Motives by abracadabra, Part 2/4.  Headers in Part 1/4

-*-
X-Files Office
Basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday morning 30 September 1998
7:10 AM

She wasn't even sure why she remained in the office. The words
on the documents in front of her were just so many characters,
so much black ink on white space. She hadn't made any sense of
the case notes in the half hour she'd claimed she was looking
at them.

The only bright spot, literally, was that the sun had come up
and it appeared to have stopped raining. 'Appeared' being the
operative word. From where she sat, she had only a small
rectangular view of the outside world.

The chirping of her cell phone roused her and she flipped it
open, bringing it to her ear on autopilot. "Scully." She waited.
She was about to snap it shut when she heard his voice. "Scully,
it's me; don't hang up, please."  Resisting the very strong urge
to do just that, she merely listened, having neither the energy
nor the desire to say anymore. Ambivalence. That was the only
feeling she had at that moment.

She knew he took the open line as a positive sign, but seemed to
be taking his time, composing his thoughts. Figuring out what
other lies or cover-ups he could employ? She hated the fact that
she was questioning his behavior, questioning him. Where had her
compassion and understanding gone? Probably to the same place
her trust had. Oh, Mulder...

Summoning what seemed to be a hard-earned breath, she replied,
"I'm not hanging up--for now." She swore she could hear his
smile. Too bad she didn't have one to share with him.

"Scully, you've got to listen to me--"

No. No she didn't.

"*Now* you want me to listen? I tried talking with you before you
left. You didn't seem to need me to listen then. As a matter of
fact, you didn't seem to need to talk either. What's changed now
Mulder? No, better still, don't answer that. I don't think I
want to hear anymore lies or half-truths or whatever you're
calling it these days." She'd worked up a full head of steam,
her anger finally having a live target.

But, as usual, he charged in, attempting to derail her anger. "I
couldn't talk to you then. We were being watched..."

She knew he continued to explain but she was weary--suddenly
very weary. It was the same five and a half-year story. Another
conspiracy, someone else observing them, eavesdropping on their
conversations. Oh, it had been true often enough; she'd seen the
evidence, the hard cold facts. Maybe she was becoming jaded or
maybe she was just so bone tired of his excuses.

"Mulder, we're always being watched, someone's always listening.
It doesn't wash any longer. I needed to talk. To you. You needed
to follow another lead. You didn't need me or my help." She knew
he would hear the resignation in her voice. She wondered if he'd
hear the sadness.

The silence stretched between them. Between D.C. and wherever
he was. Interminable.

"This is different Scully. I need you to understand, but I can't
stay on this line right now. I'll call you back at home
tonight." He sounded so very far away and it wasn't the mere
miles separating them this time.

"Don't bother." Quietly and gently closing the phone, she placed
it on the desk. Right before she swept the scattered papers onto
the floor.

The day had gone from bad to worse.  Maybe even to dismal. But
she didn't want to be melodramatic. There'd be plenty of
time for that later, she thought wryly.

She wasn't getting anywhere here, so she packed up her things,
stooping to gather the pieces of paper and photos of some case
she'd yet to make sense of. She plucked her coat from the chair
and tossed it over her arm and headed for the door. Barely
stopping long enough to turn off the lights and pull the door
closed behind her, leaving it unlocked like she'd found it.

For reasons unknown, she didn't want to leave the building yet.
With no one she wanted or needed to visit, so she headed to the
cafeteria. Setting her briefcase and coat on a window booth, she
made her way to the line where she ordered a cup of tea and
plain yogurt with honey, idly wondering whether she'd be able to
stomach the food--knowing she needed to have something in her.
Settling into the corner of the booth so she could gaze outside
while absentmindedly watching the various staff and visitors
coming and going, she opened the yogurt.

Her thoughts went everywhere and nowhere, blissful oblivion
blanketed her. Until the one person she wanted to see least
joined the cafeteria line.

The tall brunette ordered a bagel, yogurt, fruit and a coffee.
As she was paying for her purchases, she started looking around
for a place to sit.

