*^*^*^*^*^ City of Burlington, Vermont Sunday, 17 September The potted palms and small, sparkling water fountain in the lobby held the three conference attendees' attention for all of about ten minutes. Then the effects of extended waiting set in. Jordan Evans, Bio-technologist from the local university, untied his trench coat and re-tied it, his fidgeting starting to annoy the others. Belinda Perkins, an M.E. from Hanover, New Hampshire and Armand Le, a radiologist from Vail, Colorado, chatted to try to block Jordan's distracting behavior. This was meant to be a reunion of sorts after they'd all met last year in Reno at the same conference. While they'd all kept in touch it had been mostly by email and in a year's time, each had changed in small ways. As Scully exited the elevator, Jordan noticed her first, her coppery hair falling in waves around her shoulders drawing his eyes to her like a red hot magnet. It wasn't just the hair, but he wasn't sure exactly what else made her look so…calm and content. That was it, really, the peaceful smile that lit up her face. Belinda's smile matched Scully's as she took in the new, more casual look. At last year's conference, the usually staid Dana Scully, had joined them for a day on the town in her business suit. The jeans, soft, fluffy sweater and the three-quarter length microfiber jacket were a far cry better and really amazed Armand, as well. Pleasantries were exchanged as they made their way to the revolving door. Armand pulled a city walking map from his jacket pocket and they huddled in the unusually warm misting rain. To their left, the wan sunlight was trying its best to make an appearance over Lake Champlain. Noting that the City Market Place was only two and a half blocks behind the hotel, they agreed to start there. The short walk gave them a chance to catch up, turning and chatting animatedly. Armand kept his umbrella open although the rain seemed to be nothing more than an occasional sprinkling, but Belinda explained that he was rather fussy about his cashmere jacket. The others tried to avoid the spokes every time he turned to talk to someone. It became a game of 'avoid the umbrella or have you eye poked out'. Although the weather wasn't perfect, the Market Place was packed. The low brick decorative walls held back rows of bayberry and other evergreen shrubs. In some places the walls were also littered with wet leaves in shades of yellow, brown and gold. For a short time, the shops and restaurants were all but invisible as the yearly friends brought each other up to speed on their professional and personal lives. Belinda was the first to zero in on Scully, asking her whether her partner had joined her. The three colleagues came to a group halt, waiting for the response as Scully continued walking oblivious to the fact that they were no longer in tow. Approximately fifteen feet ahead, she suddenly stopped and turned, her attempt at a stern countenance failing miserably as she heard them chuckle, doing nothing to hide their enjoyment. In the humor of the moment, however, she succeeded in neatly side-stepping the question and they moved on. The skies suddenly opened as the sky grayed sending a mini-deluge upon them, testing their umbrella-opening skills. The Market Place environs became a colorful sea of rain shields as visitors took shelter from the first of a few downpours. As they made their way to a cluster of boutiques, Scully stopped and turned quickly, the hackles on the back of her neck standing on end. Jordan touched her elbow, asking what the matter was but she just shrugged him off. She'd been certain someone was watching her but when she whirled around, the crowd seemed intent on their own affairs. Belinda and Armand had wandered into the small convenience store in search of a soda and Jordan busied himself at the newsstand. Scully wandered across the open courtyard to check out a pair of Amalfi pumps in the window of the 'Heels and Deals' shop. She leaned slightly forward trying to peer through the glare of the overcast day into the sepia-tinted display window when the 'watched' feeling returned -- much stronger this time. Trying not to alert the possible watcher, she remained in position, but her eyes sought out the faces behind her through the reflection of the window. Satisfied that once again her suspicions seemed unfounded, she straightened and prepared to head into the quaint boutique. She took two steps when the creeping feeling reasserted itself, forcing her to stop in her tracks. She never had time to turn around, knowing they were there. She was suddenly surrounded. Unfamiliar arms and hands attached to unknown and quite large bodies intruded on her day. Casual passers-by later remarked about the popularity of the petite redhead in the black jacket with the compact plaid umbrella hanging in her hand. They noticed the look on her face as her alleged friends gathered her against them, one of the more suave looking of the group, ducking his head in to kiss her lips as she exclaimed with what appeared to be her surprise at seeing them. A few later commented on how intent they looked at convincing her to join them... wherever they were going as they whisked her away from the Market Place. 'Effectively pinned' was her first thought as two sets of weight-trained arms held her from in front and behind. The third captor interposed himself between her and the Amalfi pumps in the window as the fourth man clasped the shoulders of the men on either side of her, sealing her fate. Initially her immediate and swift struggles almost knocked the burley blond man to his knees, but they were prepared, knew of her specialized training and keen instincts; knew she was not carrying her weapon. The darkly attired and even more darkly dangerous looking man was prepared to deliver the drug if need be, but preferred she be awake for the festivities. The Boss preferred the subject have the 'full experience'. Although they moved in unison and had managed to weave their way almost effortlessly through the crowds, Scully continued to resist. While she had no use of her hands, anyone attempting to silence her now bore the results of contact with her teeth and the power of her jaws. Somewhere in the recesses of her adrenaline-charged mind, she recited the fact that the jaws possessed the strongest muscles in the body, able to exert more pounds of force per square inch than any other muscle in the human body. Perhaps her mind sought some type of release from her present situation, from the fact that she was being quite efficiently removed from a highly public setting in broad, if gray, daylight and no one was making a move to assist her. Her mind screamed at the situation even as her captors silenced her vocalizations. Her eyes darted furtively, trying to locate Belinda, Armand and Jordan. She could see Jordan engrossed in some newspaper, but the others were still inside the convenience store. Although he was close enough to hear her shouts, she knew it was futile, the sounds of a Sunday fall afternoon and the now more steady downpour surely drowning her out. "Ms. Scully." It was the first words she'd heard from any of the brutes other than their earlier warnings. How ironic that they were being so formal as they absconded with her, she thought. Since she was in no position to respond, and probably wouldn't have even if she were, she remained silent. It was the dark haired man who spoke first. "This will all go a bit better if you cooperate, move with us as if you want to go with us." She wondered sarcastically whether he actually thought she'd play along. They obviously were rather skilled at what they were doing and had planned this carefully. Therefore, they had to know that she was trained and would not go willingly or easily. She squirmed and managed to dig her heel into the blond man's instep for good measure. She hoped she'd effectively answered the question. By now, they had left the Market Place and rounded the corner to the hotel. She looked around, trying to draw attention to herself, but