Motives by abracadabra, Part 3/4. Headers in Part 1/4 -*- Gold's Gym and Sports Club Georgetown She'd barely noticed the man at the desk handing out towels as she took it from him and made a bee-line for the weights room. With the towel draped around her neck, she'd headed straight for the seated row, already warm enough to lift her maximum, she'd mused. Placing her feet against the metal foot strike plates, she'd grabbed the short pulley, opting to do concentrated work. Taking a few deep breaths, she'd drawn the pulley toward her slowly, reveling in the feel of sheer strength as her rhomboids and lats contracted, drawing her shoulder blade down and center, her back arching slightly. She'd exhaled and slowly released the contraction. But that hadn't provided much satisfaction. She'd paused briefly, gathering her energy, letting the anger flow through her to a single point of reference directly in front of her. Being careful not to clench her fists, she'd nonetheless held on tightly and inhaled as she drew the pulley toward her once again. Just a little bit faster. Exhaling a little bit harder. She'd hit her stride, had a rhythm going. Contracting her back muscles to allow her to rather forcefully bring the pulley toward her, holding it a few seconds and then releasing. Only to bring it toward her again immediately. Again and again. Until she felt the flexing in her quads, the working of her arms, the slight burn in her back. The sweat soaked the thin cotton of her sweats. The recent events fueled her. 'Recent events', she'd huffed upon exhale, now *there* was a sound byte if she'd ever heard one. She'd drawn in another sharp breath and nearly yanked the pulley from its steel cable. 'Goddamn him.' The release had allowed the weight plates to drop down onto each other, clanging loudly. 'How long would it take him to see the bitch's true colors?' She'd drawn the pulley back with extreme strength and even slower speed. And let it rip on the release, exhaling to her mind-picture of how he'd placed his hand on her shoulder to separate her from Diana. With great satisfaction, she'd watched the pulley smack into the guard bar as she'd let go. Her breathing labored and rough, she'd stood and headed for the Smith Machine, intending to do some weighted squats. As she'd racked the plates onto the bar and adjusted the pins, she'd been caught off-guard, her movements derailed as she'd pictured his face. It had hit her dead on. She hadn't known how to interpret his look. But she'd known what it felt like. Like sides had been taken and he wasn't on hers any longer. She'd stepped backward under the bar, curling her fingers in an overhand grip and bending her knees. Lifting slightly to disengage the bar and plates from the frame, she'd let the chrome rest on her shoulders. Sucking in her abs and ensuring a wide enough stance, she'd begun to squat. Her mind checked out as her quads and glutes took the brunt of her anger and hurt. Faced with a choice; believe his own partner or older, supposed friend, Mulder had sided with the latter while turning on the former. At least that was what it had felt like. She'd managed six deep and slow reps before re-racking the bar, slipping out from underneath, walking off the lactic acid build-up. Her hair had spilled out of the covered elastic in pieces and wisps, now curling in the humidity of her workout despite the air conditioning. Pulling on the velcro tabs of her leather lifting gloves, she tugged them off and tossed them on the bench next to her. Was it possible to feel euphoric from physical exhaustion...and achingly sad? Wiping her face with the towel from around her neck, she'd pushed her sleeves to her elbows and sat heavily on the bench. She'd wanted to cry, she'd wanted to rant and she'd wanted to hit something. But he hadn't been there. He hadn't been there for a while now. When her breathing had returned to normal, she'd headed for the door, tossing the towel into the bin on her way out. -*- Home of Dana Scully 30 September 1998 Early Evening The day couldn't settle on one mood anymore than she could. Her walk had begun in drizzle, gray skies and clouds lofting heavy with the threat of much more to come. It was ending with a nearly clear sky in that crisp fall hue; a cross between robin's egg and teal blue, the few clouds now high or vanished and the warmest rays of sun trying to dry the soaked earth. She wasn't sure if she felt any of those rays. Clouds still seemed to fog her emotions. It was still raining inside of Dana Scully's heart. Leaving her shoes at the door, she headed for the shower, wanting nothing more than to feel warm and dry again. Her damp clothing was hung behind the door on the whitewashed hooks and she was ready for the driving force of the water. Timing just right, the phone rang as soon as she'd pulled the shower curtain closed. Shower gel in hand, she planned to ignore it. It stopped and she continued to massage her body with the body puff, feeling some of the stress of the day wash away as the water sluiced the bubbles from her skin. And it rang again. Almost insistent, although she knew she was attributing qualities to the phone that didn't exist. She stuck with her plan to finish her shower and poured some Shampoo into her palm. Her fingers worked the amber liquid through her wet hair and scalp. As she rinsed, her cell phone chirped from the side table in the hallway right outside the bathroom. She knew then who it had been all along. Mulder had told her he'd call back tonight. Well, he was early and she wasn't finished with her shower. She knew she couldn't be sure it was him, but the pattern; keep calling till she either answered or smashed her phone, was distinctly his. On occasion, it had been endearing. She shut off the taps, drew the curtain and grabbed a towel for her hair first, wrapping and then tucking it at her neck. Her regular phone started ringing again as she finished drying off and pulled on her robe. The machine clicked in as she padded to the living room. 