Scully wanted to crawl under the table or bolt from the room,
but knew neither was her style. She'd never been one to shy
away from a confrontation. She let out a breath she hadn't
realized she was holding when Diana made her way to a table with
three other male agents.

With revulsion, she watched the viper attempt to charm the
pants off the men who seemed only too eager for her company. As
one, they oriented themselves to her, following her words and
her movements with hypnotic attention. At one point, the men
leaned in closer. It appeared as if their female colleague was
about to impart some rather important information by the look on
her face and theirs. Instead, they all burst out laughing.

Scully snorted and turned toward the window. Which was why she
never heard the brunette approach until she was looming over the
booth.

"May I?" Diana's voice was dripping with undisguised insincerity.
Not waiting for an invitation, she slid into the booth as Scully
glared openly.

Feeling as if her day couldn't get any worse, she turned to face
the unwelcome visitor, "I'm in no mood to hear anything you have
to say Diana." Pushing away from the table, Scully stood. Her
eyes slowly moved downward--to where Diana's fingers were
wrapped around her wrist.

"I was wondering if you happen to know where Fox is." Scully
didn't miss the gratingly mellifluous tone. A tone that had the
air of one of who believes she knows all.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Scully yanked her hand free and spun on her
heel, her coppery locks whipping out behind her as she moved
briskly away from the other woman, leaving her barely eaten
yogurt and lukewarm tea.

Just outside the cafeteria entrance, she slumped against the
wall. She was shaking and gulping in breaths as if they were a
scarce commodity. She'd allowed the Fowley woman to get to her
yet again. But she knew she shouldn't be hard on herself since
one of the woman's favorite pastimes seemed to be making
Scully's life hell.

Heading home. The only option worth considering given the way
her day was going. She felt the vise-like grip around her
temples and between her brows, signaling the stirrings of a
full-blown tension headache. Sighing, she stopped in the lounge,
setting her satchel on the table as she rummaged for some
aspirin. Downing two at the water cooler, she re-closed her bag
and headed for the parking garage.

Slamming the door, she let herself sink back into the
upholstered seat, her head lolling against the headrest. What
next, she thought, her brows furrowing, her mouth set in a pout.
Who had she pissed off to have to deal with both her
errant-without-explanation partner and the
FBI's-excuse-for-an-X-Files-Agent? She could sleep where she sat.



-*-
Home of Dana Scully
Approximately Three Hours Later

She couldn't remember the last time she'd left the office without
reporting to her supervisor. Nor when she'd fallen asleep
mid-morning on her couch dressed in her work clothes. She awoke
with a start, her dreams dark and disturbing.

The type that ventured into her waking realm. The type with her
and Mulder separated by a dark and storm-tossed ocean. She could
see him, see the look of excitement on his face as he pointed
toward the heavens. And she could see his hand reaching toward
her, but never quite able to touch hers. She felt the agony of
that distance and her inability to match his joy strongly in the
pit of her stomach.

Still clutching the afghan she must have pulled over herself,
she sat up, crossing her legs under her. The blinds were still
closed, the curtains drawn, leaving the room painted in a wan
golden light. The semi-darkness suited her mood well.

Mulder.

She couldn't get him out of her head. Mulder who was supposed to
call her later and try to talk his way out of whatever he'd
gotten himself in to. Mulder who had very nearly shoved her out
of his way just a couple of weeks ago.

She deposited the afghan on the back of the sofa and made her
way to the kitchen, intending on making herself some tea.
Setting the kettle on the stove, she reached for a ceramic mug
from the cabinet next to her and set it on the counter. Having
retrieved a tea bag, she dropped it into the cup and then sat
down at the kitchen table.

The day had turned darker; the sky an angry charcoal gray with
only hints of white where daylight back-lit the clouds. The
changing colors of the leaves of the maple tree outside her
window stood out in sharp contrast, vividly outlined in the
crisp lighting.

The sky looked like she felt--a raging storm just waiting to
happen.