once again, they drew closer. She took advantage of the fact that her mouth was uncovered, but as she attempted to scream once again, the man in front of her moved in closer, a smile on his face. But not in his words. Leaning very close to her, he explained that if she uttered a single sound, they would silence her here and now. Producing the syringe had the intended effect and Scully remained mute. She was hustled and shoved into the back seat of a black stretch limousine, sandwiched between the dark man and the burly blond. The others sat facing them, their knees butting up against hers. Although the dark haired man seemed to prefer keeping some continuous contact, it was in the form of an arm draped around her shoulder, his hand laying much to close to her breast for Scully's liking. Otherwise, she was left unrestrained. She ceased all struggles and trained her eyes on a point between the two in front of her, her hands in her lap. She wracked her brain trying to figure out if she'd ever seen these men before and what their agenda could be. Knowing that trying to tie them into a case she and Mulder had worked on would be almost impossible, she tried to concentrate on the last few months. Nothing came to her, so she simply shut down. Oftentimes, when she pushed too hard to discover a connection, the result was a complete block. Sometimes, allowing her mind to focus elsewhere distracted her enough, somehow producing connections she hadn't previously seen. Her captors, however, wanted to talk. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here, who we are." Confidence, self-importance. Only to run straight into the imperious arched Scully brow. Her glare took in each of them, but she said nothing. Unperturbed and possibly even amused, the dark haired man continued. "We, you and us, seem to have a common friend. Someone new to town like yourself." She was puzzled, but schooled herself to hold her neutral stare. "Not the talkative type, Ms. Scully? I've heard otherwise and am frankly surprised that you've chose to keep your opinions to yourself. But, no matter. Our common friend is Mr. Chris Arsenault. And therein lies our little problem." Genuine confusion shown on her face as she tried to digest the new information. She had no idea who this Chris Aresenault was and how he was supposedly connected to her. "Very nice; your confusion almost appears sincere, but we know better. The two of you seem to be; how shall I say it, rather 'chummy'? He seems to be quite enamored of you in the physical sense from what I have observed." As if to demonstrate his definition of 'chummy', he leaned into her, brushing her hair away from her ear. She wrenched her head away, but was held firmly in place as he nipped her earlobe. "You seemed to like this the other night when he did this, too." He tongued her ear as she buried her head against the blond man's jacket, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Then, things happened in a series of fast-forwarded slides. Unable to move, but still in possession of her strength, Scully grabbed the dark haired man where she could do the most damage, holding and twisting as hard as she could. He nearly bit his own tongue as he screamed and pulled away from her, trying to figure out how to remain doubled over and move at the same time. The burly blond man reacted with lightening speed, producing the syringe and removing the plastic sheath from the tip as the third man held her ankles to keep her from kicking them or trying to stand. Dark haired man managed to slide off the seat and across the way, changing places with the fourth man. Having her effectively locked in place, the neckline of her sweater was wrenched to one side and the drug sent home. Scully recalled blackness. Having reached its location along the northern banks of Lake Champlain, the limo drew to a stop under the maple trees, there leaves shiny with the afternoon rain. They opted to continue their 'discussion' near the running path overgrown with trailing vines and trampled underbrush. The driver silently opened the doors, his sentinel demeanor indicating this was just all in a day's work. Leaving the dark haired man to come back to his senses, the others pulled, then carried her from the vehicle. Expecting dead weight, they became concerned as they realized she was coming to and attempting to stand -- with a vengeance. In the long run, it didn't matter. It would only serve to make the festivities more festive. She writhed and twisted, attempting to draw her legs in and then ram her feet into the fourth man's midsection. As she drew her legs toward her chest, he allowed his hands on her ankles to go with the flow. As soon as she released her energy in his direction, he let her go. Her feet hit the ground hard, but the third man held her, his arms underneath hers from behind. He wrenched on arm high behind her, tugging sharply as he leaned in toward her ear. "Well, Ms. Scully, you are quite the feisty and determined woman. I guess that's what Mr. Arsenault likes about you. He struck me as a little 'subdued'." Although her mind was slightly fogged, the instant and sharp pain radiating through her shoulder and elbow jarred her. She bit her lip hard as she remembered the one-sided conversation in the limo earlier. The dark haired man had referred to some rather intimate behavior between her and 'Mr. Arsenault' the other night... And it hit her like a ton of bricks. He was referring to Mulder. The blond man walked around her, almost as if he were deciding whether to continue with the current game plan or institute his own agenda. He was joined by a somewhat rejuvenated dark haired man -- who did not appear quite as composed nor pre-disposed toward mannered behavior as he had earlier. "Ms. Scully, we had only intended to give you a little message for your friend, but you're making the delivery of that message a little complicated. You know, for someone so beautiful," he stepped closer, his hands easily covering the front of her damp sweater underneath the opened jacket, "you really do like to live dangerously." Grabbing her forcefully, pinching her, he elicited a stream of invective that made him smile. "Manners, manners." His hands softened their approach, but left her only to find her bra. "You and I could have a few moments of enjoyment before we give you that message, but you have to relax a bit." Scully tried to back up as his hands traveled across her bare skin and over the exposed satin, but she had nowhere to go. "Does this turn you on?" He again pinched her already sensitized and sore breasts. "Or how about this?" His eyes never left hers as his fingers pushed up and under the satin, his thumbs flicking and teasing. She drew in a deep breath, only giving more of herself to him unwillingly. The hold on her arms tightened as the dark haired man's ministrations became more brazen. She screamed as he lowered his mouth to her skin, totally catching her off-guard when his teeth made contact. With a determination they could not have predicted, she shoved and kicked, attempting to break free. Managing no more than a few halting and graceless steps, his fist slammed into her jaw and she was quickly restrained and dragged to the small maintenance shed. Her struggles began again in earnest as she tried not to slip in the slickened mud. She was thrown backwards into the small building, her eyes slamming shut as she attempted to bite back a cry of outrage and pain as her head thudded against the wall. Drawing a quick breath, she righted herself -- only to be slapped again as her head was held steady to receive the blow. "Are you going to listen to the message for Mr. Arsenault? You're really the best person to deliver it." When she did not respond, the burly blond man pulled her forward by her shoulders and then assisted his colleague as he removed her jacket, tossing it to the ground. Rain drops completely matted the already damp fluff of her sweater as he throttled her hard until her head shook. "I know you can hear me, Ms. Scully. It would be wise for