going off and not telling anyone where he was going or what he was thinking, as usual. "Dana?" Chloe asked, and was surprised to find herself near tears too. She didn't want Mulder to be dead, but if he was alive, Dana would be doing something to help him. She moved close enough to peer over the side of the freezer. Mulder wasn't cut. His bluish white skin was perfectly intact. He was lying in water that had frozen over with a thin layer of ice on top, partially obscuring from view the fact that Sally Ann had undressed him before popping him in to cool. "Mickey," Chloe said, "You have to help me get him out." "No," said Dana. "Dana," Chloe said warningly. "We have to get him out and get him warm." "We have to wait for the ambulance to get here," Dana insisted, wiping the tears away from her red eyes and getting to her feet. "He's in a state of hypothermic shock, and if we pull him out without the proper equipment to warm him, he'll die of it. His heart will stop. Plus," she lifted Mulder's arm and presented it to Chloe. In the crook of his elbow was a few faint drops of blood. "Sally Ann has a bruise on her face corresponding to about the size of Mulder's foot. We don't know how much of that stuff she pumped into him to make him stop fighting her. Right now the cold is keeping it from circulating as quickly, reaching his heart and possibly killing him. Is there a label on the bottle?" "No," Mickey reported from the other side of the room. "Mulder doesn't react well to drugs," Dana told them. "His pupils are enormous. But he's breathing and he has a pulse. That's - " she drew a shaky deep breath. "That's good enough for me right now." She set her mouth and Chloe and Mickey both knew she was trying not to cry any more. Chloe backed away, to give her a little more space. "Mickey, look at this place," she whispered to her partner. "It's not as bad as the apartment," he said back softly, his eyes fixed on Dana and Mulder. "It's worse, in its own way," Chloe said, looking around. She glanced at Sally Ann and Mickey caught her. "She's dead," Mickey said. "I think it happened a few minutes ago." Chloe nodded. "Do you think he's going to be all right?" he asked, glancing at Mulder. "He has to be," Chloe said, and because it was the truth, nothing more could be said on that subject. A moment later, the paramedics arrived in a flurry of noise and activity. "We're back here!" Chloe shouted to the people she heard enter the maze of paintings. "All the way back in the storeroom." The first paramedics entered the room and headed straight for Sally Ann. "Don't bother, she's dead," Mickey said. "She's also a serial killer. That man need you right now." He pointed them to Mulder. Dana moved from the freezer, moving slowly as a zombie, to meet the paramedics. She began to tell them what she had told Chloe and Mickey, only in more technical terms. They nodded and listened to her, and then immediately reached to pull Mulder out of the tub. "No!" she shouted, "Haven't you been listening to me?" "You're crazy, lady," the paramedic told her, "If you'd pulled him out when you first got here, he'd have a better chance of recovery." "Listen to me, I am a doctor," Dana informed them. "You are going to do what I tell you and you are going to save this man's life. Do you understand me?" The paramedics shared a look. As she began to issue orders, the color came back into her cheeks and her spine grew straighter. "She is one tough woman," Mickey said, with obvious admiration for her. "They're both going to be fine," Chloe remarked. "Thanks to us," he said. "You? What did you do?" Chloe teased. "Thanks to me." "What did you do?" Mickey teased her back. Bickering helped distract them from watching the paramedics work on Mulder's shockingly white body. When he was on the gurney and wrapped with thermal blankets and heating pads, infused with an IV drip, he was ready to travel. "Are you going to be okay, Dana?" Chloe asked. "Yeah," she answered. "Do you want us to go with you?" Mickey offered. Dana shook her head, and she looked ten years older and wearier than she had that morning. Her face was almost as pale as Mulder's ice-chilled skin. "No. I think I can handle it from here. You need to take the rental car back and you need to follow up with Sally Ann. I know she's dead, but there's still paperwork to be done, and proper procedure to be followed when her apartment is entered. Look surprised, kids, okay?" she suggested. "We will," Mickey promised solemnly. "Samantha's at my mother's house, or she will be after school." She couldn't be bothered to raise her wrist to see what time it was; she was functioning on necessary motions only at this point. "Someone needs to