And that was exactly how she'd felt when she'd tried to talk to
him. He'd had the audacity to continue with his cold calling
although she'd sat there, on the edge of his desk, asking him to
talk to her. He did talk to her. But not with any words she
wanted to hear.

Snippets of their rather one-sided conversation ran through her
head...

"Mulder, is this some sort of case? Something I should know
about?" Her hand covered his, trying to get him to put the phone
down and look at her. Although she had felt the tension in his
forearm muscles, his show of resistance seemed to be only for
show.

His scowl had deepened. For a fleeting moment, she'd actually
thought he'd looked contrite, as if he were about to apologize
or at least open up a bit more. But that moment had come and
gone, replaced by the set of his jaw and his penetrating gaze.

He'd told her he didn't have the liberty to share with her. The
words had stung, but she'd remained where she was.

Scully shook herself from her reverie as the teapot whistled for
her attention. Now holding the hot mug between her hands, she
headed back to the couch, sinking in deep, sipping the soothing
hot liquid. The warmth spread through her taking the edge off
her vacillating emotions. But it did nothing to stop the
memories.

He didn't have the 'liberty'. She heard the sound of his voice,
low, firm; he wasn't budging. She knew him well enough to know
that when he used that tone with her, nothing short of proof of
life on other planets would change his mind.

She wasn't about to give up or give in. So she'd switched her
approach. "Mulder, help me out here. Help me understand what
you could have possibly been told that you don't think you can
share with me. Your partner."

And again she'd seen a change; the hardness in his eyes
softened subtly, searching her face, almost imploring her. She'd
met his questioning look with one of her own. "Tell me." So
close. He seemed to be so close to telling her and had then
shored up his resolve.

To keep her out. "I can't, Scully. You need to trust me on this
one." She'd been stunned. Didn't he know that she did trust him?
With her life? This appeared to be more about him trusting her.
And it looked like there wasn't much there.

She'd decided she'd reached her limit. She'd slid off the edge
of his desk, smoothing her skirt, and had turned to walk away.
And that was when she'd felt his fingers graze her hip, then tug
slightly on the hem of her jacket. She'd already known what he
was about to say from the resigned look on his face. The look
she knew was painted on her own face. "I promised."

She'd none-to-gently removed his fingers, wryly musing once again
that he was right. With a deep sadness tinged with disbelief,
she'd whispered, "I thought you did; I thought we did. Promised
to trust each other."

His lack of response was overshadowed by the look of barely
contained pleasure on Diana's face as she sauntered
by Scully on her way to Mulder's desk.

Dragging her mind from the cursed daydream, Scully set the mug
of half-drunk tea on the coffee table and pushed to a standing
position. She didn't know where she was headed, but sitting
still wasn't working.

Too much bottled frustration coursed through her.

Frustration over not knowing where her partner was, what he was
doing and why he was doing it. Frustration because she was
beginning to wonder where she'd gone wrong in assessing their
relationship. Frustration because...because she was even taking
the time to play this all out over and over again. Reliving the
past when she had the present to deal with and the future to
contemplate. She wondered whether she should be 'contemplating'
requesting a transfer...

On that thought, she picked up her shoes and made her way to the
bedroom where she changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Why stay
dressed for work when she knew she'd never make it back today?
She opened the blinds, watching as the wan light bathed the room.
Zoning in on a point across the street, her mind was drawn once
again to the conclusion of the scene in the bullpen...

She'd wanted to continue walking out the door without looking
back. As a matter of fact, she'd wanted to waltz right on out
of the building, their partnership, maybe even the FBI.  Yet,
at the same time, she'd also wanted to know what business Diana
had with him. So, she'd busied herself by one of the filing
cabinets in a section of the room with unoccupied desks. Not
very far from the unfolding scene.

Once again, she'd found herself on the fringes of the
conversation, but had been able to occasionally glance sideways
and see one or both their expressions. Diana had perched on his
desk just as she herself had done earlier. Seemingly unconcerned
about public displays of overt friendship, she watched as the
Fowley woman leaned toward Mulder, fingers brushing a few locks
of hair from his forehead before her hand came to rest on his
shoulder. His expression revealed almost nothing. Almost.  His
eyes had briefly locked with hers as he'd shifted just slightly,
the result being Diana's hand nearly sliding from his shoulder.