you to tell Mr. Arsenault that we're watching him very carefully. And that we've had the 'pleasure' of meeting you. A friend of his is a friend of ours. And I always return to take care of my friends. Especially the lookers with spunk." His words dripped with sarcasm as her hands came up to his face, her nails leaving bloody tracks in his skin. With renewed effort, she kicked at his shin. Remembering just how effectively she had taken the dark haired man out of commission, she brought he knee up firmly and decisively. And the darkness returned as he yelped and flung her to the dirt, her head glancing off the shed as she collapsed in a heap. The third and fourth men who had been feeling decidedly left out of the action took their shots. One swift kick to her ribcage sent her further drifting into blackness. Sprawled as she was, the final man stooped to cop himself a feel of the interesting woman who had given the four of them more than they'd bargained for. The sheeting rain diluted the angry red trickling from her scalp. *^*^*^*^*^ Downtown Burlington Sunday, 17 September Jordan finally materialized from the international news section and approached the convenience store glancing around for Scully. He'd thought he'd seen her outside the shoe shop and had secretly hoped she'd wander over to check on him. When she hadn't, he'd gone back to his reading, too cowardly to approach her himself. How often did he get himself into these situations with women? 'These situations' -- made it sound as if he'd admired many women and fallen head over heels for them on a routine basis. But that wasn't the case, not at all. Dana Scully was different and he'd met up with her a grand total of three times if you counted today, but not the first conference a year ago. Last year, he'd 'noticed' her; how did one *not* notice her? She was striking and brilliant and no nonsense; a combination he found extremely attractive, a turn on for both his mind and his body. And she'd been friendly enough in a professional way. But he'd felt the distance, had a feeling that there was probably someone else in the picture. As all four had done, he and Dana had kept in touch via email and the occasional call. He'd tested the waters a bit when he had been sent to D.C. in May. Having emailed her first, he'd casually mentioned that he'd be in town and wondered if she wanted to have a drink with him. She'd surprised him by agreeing. She'd suggested a nice bar close to the J.E. Hoover Building and met him there right on time. It was clear she'd just come from the office as she was dressed in a black pants suit, but the jade scoop neck stretchy shirt underneath really looked sensational on her and he found himself having to drag his eyes back to her face repeatedly. Their conversation has been easy and comfortable, professional and the occasionally personal being shared, the wine flowing. He'd relaxed probably more than he should have and reached across the table to cover her hand with his. The easiness and comfortable flow had been interrupted as she'd looked up at him, suddenly sober, and gently extricated her hand from his. He'd try to mumble something akin to an apology, but she'd waved it off, telling him it was ok, but that all they could be was friends. At that point, he'd met her partner. It was clear that she hadn't invited him by the dagger eyes she'd shot in his direction and the resulting pseudo-apology written on his face. Jordan half suspected that Agent Mulder had not really been overly concerned with his impromptu visit, that he had in fact followed his partner. Jordan knew he'd have done the same thing… And that had been the end of something that had never really begun. Although she had introduced him as 'Agent Mulder', her 'field agent partner', Jordan knew better. Heck, he nearly screamed his intentions as Jordan as he sat down next to Dana. Once again, he looked over toward the convenience store and saw Belinda and Armand exiting, a clear plastic bag containing magazines and assorted junk food in Armand's hand. He asked them if they'd seen Scully, only to find out that neither had. The three then headed for the 'Heels and Deals' shop. Jordan came out shaking his head. It was time for the three to head back to the hotel where they hoped they'd find Scully in her room trying on her new pumps. ^*^ Pine Street Boardinghouse Mulder hopped around as he tried to step into his running shorts and pull on his socks and Nikes. He wanted to see if he could find some out of the way diner and meet her for lunch. Oh, he knew he wasn't supposed to be seen with her, but it was the weekend, it was raining on and off and...and the real reason was that he missed her terribly and had to be with her in some way. Being in the same city barely a mile away from each other and not being able to see her was slowly driving him nuts. He had work to do, was starting a 'new job' tomorrow. He had plenty to keep him going, but he wanted and needed some closure on their relationship. Hearing her voice earlier today, the easy innuendo and chat flowing between them only made him want to see her. When she didn't answer her cellphone, he tried her hotel room. He'd already left three messages for her in the last hour and he was sure the desk staff knew him very well...and didn't want to hear from him again. Scully didn't shut off her cellphone and she, unlike him, had never lost one nor allowed the battery to drain. Therefore, something was wrong. He was sure of it, could feel it deep within himself in the way he always seemed to 'feel' her. He speed dialed her number one last time and then tucked the phone into its microfiber case and clipped inside his waistband. He stopped to leave his room key at the office downstairs and headed out. *** Radisson Hotel Belinda approached the Desk first, inquiring if Dana had returned. It was a long shot, she knew, but on the chance that someone had noticed her, well, her hair color, she had to ask. The Desk staff remembered seeing them all in the lobby before they'd left a couple hours ago, but did not recall seeing her return. Armand used the house phone to call her room. No answer. He then headed for the elevator, telling them to wait in the lobby incase she came down as he headed up. By the short turnaround of his trip, it was obvious. He didn't even need to shake his head for them to know that she wasn't in her room, either. Belinda suddenly recalled another conference presenter she had seen Scully spending time with. It was Jordan however who remembered her name, Kimberely Kresge. Rushing to the Desk, he inquired as to her room number, but was told she was not a guest. True concern took over and for a while, the small group was stymied. As if they shared the thought, they headed for the conference hospitality and message center knowing they might find attendee addresses posted. ^*^*^ Out and About in Burlington Since Mulder had already determined that Scully wasn't at her hotel, he did some quick checking with the hotel desk staff and found out that the two men and one woman heading up the escalator were also asking about her. His long legs took him across the carpeted lobby in scant minutes and he walked up the escalator two deep steps at a time. Although he'd only caught the back of the trio, he was able to locate them at the 'lodgings' bulletin board. "Excuse me, are you friends of Dana Scully's?" Mulder had tapped Armand on the shoulder, but it was Jordan who turned around, recognizing Mulder although the last time he'd seen him, Mulder had been in a fancy suit. "We are. You're Agent Mul--" Jordan never got to finish his statement. "Actually, I'm Chris Arsenault and I'm looking for Ms. Scully. Can you tell me where to find her?" Mulder had tried to convincingly move Jordan away from his identity and had so far succeeded although the younger man was clearly puzzled. It was Belinda who finally moved them past the identify confusion. "Look, Mr. Arsenault--" "Chris, call me Chris." "Ok, Chris. We were out with Dana and had separated to look in some of the shops. We