tell them both very gently what has happened, and assure them that Mulder is going to be all right, and I am all right, and I'll be home as soon as I can." "We'll see to it," Chloe promised. She placed her hand on Dana's shoulder. "Take care of him," she said. Dana nodded. "Look after Sammi?" "Always," Chloe promised, and Dana managed to smile before she turned away to accompany the paramedics. "Pizza and a video tonight?" Mickey asked softly. Chloe turned to him with sad eyes. "Somehow, I don't think so," she said, and he marveled at his ability to always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Chloe smiled and rubbed his shoulder and they went out to the car together. "It's going to be okay," she said, and he managed to stop berating his insensitivity long enough to smile at her briefly. This had shaken them both. It had been a little too close. This case had been a little too rough. But Mickey nodded as he looked out the window at the blurring scenery. It was going to be okay in the end. Bed Springs III by Megan Reilly and Char Hall part thirteen ----- Dana sat in the hallway with her head down and her eyes closed, but she was awake. Mulder wasn't expected to regain consciousness for another few hours, and the beeping of the machines in his room had begun to drive her out of her mind. She couldn't sit there another second, watching him and waiting for him to open his eyes. "Hi." The soft female voice appeared at her side, and she felt the weight of another person settle on the chair linked to hers. Dana opened her eyes and looked. "Hello," she said, surprised to see Mickey's friend Purity sitting there. "He's going to be just fine," Purity told her with a gentle smile. "Isn't that what I should be telling you?" Dana asked, only half-joking. "You looked like you needed some reassurance." "Thanks." She managed a token smile that she didn't feel. "Samantha's not here?" Purity asked, still studying Dana's face. Dana shook her head. "She's just a little girl. Since he's going to be okay, I don't want to scare her with the vigil. Not this time." "Understandable," Purity agreed. "But don't you think his sister should be here?" Something about the way she said it only made Dana look at her harder, looking for...something in her face that she didn't find. Again, she felt lingering traces of memory of a time she didn't want to remember edging their way into her brain. "Have you gotten any rest?" Purity asked her. Dana shook her head. "You have to take care of yourself," she advised, and Dana nodded. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was curl up next to her husband in bed, and she couldn't do that. She couldn't even cry, because, all told, this wasn't as serious as it could have been. She had to save her tears for when she would need them, and in the meantime hope that day would never come. Purity patted Dana's hand calmly. "You need to tell him." Dana just looked at the mysterious woman who at that moment, seemed to be omniscient. She didn't ask. She just said, "I should have told him before." "Maybe," Purity said with a smile. She got to her feet and Dana looked up at her, wondering where she was going. "I think he's awake now." Dana couldn't find the words to ask her how she knew that, and let the other woman walk away. Curious, with Purity's words nagging at her, she was unable to sit in the hallway another moment. She pushed on the door and walked into Mulder's room just as he groaned. She made it to his bedside as his eyes opened. His eyes fixed on her face. "You're okay," she told him. He nodded. "You're here." "Of course I'm here." Had he really doubted she would be at his bedside? she wondered. Had things gone so wrong between them? Suddenly she felt grateful to Purity's intuition, or whatever it was. She wouldn't have been able to forgive herself if she'd listened to the doctors and been sitting out in the hallway. "Mulder, I'm sorry." "For what?" he asked, surprised. "For the way I've acted. For not even trying to understand." "That's not important," he told her. "It is. I was nasty and I was unsupportive." "You were scared," he said, and his the target head on. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to be more open with you." "I guess we still have some things to work on," she said. "I love you," he told her. "I love you too," she said. Then she broke into a grin. "I have something to tell you." "You're pregnant." She gaped at him. "You know?" "I guessed." He was starting to grin now too. "When?" She was really shocked. "Just now, when you said you had something to tell me." He grinned and she stared at him. "Something clicked in my head in that carpet plant, but it didn't click all the way until this moment." "I should have told you before," she said, feeling ashamed and blaming herself again. If she'd told him, he wouldn't have gone off after the killer alone. "I'm glad you told me now." "Are you happy?" she asked him. "Are you?" "What kind of a question is that, Mulder?" she demanded. "I'm thrilled, Dana." "Well so am I," she told him. "Even if I'm terrified." "I don't think I've ever heard you admit when you were afraid before," Mulder said, looking at her pensively. "It's been a hell of a week," she retorted. "Come here," Mulder said, patting his bed. "Come on." "Mulder, there's not room in these beds for two." "Good, I like it better that way," he informed her. She climbed up onto the bed, squeezing into the small space with him. He fit her body against him and they lay there together, quietly. "Did I ever tell you the best way to share body heat is for a naked body to climb into bed with another already naked body?" he asked, as he put his chin against the top of her head and stroked her hair. "I seem to recall hearing that one before, Mulder, yes," she replied. "I think it's working," he murmured to her, and they laughed together. ----- Mickey hung up the phone and was acutely aware of three pairs of female eyes trained on him. "Dana says he's awake and doing fine," he reported, and a cheer filled the living room that had up until that point been tensely quiet. "I'm so relieved," Chloe Grant said, shuffling through her pile of colored play money to cover the strength of her relief. "Me too," added Margaret Scully, who was acting as banker as she worked on her knitting. It was either going to be a sweater for Mulder or an afghan, but she said she hadn't decided yet and since there was plenty of time until Christmas... "Good," Samantha Mulder grinned, the first time she had smiled the entire night. She wiggled her feet in the air from where she was lying on the rug. It was good to see her smile. Both Chloe and Mickey had been worried to see her studiously concentrating on the game of Monopoly, as though she was trying to keep her thoughts away from her brother and the hospital she wasn't allowed to visit. Mickey took up his place on the floor near the game board and began to tidy up his already pristinely sorted piles of money. "She also said she had a question for you, kiddo," he said casually to Sammi. "What's that?" she asked, when he didn't tell her the question immediately. "What is it?" she cried, poking him in the stomach to try to get him to relent sooner. Now that she knew her brother was all right, she was a bundle of energy again. "All right, all right!" Mickey cried, grabbing her poking fingers. "She wanted to know..." He paused to see how long he could keep her hanging there. Then he grinned at her. "She wanted to know how you felt about being an aunt." It took Sam a moment to work through the complex family relation to understand the implication of the question. "No way," she said. "Yes way," Mickey said, and Samantha shrieked. "Hey!" he said, and she shrieked again, jumping up from the floor and running to the phone. "This is too cool. I have to call them!" Sammi cried, dialing as fast as she could, and then waiting while it rang. Chloe caught Mickey's eye. "You're serious?" she asked, and he nodded. "Wow," she said, smiling. At the same moment, they had the same thought and looked at Mrs. Scully. She had tears streaming down her face. "Hey, are you okay?" Chloe asked, moving over to put her arm around the woman. "I'm so happy," Margaret said and smiled through the tears. "Grandma Margaret, Dana says she wantsta talk to you," Sammi reported from the telephone. "I want to talk to her, too," she answered, and moved to take the phone from her adopted...daughter in law?...from a child she already loved as dearly as any of her grandchildren. "Dana, what's going on?" she asked. "Yes, I am crying....don't you start...oh, Dana honey, I'm so happy for you both," she said. "Hey," Mickey said, reaching across the game board and touching his partner's chin to try to raise her face up to the light. "Are *you* crying too?" he asked. Chloe shook her head. "Course not," she said, and he let her get away with it. After a moment, he brought his arm back and she said, "That was just a ploy to move your piece ahead, wasn't it?" "No!" he cried. "It was! I saw you! You swept your ratty old shoe off my Boardwalk with a hotel and hoped I wouldn't notice!" "I would never do that!" "You just did, you big...cheater!" "Sam, come tell her where my piece was!" "Yeah, you come tell us both!" "Children, settle down!" Margaret ordered from near the phone. And none of them could stop smiling for the rest of the night. ----- It