To this day, she wasn't sure whether the look in his eyes and
minimal movement had been some recognition of her presence or
consciousness of others around them.

She all too clearly remembered having wanted to rail against her
partner's tacit acceptance of what had seemed all but forbidden
to them in their years on the X-Files. And the way he'd taken
the offered business card from the brunette, his index and
middle fingers receiving it and tilting it from side to side as
if  weighing its implications.

Focusing on the feel of the windowsill beneath her fingers,
Scully broke her stare, intending to leave the bedroom. She was
beginning to feel confined, the walls of her apartment closing
in on her in much the same way as her doubts about her partner
were.

The only words she'd been able to hear that day had told her
nothing. Nothing that would have tied Agent Fowley directly to
Mulder's current whereabouts. She had watched that woman's
non-verbal communication slip between simperingly fawning and
professionally haughty.

Having decided to go for a walk, she donned her raincoat and
Pocketed her keys, setting the deadbolt behind her as she left.

Her thoughts, as her sneakers squished against the wet pavement,
centered around him. Her mind fought to make sense of the very
lack of sense, to untangle the jumble of emotions. The bottom
line for her was that they were much better together than apart.
The rift within her ached and she didn't know how to begin to
ease that pain.

-*-
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Two Weeks Earlier

A cold front had passed through the bullpen. A rather selective
harbinger of the oncoming winter or the already existing
freeze-out between the two partners on hiatus from the X-Files.
Civility was the word nearly four days after she had tried to
talk to Mulder about his meeting in the hallway. Nearly four
days since Diana had begun to frequent the crowded room full of
desks and computers and telephones and faceless name badges all
doing background checks.

She'd alternated between attempting to thaw the ice and
retreating into hibernation. She'd wondered whether he was
really unaware of her attempts or purposely ignoring them.
Either way, it hurt. She hurt. And some small part of her hoped
he was sharing the pain.

They'd gotten a slight reprieve from the phone calling when
Skinner had managed to pull them into a local investigation.
Scully had hoped their involvement would come as the result of
the meeting he'd called her to earlier, but she'd been asked to
hold off mentioning it to Mulder.

Although she was more than willing, eager even, to take on
*anything* that would get them off the phones, the change in her
partner had been nothing short of amazing. His usual energy
level rebounded and his loquacious ability to spout entire
paragraphs of intelligible speech was a sure sign of his
excitement. Along with the way he'd herded her to Skinner's
office for the details.

The case had been routine and mundane, but had offered the
opportunity to use skills other than their ability to dial the
phone, ask scripted questions and record the responses. She'd
been on the verge of being subsumed by his exuberance, but
managed to hold herself in check. She hadn't been able to help
feeling that this brief respite couldn't cure whatever ailed
them, although she was willing to give it a try.

She'd waited in the garage while Mulder had gathered the
remaining paperwork from requisitions. Leaning with her back to
the passenger door, she hadn't heard him approach from the
driver's side of the Taurus.  The tips of his fingers pulling
her hair teasingly had caused her to jump. "Jeesus, Mulder."
She'd whipped around to face him as soon as he'd let go of her.
The look in his eyes told her he'd registered her surprise and
discomfort. He'd shrugged, a lopsided grin flitting across his
face as they got into the car and drove to the crime scene.

The first hour had gone by the book; she'd gathered forensics
evidence, he'd started interviewing witnesses. Nothing X-Files
related here, she'd snorted.

But, then again, she'd always needed much more to convince her
of that possibility. She'd found herself missing those times
when once the basics had been handled, they would have time to
hypothesize, to share what they'd each learned and come up with
their options.

Even when she'd find herself astonished at some of the
initially-outlandish sounding ideas, she'd found herself totally
engrossed. Wanting nothing more than to challenge and debate,
hone the facts into a working theory.  One of their many rituals
she'd have to admit she enjoyed.