left her at the shoe place and that's the last we saw of her. We were hoping to contact her friend, Kimberley, to see if she might have gone to visit her. How do you know Dana?" Belinda's suspicions didn't deter Mulder. A bit distracted and very much wanting to go find her, Mulder simply stated that they were friends. He explained that he was staying at the Pine Street Boardinghouse and asked that they leave him a message if she turned up. As he turned to head for the escalator, Jordan called after him. "Don't know if it means anything, but I just remembered something. Dana had mentioned wanting us to take a walk along the lake shore after we left the Market Place. Maybe we should all head there?" "Thanks for the information, Jordan, but I can handle it from here." Not wanting to give them anymore time for questions, Mulder strode to the escalator. Removing his shades from the neckline of his tee, he slipped them on to stave off the glare of the gray light. The rain had let up a bit since he'd been inside, rendering it more of a mist. Even with the new information about the lake shore, he decided to run through the Market Place one more time incase she had wandered off and then returned. Knowing deep inside that Scully was extremely focused, wasn't one to 'wander off' of her own volition, he knew he was just doing good detective work, checking all possibilities, exhausting the most obvious answer first. He slowed somewhat, the cobblestones slick with rain threatening to send him skidding. His jog changing to a fast walk, he headed into Heels and Deals, looking for the shop owner. One of the clerks pointed her out at the back of the store. Usually working the floor on Sundays, she did recall seeing Scully at the window, claiming the red hair was the give-away. Mulder thanked her and then asked if she had come into the shop. The owner shook her head, telling him that she seemed to be looking at the Amalfi pumps, but some 'friends' came to talk to her. She went on to say she hadn't recognized them, but they were all men and were all dressed in dark suits. Nodding to her and trying to smile, he turned and sprinted from the shop. His intuition and instinct told him that the men in dark suits were definitely *not* friends of Scully's and that he had to find her. Now. ^*^*^ Somewhere Sunday afternoon "We did, Sir. Mission accomplished." "At the agreed location, but in plain sight." Bishop groaned, a little too loudly, and rolled his eyes. Realizing that Proteus had most likely heard his response to the addition of yet another operative, he hastened to speak. "Uh, um, fine, Sir. How will I know this woman? And exactly what is it I'm to have her do?" Clearing his throat none-too-softly, Proteus corrected Bishop's misspeak. <*She* will be working with you, not for you. She will know you. Keep her out of sight; she's somewhat of a fugitive, a renegade> "As you wish, Sir." Truth be told, Bishop wanted to run his own show and had little use for Proteus and especially for this new 'partner', whoever the hell she was. And that fact this his brother was most likely coming to town with more of the group was doing nothing to make his life better. The only shining spot had been the work of his underlings this afternoon. They'd done a fine job with Chris's friend, although he had to admit, she was quite the hot tamale. For all her conservative look, she'd fought like an enraged tigress from what he'd seen. He'd kept himself out of the picture this time, but thoroughly enjoyed watching her best some of his self-proclaimed tough guys. When she had grabbed Deke's nuts, he'd nearly doubled over with laughter. Oh, he knew Deke had to be in extreme distress, but hell, she was quick! They had learned a bit from that point, but she'd managed a few good licks before they sent her down for the count. Bishop only hoped that the visit to Chris tomorrow would be half as much fun, but he doubted it. Proteus had indicated nothing more than a 'mild scare'. Bishop always did have trouble distinguishing levels, however... ^*^*^ The Shores of Lake Champlain Still Sunday Afternoon… Mulder pulled his cellphone from his waistband once again and pressed '1'. And, just as he feared, 'the cellular customer [he was] trying to reach is not available'. He knew. Knew that the anger he was feeling served only to cover the fear building in his gut. That same dark feeling he got whenever he recalled her abduction, Antarctica or any of the other times she was in danger. He puzzled, as he ran, how it was that two people could be so enmeshed, so inextricably linked. He knew he should just accept it as a given, but it often made him wonder. Identical twins couldn't be anymore connected... And that connection set his nerves jangling. Crossing back in front of the hotel, he headed across the dirt running path that paralleled the shoreline, bringing him to the water's edge. He could make out a few sailboats and a cabin cruiser, but given the on and off again rain, there was very little other activity on the water or around the trail today. Now, at the end of the autumn afternoon, faint rays of sinking sunlight were trying to filter through the clouds in the western sky. He glanced both south and then north, trying to determine which way she might have been taken. 'Taken'. The word rolled far too easily in his mind. Too easily because he knew with a sickening certainty that it was true. If she were with him now, he'd ask her 'which way?'. Invariably, she'd choose one direction and he'd be sure to choose the exact opposite. Unless they were driving, in which case he swore he was infallible with directional decisions, they were pretty much 50-50. His brief smile turning to a brow furrowing frown, he took a deep breath, squinted behind his shades as he turned his head slowly, again, to the right and left and then...headed north. He took off at a slow jog, checking the ground and the surrounding area for clues. Stopping and wandering off the trail occasionally was producing nothing, nothing more than a heightened sense that she had not gone willingly with the black suited men and that she was hurt. "Scuhhlee!" The few passers-by merely glanced in his direction and continued on their way. "Scully, where are you?" He sprinted ahead, but hadn't gone far when he stopped abruptly, looking toward the small, unused parking lot to his right. Tire tracks. Fresh tire tracks. The rain had managed keep the sand and topsoil intact. Squatting down next to the closest set of tracks, he scrutinized the tread, exploring the depth and width noting that they appeared to be from standard size tires. However, noting the distance between the sets of tires, back to front, he guessed the vehicle making the tracks was a limousine. Even with the growing sunlight, the rain began to fall once again, further plastering his Knicks cap to his head. He barely noticed the soggy weight of his running shorts and tee as he rose from his crouch. His eyes followed the tracks to where they came to a stop behind a long-unused shed, with weather-battered shingles and dilapidated hinges on the door. Mulder called out to Scully again, slamming his open palm against the shingles. Again, he called to her, this time kicking the rusty-hinged door. Taking a deep breath and willing himself to calm down enough to pay attention, he rounded the corner of the small structure, nearly tripping over a body... ^*^*^ Radisson Hotel Hospitality Suite Sunday afternoon 4:00PM Kimberley had come to the hotel with Bryan, hoping to help the three conference attendees find her friend. The longer they went without word from Dana, the harder they knew it would be to find her. Armand had been the most clear-headed in his explanations and Kimberley had a fairly good idea and bad feeling that she had been abducted. Although she had no ideas for motivation, MO or perpetrator(s). She called upon the local law enforcement to waive their rule of waiting the obligatory 48 hours prior to putting out an APB and send out a few squad cars and foot patrol officers. For that, she