was difficult for the restaurant to find a table for ten to accommodate them all, but they did, and the table was filled with smiles and laughter and people meeting others they had only heard about. Of the ten, the table had no less than seven guests of honor. Not an everyday feat. "I'd like to propose to toast to the guests of honor here tonight," Mulder said, rising from his chair and holding up his glass. "To Mr. and Mrs. Grant, the parents of one of the brightest agents I've ever had the honor of working with. It is a pleasure to know you." "Oh, come on," said Chloe's father. "We're just glad that you're looking after our little girl," Chloe's mother said. "Mom!" Chloe cried, but she was smiling. She reached over and put her arms around her mother's neck. "I'm glad the two of you could stay to meet everyone." "So are we, sweetie," her mother said, hugging her back. "I'd like to welcome Mrs. Mulder to our table," Mrs. Scully said, but without rising from her chair. She smiled at the other woman across the table, perhaps because she had noticed how out of place she appeared, not knowing anyone at the table except her children very well. "I hope that you'll grow closer to our family now." "I think I will," Mrs. Mulder said, but it was her son she was smiling at. "This is my first grandchild." "First of many," Samantha offered. "Was that a hint, brat?" Mulder asked his sister. "Take it how you want to," she offered regally, but then she winked and grinned at him. He kicked her under the table and she kicked him back. Mulder was about to kick her again and begin a great kicking war, but Dana gently placed a hand on his arm and reminded him that he was not twelve years old any more and he had to be a good example for his sister. He took the hint, but not before mock-punching his sister, sending her into cascades of giggles. "I have to thank Mickey and Chloe for all their support and for taking some of the burden off me and Mulder," Dana offered. "And for all the babysitting they're going to be doing in the future." "Gladly," Chloe said. "Double for me," Mickey replied. "And Skinner," Mulder added. "For assigning me a couple of pain-in-the-ass rookies and making me train them so I could give all my cases away to them whenever I want to sneak off with my wife." Skinner just nodded, but didn't say anything. "Go on, isn't there anyone you want to toast?" Mrs. Mulder asked, since she was sitting next to him. "I'd just like to thank you all for inviting me," Skinner offered, and fell back into quiet. It was his nature, they knew. A few more of these gatherings and he would be laughing and smiling as much as the rest of them. Mrs. Scully thought he could use a bit more laughter in his life. "Of course, we all know who this special celebration is for," Samantha said, rising to her feet and commanding the table with her presence. "Who's that?" Mulder asked, as though he had been coached earlier in the evening. "Me, of course!" Sammi said. "Because I got the two of you together." "Hold on just a minute," Skinner said, "I thought I did that." "Actually, I seem to remember some subtle matchmaking on my part," Mrs. Scully said. "Wait, I thought we paired them up," Mickey said to Chloe. "Yeah, you pushed him right when I bumped her and..." Chloe played along. "Everyone takes the credit when something goes right," Mulder said. "Thank you, whoever has done this. But the blame for this union has already been discussed...if you remember the wedding reception." "Blame?" Dana asked her husband. "Beautiful, blissful blame," he told her. "Good," she said. "We all know there's only one person who can take credit for what we're celebrating tonight," Mulder continued. "Who's that?" Dana asked. "Me!" he answered. "I seem to remember having a little something to do with it," she pointed out. "Nope, it was all me." "My medical degree tends to disagree, Mulder." "Too bad because I know I'm right." "What did you do that you didn't do any other night?" she asked him. The crowd at their table whooped at that suggestion. "I'm the one who did all the work here." "No, Dana, I really think -" "Shut up and kiss her already!" Samantha cried, shoving her brother closer to his wife. "Sound like a good idea to you, Mrs. Scully-Mulder?" he asked. "Sounds like a wonderful idea to me, Mr. Mulder. And that's Dr. Scully-Mulder to you." He didn't get to make a clever retort because she'd taken matter into her own hands and kissed him deeply. Another cry went through the members of the party, who then began to talk amongst themselves, laughing and talking and generally enjoying themselves, allowing Dana and Mulder the time to celebrate in their own style. Which they did. the end.