Scully had found herself with the Coroner's Office staff as
they'd moved the bodies and was pulling off her latex, the
'snap' audible, when she'd turned to toss them in the bucket.
She'd heard Mulder's voice, the monotone recitation being
delivered at a rather quick clip, telling her he was either in
a hurry for some reason or trying to drive his point home.

The third option, she'd missed entirely. He'd been extremely
pleased that he had an attentive audience...of one. Why Agent
Fowley of the X-Files needed to be here when this was nothing
more than a clear case of mistaken identity, the wrong victim,
Scully didn't know. Unless the woman had a name for their John
Doe, she didn't belong here as far as Scully was concerned.

What she did know was that Diana seemed to be spending more and
more time with Mulder. Finding ways to insinuate herself back
into his life.

She'd tried to catch his eye, willing him to look at her. But
he'd been too intent on whatever it was he was sharing with
Diana. For her part, the brunette agent was equally engaged, her
eyes following his every word, hanging on them. And Scully had
had enough.

She strode in their direction with purpose, her arms swinging
at her sides, her trenchcoat billowing behind her. She'd joined
them, standing by her partner's side, alternately focusing on
him and the other agent.  From what Scully had been able to make
out, Diana was trying to demonstrate a link between this
'non-case' and a presumably X-File. Of course, she'd found the
perfect believer in Mulder.

She wasn't selling him short--not by a long shot. Although it
was common knowledge that he could see evidence of the
paranormal in situations that seemed anything but, it was also
widely known that his intelligence and training made him an
esteemed, if somewhat unorthodox, agent. It was just that he'd
been known to openly accept the unexplainable more readily than
anyone else Scully had ever known. The dark-haired woman knew of
his 'interest' since she shared it with him.

Unconsciously, Scully had stepped closer to Mulder, drawing an
invisible line in the sand. "What's going on Mulder?" She'd
schooled her tone. Neutral inquisitiveness. She'd hoped her
facial expression matched.

She knew that Mulder had been quite pleased at how the day had
gone so far and seemed all too happy to oblige her in answering
her question. "We have what may be a link between this John Doe
and the new X-File."

"We?" She'd known well enough to whom he was referring, but it
had seemed like the natural response.

One word, one name. That's all it had taken.

"Diana." He'd smiled at her and then swept his eyes toward his
partner, non-verbally including her.

"And what is it, Agent Fowley, that you feel connects these two
cases?" Scully's question had been delivered with as much
professional courtesy as she could muster.

She'd felt the physical distance created by her partner
positioning himself to one side, but between the two women
agents. And she'd watched as Diana leaned in toward Mulder,
their shoulders almost touching. If the taller woman had been
trying to instigate something, she had done a fine job. Scully
listened to the parallels Diana tried to draw to link the
shooting to her X-File, but all she was coming up with was
conjecture.

Pure, unadulterated conjecture. In fairness, the redhead knew
that the brunette was quite intelligent, widely read and
published, extremely capable. However, Scully also knew exactly
what Mulder's former partner's intentions were. The woman was
transparent--at least to Scully.

"Agent Scully, you don't seem to see the obvious connections
here."

The redheaded agent had refused to be intimidated, even as the
taller woman and Mulder appeared to form a physically unified
front.

But Scully was not about to back down. She'd seen nothing but a
house of cards in the agent's reasoning. "Agent Fowley, there is
no evidence here to link this case to anything other than a case
of mistaken identity. The murder weapon has clearly been
established by forensics, the John Doe's DNA is being run
through the databanks as we speak. I fail to see how it could be
connected to the possible sighting of an unidentified flying
object."

The one-sided grin of amusement had Scully flushing, the heat
causing her porcelain skin to redden despite her best efforts to
control her growing ire. "I would have thought that after all
this time working with Fox your mind might be more open to
extreme possibilities. I thought you'd be able to look past your
insistence on up-front facts, realizing that they always fall
into place later."