was eternally grateful. ^*^*^ D.C. to Burlington Sunday Afternoon "You've got to call him." "I know; give me a little credit here. I'm just trying to figure out how to tell him. He's got his hands full as it is." Frohike knew what he had to do and Byers's patient, but nonetheless nagging reminders weren't helping. Now all he needed was for Langly to chime in with his support. Good thing he was at a Ramones revival concert. "Look, he's not going to be angry with the messenger; heck, he put us on this search. Just get it over with." Byers unnecessarily handed the phone to Frohike, stepping back to give the man some space. Sending his fellow gunman a look that could wither a bonzai, Frohike called the boardinghouse. And listened to the phone ring and ring...and ring until the answering machine picked up. He waited impatiently for the electronic drone to end. "Mulder, it's me. Look buddy, call me. I have to give you a heads up. Don't think you're going to like this. A certain formerly dead individual is headed your way…again." He replaced the phone in its cradle, shaking his head from side to side ruefully. Having made another decision, he tried Mulder's cellphone. It was busy. He couldn't face leaving yet another message like the first. Byers commiserated. He, too, knew that their friend wasn't going to be happy that he now had a definitive answer to his question. He also knew of someone who would be even less happy than Mulder... ^*^*^ Shore of Lake Champlain Sunday Afternoon He stopped, taking in information even as he knew who he was seeing, his heart trying to tell his brain that it was in error. In the now sheeting rain, he dropped to his knees, idly grabbing her jacket from where it lay a few feet from her very still body. Unsure of what to cover first, he let it fall. Although the scan was performed in mere seconds, his first aid training kicking in automatically, time seemed stretched and slowed, threatening to pull him under. God, how he hated to deal with her mortality. How he hated not being able to be with her every minute, to make sure she was safe, to move obstacles from her path. He realized he was shivering from the combination of the breeze off the lake and the downpour. And that state finally moved him into action. He bent over her, calling her name. He was hesitant to move her until he could do a basic assessment, hoping to ensure she hadn't injured her back. He leaned in closer, gingerly and compassionately touching her face, moving her wet hair away from her closed eyes. "Scully...oh, please, Scully..." He wasn't sure what he wanted to say as he implored her, how he could put into words the punch to the gut he felt whenever her life was jeopardized, how he could possibly will her to awaken and say his name with that small smile on her face. The smile she reserved for him. Her face was bruised and she was lying on her side. Even semi-conscious, his first inclination was to shield her from the rain, from the pain that had been inflicted upon her, from -- when the force of the emotions threatened to render him useless his anguish turned to anger. Anger at the bastards who had brutally man-handled her, anger at himself. He had no doubts that this was a direct result of his activities in Burlington. No doubts that this was not a casual Sunday afternoon mugging. His hand went to her throat looking for a pulse. It was steady, but much too fast. "Talk to me, Scully. Open those baby blues so I can see you're all right." No response. On impulse, he lifted her eyelid, his thumb gently pushing it up toward her brow. He vaguely remembered something about equal and reactive, but what exactly those words meant in this situation, he couldn't say. He let her lid slip down again. Crawling closer to her, his knees scraping on the muddy gravel, he leaned in to try and feel for her breathing. Having already felt rapid, but steady pulse and the barest of inhalations, he grabbed his cell. One hand speed dialed 9-1-1 as he sank into the mud, landing him close to her. He absently stroked her bruising face and tried to shield her from the rain with his body... "I have an FBI Agent down, pulse steady but rapid, very faint respiration. Yes, her face looks as if she's been hit -- hard. No. No. Can't talk, clothing is intact, no, she's not awake." Some many questions, so necessary. He wanted them here. Now. After providing their location, he looked around for something -- anything -- to keep her warm and dry. He spotted a compact unopened plaid umbrella across the trail. He wasn't sure whether to smile ruefully or laugh nervously at the insane irony of it all. Moving to sit against the shed, he leaned over, reaching for her. And then stopped, once again worried about further injuries. Although he'd admit to no more than the basic first aid and CPR required for his job, he'd learned over the years to carefully observe. To observe on his own and to observe his partner at work, doing what she did best. Relatively sure she had not sustained spinal injuries, he eased her to him until her body rested in his lap. He laid her jacket against her legs, knowing it would provide on a modicum of cover. Holding the umbrella over as much of the rest of her, he wrapped his arm over her, pulling her gently against him, trying to share what little body heat he had to give her. "Scully, I know you can probably hear me." He spoke in a low, soothing voice that he hoped gave no hint at just how distraught he felt. "You're going to be fine, I'll make sure of it and then we're leaving here, we're going home...together." He wasn’t sure whether he felt her stir or heard her struggling to speak first. "Scully?" "Not…going home. I'm..." The wail of the Ambulance sirens cut off as the vehicle lumbered around the corner, pulling up abreast of the shed. The whirring red lights cut glaring swaths in the overcast afternoon. The EMTs quickly scanned the scene as they asked Mulder some questions to update her status. They'd seen it before; the loved one who can't let go so they can minister to the victim, the man so attached to his wife or his lover that he believes he can make things right even as he realizes she needs their help. "Sir, we're going to take her now." The first EMT helped his partner wheel the stretcher over and then knelt down next to Mulder while his partner checked her vitals. Mulder could vaguely make out some of the words about her condition being relayed to the dispatcher at the hospital, He didn't want to hear anymore knowing that what he'd heard so far wasn't life threatening. But...he couldn't seem to let go of her. He had dropped the umbrella, somehow, when the EMTs had approached, now using both his arms to hold her tightly to him, oblivious to the possible pain he might be causing her. All he knew was that he had to fix it, had to keep her safe. He hadn't kept her safe. She was hurt. She was hurt because of him. He hadn't felt the hands on his shoulders shaking him, hadn't heard the male voice as two sets of hands stood him up. He wondered where Scully was. She had been there just a minute ago -- hadn't she? "Get him in the ambulance with her." "Ok, Sir, c'mon. We're going to let you ride with her, but I need to get your vitals, too." When they determined that he was suffering only from the wet cold and his intense concern for her, they instructed him to remove his drenched tee and replaced it with one of their jackets and a thermal blanket. The shorts they'd worry about at the hospital. ^*^*^ Office of the Assistant Director Washington, D.C. Sunday, 19 September Early Evening He wanted to go home. He'd been here most of the weekend and had finally caught up, but he wasn't about to leave until the standard check-in call came from Burlington. Mulder was late and while that wasn't all that unusual where meetings were concerned, he was amazingly punctual when undercover. For a man and Agent who took almost everything into his own hands, he somehow also seemed to 'get' the need for regular updates when severed from standard connections. Heck, there had been a few times while Mulder, Scully and Ritter were in New Hampshire that he'd found himself wishing that he hadn't called in so much. The man obviously had never heard Confuscious, 'all things in moderation'. But, still, there was something unsettling about this breach. Yes, they had talked yesterday, but the appointed time was five o'clock. Mulder was an hour late. Hell, he'd go home, try him from his cellphone on the way. He was just about to hang up when the line was picked up. A very tired sounding Mulder. "It's Skinner. Where the hell are you? You're late for your check-in." He'd registered the sound of his Agent's voice, but not enough in the single word to change the tone of his reply. But something sounded 'off'. Mulder could be many things, stubborn, irritating, tunnel-visioned, but he did not intentionally slip in the course of duty. A rather pregnant pause, then… Skinner refrained from the 'again?' comeback. Afterall, this was the second time in two days. Was she out to break their previous record? "Is she all right?" Well, he thought, at least Mulder was sounding a bit more like himself, but the A.D. knew that somewhere in the mix was a very guilty feeling Agent, one who would now move heaven and earth to ensure his partner's safety. "What can I do, Agent?" He'd be ready to catch the next flight if he thought Mulder could use him, but he had a feeling he wouldn't need the assistance. "No. Mulder. Leave that to the local authorities. If I'm following your thinking, you're making a connection to your assignment and that may very well be the case, but there are much larger issues at stake here and you can't jeopardize blowing your cover. Stay out of it, Mulder, and that's a direct order." Shaking his head and trying to keep the smirk from his lips, Skinner hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe this time, one of his Agents would listen. "Good-night, Mulder." Mulder flipped his cell closed and deposited it in the pocket of the drawstring scrubs the nurse had provided for him once he'd seen that Scully was settled. He knew he'd been somewhat reluctant to take their advice and allow them to check him out, but he'd really just needed to see her awake, to let her know he was there with her and that he wasn’t leaving. Once they'd managed to take his vitals, they'd given him the light blue ER uniform along with a pair of the sorriest excuse for footwear -- the paper slip-on. In all the time he'd been hospitalized, he'd insisted on wearing his own shoes when barefoot was no longer an option. Unfortunately, the staff felt that wearing wet socks and sneakers was probably not a good idea for his continued good health. He was relatively comfortable now that he was dry, but there was the small problem of the lack of boxers... He felt decidedly naked underneath the low slung and rather loose scrub pants. He let the pullover help cover him by refusing to tuck it into the pants. He found his partner unwillingly ensconced in a private room on the second floor, her scowling face bringing a small, quick smile to his. He knew it wouldn't be appreciated, but he couldn't help it. She was reclining at a 45 degree angle, the ties at the shoulder of the hospital gown showing more shoulder than he'd seen in a while. They'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and the side of her face was now a lovely shade of purple/blue. She held the blanket and top sheet to her firmly, her crossed arms anchoring it, as her eyes darted to him. "I'm not staying here, Mulder." A statement of Scully Fact. He avoided the statement altogether, knowing that unless he simply agreed with her, he'd be in for a full barrage of reasons and explanations. Instead, he drew a chair up next to her bed and sat down, trying to take her hand. She eyed him suspiciously; most likely fully aware of his intentions to have her stay overnight. "Don't even think it, Mulder. I'm fine." Unbidden and totally unable to be controlled, he burst out laughing. "Scully, you have one completely broken rib, two others are bruised, a possible slight concussion and a face only I could love. You're not going anywhere until at least tomorrow." Her scowl turned dark and menacing, but her arms released their death hold on the blankets. She knew he was right. She'd never recommend release for him if he were the one in the bed. But damnit, this was her second hospitalization in so many days. Other than the litany of bodily insults Mulder had so graciously listed, she really *was* fine. The bout of dizziness from a few days ago had passed and her tests had shown nothing significant. He noticed the far off look in her eyes and wondered what she was thinking. She had gone quiet as she often did when she was puzzling evidence or trying to digest the finer points of an autopsy report. He knew he often got that way, too. She'd told him so. But this look was different, more deeply personal as if she were remembering something, something that was bothering her. "What is it, Scully? That look on your face tells me you think something's up." "It's nothing, I'm just thinking about getting back to the conference, back to my nice hotel room." Her attempted smile did little to set his mind at ease. He knew her better than that. And she knew him well enough to know he didn't buy a word she'd said about the conference or her hotel room. He stood up, pushing the chair out of his way and lowered the small bar at the side of her bed. Being careful not to jostle her, he sat on the edge of the bed, his arms framing her small body. He hated how small she looked in the hospital. It reminded him too many other times when she'd been in much worse shape. Too many times. Bringing his face directly in front of hers, he whispered, "Tell me, Scully." She could feel the warmth of him, his breath, his body, his eyes, and it put her a little on edge. She could allow herself to be so totally subsumed by him or she could retain control for herself. And once again, she found herself questioning why it had to be a matter of 'either or'. Why after she had allowed herself to go with the ebb and flow of their relationship. She knew he didn't want to overpower or to take control. He'd asked a simple question borne of his concern for her, his love for her. But, for some reason, she still didn't want him to know about the possible lingering effect of the paste, couldn't bring herself to tell him. So, she did what she did best, she brushed him away with prevarication and distraction. She kissed his slightly parted lips and then drew back with a smile. His smile grew as he leaned closer still, but before her lips could touch his, he diverted to her ear. "I will find out, Scully, but I'm patient, so I'll wait." As she drew in a breath at the feeling his breathy words caused, he finished. "But don't make me wait too long, ok?" To punctuate his question, he slipped the tip of his tongue into her ear, following it with a quick kiss on her cheek. "Now, Dr. Scully, it's time for you to get some rest." Drawing the chair back to the side of the bed, he sat back in the semi-recliner, settling in for the night. "Sweet dreams, partner." Scully still had not closed her mouth even when the room light was switched off. ^*^*^ En Route 16 September The roof mounted jet black, Thule racks hold two pair of skis, freshly gleaming in their newness. The fire engine red Jetta takes the corners on Route 91 North as if the driver believes herself to be cruising the autobahn, heedless of the vehicles that nearly careen out of control to move from her path. It might have been the speed, but more likely, it was the almost ruthless, devil-may-care way in which she maneuvered the car. Inside the vehicle, the driver's eyes remained glued to the road, never wavering to check side or rearview mirrors, focusing solely on that which was directly in front of her. The Bose speakers surrounded her in the strains of Billy Idol's White Wedding. She had programmed the CD player to put that selection on continual play, her voice belting the chorus, as well as, attempting to sing the guitar runs. The odd line, incorrectly sung as, 'I'm gonna have a White Wedding...' was the only break in the monochrome sound. She had a plan, but at times it confused her. The plan involved her need to go north, possibly to northern New England, most likely somewhere in Vermont. She'd been there years ago, before she left for Europe. It had been nice, even somewhat cosmopolitan...for New England. She was extensively traveled and tended to consider the northeastern corner of the U.S. rather provincially staid. The Currier and Ives charm was lost on her more worldly ways. She had business to attend to. Take care of? Yes, that sounded more like it. But, she was also 'leaving'. 