Deep breaths had helped slow her pounding pulse, but did nothing
for the acerbic rejoinder that was threatening to spill from
her lips. Having taken a step forward, succeeding in making
Mulder take a step out of the triangle, Scully's voice was dark
and low as she replied, "The only extreme possibilities I can
see in this case is that you're looking for evidence that does
not exist and prejudging that which you have not yet seen."

Faster than she would have thought possible, Mulder was next to
her, his hand on her shoulder, fingers attempting to guide her
back away from Diana. As if he'd thought she were about to
resort to fisticuffs.

Through the fuzziness of the blood pounding in her ears, she'd
heard him muttering something about there being no need to
judge and that she should know that connections weren't always
obvious at first. Well, he'd been right about that. She was
just beginning to make the obvious connections....

Before he'd been able to spout anymore rhetoric, she'd removed
his hand from her shoulder as if in slow motion and quietly
excused herself from them, making her way to the Officer in
Charge.

To his credit, albeit a day late and a dollar short, she'd seen
Mulder's long legs pumping as he'd tried to get the patrol car
to stop as the officer drove her home.

-*-
The officer had been circumspect, asking no questions and
offering his assistance. When it had become apparent that she
was going to be a silent passenger, he'd merely nodded in her
direction without further comment. He'd tipped his hat and bid
her good day at curbside.

She'd managed to make it inside her apartment with a calm
collectedness she definitely wasn't feeling. That calm had fled
as soon as she'd closed and locked the door behind her,
depositing the keys rather forcefully on the small table,
hearing them slide off onto the floor. With a short efficient
movement, she'd kicked them out of her way and kept moving.

She'd nearly torn her jacket from her body and had flung it
over the back of the couch, not caring where it landed.
Stopping in the bathroom, she dug around in the small basket on
the vanity for something to tie her hair back. As she'd reached
behind her to gather the strands, she'd faced her reflection,
noting how unlike herself she appeared. Well, that was just fine
since she felt even worse than she looked.

Her insides churned, burning and clenching. She'd known the
signs although she hadn't experienced them often. She was
seething and teetering on the brink of losing control. And she
was scared shitless.

Drawing in a deep, hopefully cleansing breath, she'd tried to
gather her thoughts as she unbuttoned her blouse and headed for
the bedroom. As she'd placed the silk garment on a hangar,
she'd frozen in place, the unrelated action bringing back
earlier events.

And Diana Fowley. Mentally chiding herself, her brows furrowed,
she'd closed the closet doors and removed her skirt, tossing it
on the bed. A sure sign her tenuous grip on her emotions was
failing.

'Damnit, Mulder!'  Plopping down on the end of the bed, she'd
yanked off her pantyhose, flinging them toward the wall.

She'd bounded from the bed like a tightly coiled spring and
stalked to her dresser, bending to reach the bottom drawer.
She'd pulled it off the track and just missed landing the heavy
oak on her toes. Unfurling her sweats with full force Scully
fury, she'd let them fly back over her head.

"Damn you, you self righteous, pompous ass." Absentmindedly
pulling her gray sweats on followed by her socks and
cross-trainers, she pocketed her driver's license and moved with
purpose toward the door.

When she'd bent to retrieve the keys from where they'd landed
earlier, they'd slipped from her fingers. In the first of an
instant chain reaction, she flashed hot and kicked the keys
against the wall. Her actions toppled the small catchall table.
Her feet had never stopped moving as she gave vent to her
emotions, stomping then shoving her heel into the spindly legs
of the oak table.

It had been as if she saw what she was doing for the first time.
She'd stopped almost as suddenly as she'd begun, her heart
racing, blood pounding in her ears, shaking. Pulling in shallow
breaths at first, she'd tried to calm herself by focusing on
each breath, drawing it in and exhaling as slowly as possible.
Although she'd managed to slow the erratic beating of her heart,
she knew she'd not expelled the tension.

Stooping once again to gather her keys, she'd removed all but
her house key and tucked it into her pocket. The door had slammed
behind her; partly because of momentum, but mostly due to the
force with which she had swung it.

She'd headed for the gym, knowing that she needed to work off
the rest of turmoil and try to sort through whatever was going
on.


-*-

end part 2/4