'Leaving'. It had a much better ring to it than, 'running', or 'hiding', or worse yet, 'running and hiding'. As she crossed from Connecticut into Massachusetts, she managed to break from the leaving and running and hiding thoughts to reflect just how far she'd come in her forty odd years. A brief, wistful smile flirted at her lips and the light seemed to come on in her otherwise grim eyes. She raked a hand through her almost shoulder length dark hair as she thought about her career. How it had come to this pursuit, she wondered, not for the first time in the last several hours. She'd had great potential. Her keen intelligence married with an inquiring mind opened many doors for her. And, once inside her most promising career door, she rose meteorically, her star rising above countless others. Of course, she had other talents that allowed her progress. Skills not listed in the job specs, not asked about on the copious applications she completed, but skills nonetheless. Honed razor edge sharp as she used her wits, no small amount of street smarts and her overly curious and downright nosy nature to make all the right moves. Often climbing onto or over others in her way. She smiled a much fuller smile, the left side of her mouth quirking up just that much higher than the other. She mused about the one over whom she hadn't really had to climb, although she did recall just how much fun it had been to 'climb him'. He'd been the first with whom she'd decided she could relax, let down a bit of her guard. She'd allowed herself to fall for him, to fall *hard*. And that had been the start of her end. She'd left him high and dry without so much as a farewell. She'd literally flown to Europe, thinking she'd never return. But the fates had been kind/cruel, depending on your outlook, and she'd come back. She'd found a way to insinuate herself into his life once again. And there had been obstacles, mere contrivances to work her way around in her quest. At one time, they had shared that quest and she'd been sure they could do so again, rekindling their common goals and their relationship. But his new partner had gotten in the way -- more times than she cared to think about. But, being the self-proclaimed master at diverting attention and putting others in their rightful place beneath her, she'd also set in motion a string of doubts and serious questions that would occupy his worthless partner while she continued her pursuit. All this thinking put her in a bad mood and she was temporarily pulled from her line of thinking. She had no need for road signs; she merely followed the macadam, occasionally glancing at either the center or sidelines to ensure her path. She idly wondered how much longer it would be until she reached Vermont, but wasn't interested enough to stop and ask. The dulling sameness of the endless miles stretching behind and in front of her threatened to lull her into a mindless sleep. She couldn't really recall when she began this trip, but she knew she was driven in yet another quest. This quest would make others atone, make them pay -- dearly -- for their sins against her. She wasn't always so sure which one should pay first and pay the most, but she knew they would have to suffer. Sometimes, suffering was beneficial. It cleansed the soul, righted wrongs, hurt to the quick. She laughed, at first a joyous sound, smiling briefly at her reflection in the rearview mirror. It felt glorious and she grew ecstatic at the sounds of her mirth. As her foot slammed down on the gas pedal, her peals of laughter turned raucous, almost braying, as she pictured their faces. She had known they would gloat. Although they were facing her back at the time, she could feel their eyes, especially feel *her* eyes, judging, smirking, mocking. The saddest part of the memory was knowing that he, too, was enjoying her near-demise. He who meant more to her than her very life. She'd have willingly walked straight into that portal if she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She'd tried to tell him, tried to make it clear just how much they were meant for each other, always *had* been meant for each other, but he'd heard none of it. Oh, he listened to her, she did give him minimal credit for that much, but it wasn't nearly enough. He was still so blinded by the flame of his partner that he couldn't or wouldn’t see what she had that his partner didn't. Swerving to barely miss the truck that dared to move at the speed limit, she chuckled, her laughter shifting as her eyes threw daggers. She'd have the pleasure of watching his partner spin in the wind like the last leave of autumn left to hang by a thread on its branch. She'd let him watch, too, knowing that when he saw how weak the red-haired bitch really was, he'd want her back all the more. He didn't suffer weaklings and neither did she. Oh, yes, she would truly enjoy exacting her revenge on the petite woman who thought her partner loved her. She knew all about their supposed closeness, the fact that they'd been sleeping together. It made her seriously question his judgment. How had he allowed himself to settle for less than what she had given him so long ago? He had been a voracious lover, driving fury, skilled flirt, brutally teasing and equally satisfying. And she'd shown him a thing or two, watching him rise to any occasion she could serve him. What that man could do with his mouth and hands... Horns honked around her as the Jetta traveled randomly from lane to lane. She drove on, oblivious to that which lay beyond her metal cage. Those hands and that mouth would be hers or she'd die in the effort and take him with her. No one left her. ^*^*^*^*^ Fletcher Alan Health Care Facility Monday, 17 September 11:00AM "Rise and shine, beautiful, it's check-out time." By the look he got for his over zealousness, he could tell this was going to be one of those days. He'd already had to call in to the Harris Construction Company to notify him that he couldn't start the job until tomorrow. He'd told them he'd had trouble with his truck and was having it looked at today. Mulder was already dressed in jeans, tee and jacket, having arisen much earlier and gotten a ride to the boardinghouse to pick up some clothing. Knowing that Scully couldn't leave in her still damp and filthy clothing, he'd also managed to stop by the hotel to get some of her things. The hotel manager had been adamant about denying him access until he'd seen the badge. A quick phone call had confirmed Mulder's identity. Although he knew he may have just breached his cover, Mulder knew that the chances of the hotel manager remembering him later were probably nil. As he moved closer to her bedside to offer a hand, he noted that she still wasn't smiling. "Scully? Are you feeling all right?" Cursing himself for providing the instant response to his question, he reframed it. "It's just that you look like something's bothering you. What's wrong?" "Just move out of my way, Mulder. I don't need help getting out of bed." Her words came out more bitingly than she'd intended. She knew he was trying to be helpful, but all she wanted now was to be in her own clothing and as far away from this place as possible. Truth be told, she was feeling very out of sorts having been in the same hospital twice in so many days. And they really hadn't talked yet about what had happened to her. Add to that the fact that she'd experienced more of the not-so-mysterious dizziness when Mulder had gone for their clothing and she was a regular mess. At some point, she was going to have to tell him about the lightheadedness and what she suspected was the cause. And once again, she still wasn't at all sure why she kept putting off telling him. It wasn't as if she'd have to convince him that the paste could be having lingering effects. He moved a few steps back, but she could tell he was poised to offer her his hand, his arm, should she require it. Somewhere deep inside, she felt bad. So far, her whole time in Vermont had been disappointing and downright frustrating. With the exception of her time with Kimberley, Bryan and Ian, which, she mentally amended, had ended rather abruptly by her jealous partner, followed by their rather tempestuously hot rendezvous among the dark trees and his unexpected appearance at the hotel, she hadn't really been feeling at the top of her game. This conference was supposed to be the final leg of her requested time away from him, putting distance between the Marblehead fiasco and hopefully perspective on their relationship. But there were too many reminders, the worst of which being the dizziness and lightheadedness. And the fact that he was here, so close but still so far away. She pulled the hospital robe around her and clutched it tightly as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She ached…everywhere. Leaning toward the foot of the bed, she unhooked the clipboard chart. What she saw went a long way in explaining the dull throbbing in her head and her side. Multiple contusions and lacerations, a mild concussion, a broken rib and two others fractured. Medical jargon to say that she was beat up pretty badly. No wonder Mulder was hovering. She didn't want to look up from the words in front of her, knowing she'd look straight into the depth of his worry, his concern, his love for her. All that would only serve to let the tears flow; she was way too close to an emotional edge right now. When she hadn't yet spoken, Mulder moved over closer to the bed, deciding he'd risk her angered words, an eyebrow or, heaven help him, both eyebrows. When she didn't even look up at him, he grew concerned and sat down next to her on the bed, his hands in his lap. Waiting. She put the chart down next to her and looked away from him, but otherwise didn't move. "Mulder, get me out of here, please." Her voice was barely audible as she slid forward to stand -- and nearly passed out. "Whoa, Scully, you probably don't have your sea legs back yet. Take it easy." His comment brought a small smile to her otherwise emotionally churning face and her eyes sought his. She allowed him to place an arm around her and help her get to her feet. Solid. Strong. Reassuring. He said nothing else and used only as much of that strength as he sensed she needed, careful to allow her to move under her own steam. "I'll be fine." He supported her holding onto her elbow, the other arm around her waist. "I think I can manage now, thank you." Holding only his hand now, she drew in a tentative breath, not wanting to feel the pain in her ribs. When she winced, his arm went around her shoulders. She let him hold her for only a few seconds before she let go of his hand and took a few steps. "Thanks, Mulder, I can manage. Can you just bring my clothing into the bathroom? I'm going to take a quick shower and get dressed. Much as I loved the room service, I think there's a better show in town." Her eyes twinkled at his laughter. It felt good to hear him laugh and to take some of the attention off her. "Do you need any help with your shower, Scully?" Holding her jeans, sweatshirt, underwear and socks, he walked toward her. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." One hand on the door handle, the other on her hip, she turned to him and smiled. He walked around her and deposited her clothing on the bench seat in the bathroom and then moved back outside. "Well, I could--" "You could call the nurse, Mulder, and then wait for me at the desk." She brushed past him and closed the door. A rather defeated Mulder went in search of the nurse. *^*^*^*^*^ Smart Suite Inn South Burlington, Vermont Monday, 17 September Tossing his duffel and garment bags down in the bedroom area, he immediately went to the phone. Picking up the receiver, he brought it to his ear -- and then immediately replaced it. He could wait. No one needed to know he was in town just yet. He'd specifically chosen this location to remain just outside the action for a short time, hoping to really get a feel for their operation. Proteus would be summoning him soon enough, but for now, Ben Stillman wanted to just observe. And his brother was on the top of that list. No, he'd call Bishop when he was good and ready. In the meantime, he'd get settled in and then drive into town. He took the stairs from his suite down to the vaulted-ceilinged lobby, hardly noticing the large hearth in the center of the cozy gathering place. He failed to notice the walls of blazingly colored trees framing the parking lot or the view of the lake to his right as he sought his rental car at the back of the lot. He drove with a carefully concealed vengeance. He knew he had to find a way to channel his recent change in marital status as they referred to it at the Precinct offices -- god, how he hated that phrase. He was fucking divorced for crying out loud. Had they never heard the word before? He took another deep breath. His physician had explained to him that his divorce wouldn't kill him but the stress would. She'd handed him a tape he'd almost tossed out the window of the car on his way home thinking he didn't need no damned relaxation guide. But, strangely enough, he'd played it; just once, to humor him. And he surprised himself with just how much he'd liked it. Well, he wasn't a completely changed man, but he was working on it. He stopped at the local McDonald's and drove into the city as he munched on his quarter-pounder and fries. It really was a rather nice day. He'd driven up early this morning, listening to the local forecasters talking about the rainy Sunday they'd experienced. Ben hated the rain since it reminded him of the day his 'marital status had changed'. Fuck! He slammed his palm into the steering wheel, the fries he'd been holding smashed against the wheel and flying into the dash. Maybe he should pull over and listen to the damn tape. Maybe he should get a grip on himself. It wasn't raining, in fact, it was blazingly sunny, the trees were awash in color he rarely saw in D.C. and no one knew he was in town…yet. He left his vehicle at the local park 'n lock and set out along Church Street, heading toward Battery. He wandered aimlessly, taking in the workaday sights along the way. Telling himself he really didn't get out much anymore, he found himself facing the main entry to the Radisson Hotel, the grand Adirondack Mountains looming, snow-capped behind him. Being in the nation's capital for so long had made him forget the simpler pleasures in life. Like standing in the state of Vermont and gazing across Lake Champlain to New York state. Hands on his hips, he cocked his head to one side and breathed in deeply. It really was a nice day, he noticed, the temperature in the mid-60s, the sun shining and people coming and going with the normal activities of life. As he wandered along the semi-circular driveway to the hotel lobby, he watched the F-150 pull up to the door. The cape-coated doorman approached, opening the passenger-side door, extending his hand and arm to the petite, red-haired woman. The driver emerged on his own, his tall, lanky frame gracefully exiting the vehicle as he handed the keys to the parking valet. Ben moved closer, sure he knew the driver, but the man was turning toward the woman as they headed for the door. He was trying to put his arm around her and she was standing just outside his reach. They both stopped as the man turned in Ben's direction and handed the doorman some tip money. *^*^*