'You *know*, Mulder? What you *know* these days is rather suspect isn't it?' She turned on her heel and sauntered into the bedroom. She removed the towel from her hair, bending over and patting the ends and then flipped her head back. When the phone rang again, she flung the wet towel across the room, watching disinterestedly as it nearly knocked over a vase of dried flowers. So much for her theory that her walk and hot shower had eased the tension from her. Stepping into her panties, she idly wondered just how many times he'd call before giving up. His persistence was so much a part of him and usually served him well. The man never gave up in his pursuit of what he believed in. She'd found herself the object of his relentlessness on occasion and had been grateful, had felt cherished. But, as was often said, one person's strength could also be his downfall. Right now, he was pushing her to her limit. If she didn't answer it now... Having finished pulling her robe around her, she sat down on the bed and waited. Mentally counting, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and nodding her head toward the phone, she held her hand over the handset as it began to ring. "Hello" It was times like this that his intelligence was called into question, she thought, shaking her head. "And you're persistent. What do you want, Mulder?" She knew he'd hear the flatness in her tone and she didn't care. She was actually surprised that he didn't jump right in with a response. As a matter of fact, the silence seemed to stretch thin and she was about to ask if he was still there when his almost whispered words came. "Let me add 'perceptive' to the list of your attributes." It was her turn to be quiet. When in fact, she wanted to rail, to rant and maybe scream. Loudly. How could he not see why she was so upset? "Why would I want to do that, Mulder? Things have seemed rather one-sided between us lately. I ask, you ignore me or, worse yet, I offer an opposing opinion and you attempt to hold me back as if I might attack. So you'll have to excuse me if I can't seem to find it within me to cut you some slack." His sigh almost sounded regretful, sad, apologetic to her. Almost as if he were trying to decide whether or not to continue. She was momentarily torn. Torn between wanting to tell him it was all right, she'd listen, she was here for him and...hanging up. Damn she hated this feeling of being split in two, feeling as if she wanted to open herself to him and walk as far away from him as she possibly could. She wondered if a similar sigh from her would answer his question. "Fine," was all she could muster. She'd barely hung up when her cell chirped. She opened, gritting out one word, "Talk." After a few halting sounds she supposed were attempts at beginning what he had to tell her, he seemed to gather his wits. "Oh? What do you think it *seems* like to me, Mulder?" Her delivery couldn't have been flatter if it had been steam-rolled. "And I'm sure I don't need to spell out why believing you is not something I feel inclined to do just now. So why not skip the bullshit and tell me what you needed to say." His tone and the cadence of his speech told her that he believed what he was saying, that he believed his own sincerity. The problem, as she saw it, was that she wasn't so sure she could believe the same thing. "I know it's still you, Mulder, and maybe that's partly why this is all so hard to understand. I know that you will pursue that which you feel merits investigation and that when you deem it necessary, you will let nothing or no one get in your way. You're intent will be sincere, but your methods will sometimes be called in question. This; no, these recent events are casting serious doubts on your motivation." "I could ask you the same thing, Mulder." The airwaves separating them crackled with unseen tension and Scully realized she'd paced her apartment several times since they'd begun their conversation. She wasn't sure what they'd accomplished other than sharing mutual frustration. Well, they'd always been rather good at mirroring each other's emotions, she rued. Where had things gone so horribly wrong? Indeed. How could he not know? "You've explained nothing, Mulder. And I think you know exactly what I need to hear. So, unless you're willing to tell me, this conversation's over." She chuffed out a long held breath and waited. And waited. He closed the connection before she had a chance to and she found herself strangely unsure of what had just transpired. Her knitted brow and pursed lips conveyed to no one her confusion. Confusion over the enigma that was her partner of nearly six years. She knew his predilections, probably as well as he knew hers. Knew his quirks, his shortcomings, his strengths. Again, as he knew hers. But knowing someone so deeply was supposed to elucidate, not frustrate, wasn't it? -*- J. Edgar Hoover Building Two Weeks Earlier 'Consummate professionals do not allow personal feelings to interfere with their ability to carry out the job.' Nearly a verbatim quote from the handbook. It hadn't been all that long ago, had it? Then why was it that she was having to work so hard to contain the wash of emotion that threatened to send her into a tailspin at the thought of him showing up at work? She hadn't been able to lie to herself; nothing had changed overnight. She still saw red at the mere thought of Mulder and Diana linked in any capacity. And she couldn't wrap herself around the reasons why he was either unwilling or unable to see the Fowley woman's duplicitous nature. Moreover, she still had no idea what was going on. Too many seeming coincidences over a short period of time had raised more suspicions. Plunging herself into completing her portion of the report for Skinner, she hadn't heard him come in, nor had she seen him standing to the left and slightly behind her, looking over her shoulder. She was surprised to feel his fingers lightly brush her back. An attempted connection which she quickly aborted by sliding forward in her chair. "Scully, we need to talk." Simple. A statement of fact. *His* fact. No way. Without taking her eyes from the monitor or her fingers from the keys, she'd typed a few more words before pausing to reply. "I need to finish this report." Conscious of the few agents turning their way or attempting to be unobtrusive in their eavesdropping, she'd kept her voice low, barely audible. Knowing he'd heard her. Yet he'd remained rooted to his spot. Rooted in that Mulder fidgety-rooted way. She could feel the need in him. The need to tell her something, to do something, go somewhere. She allowed herself a wistful indulgence as she pictured happier moments when that constant movement of his was sometimes amusing, sometimes infuriating, but oftentimes endearing. A sharp pang for those times... So be it. If he wouldn't move, she would. "Excuse me, Mulder." She hadn't really wanted to roll over his foot as she backed up. He'd move quickly enough, but hadn't left the desk. Setting her glasses on the surface, she tried to walk between him and the furnishings, but his fingers on her elbow stopped her dead in her tracks. Her eyes moving from his fingers to his face conveyed exactly what she thought of his hold on her. But there was something in his look that gave her pause and held the words from emerging. His words slammed into her with their quiet and low spoken intensity. "I'm sorry." She felt the heat rise in her face as a confused half smile found its way to her eyes even though it never actually visited her lips. Still, she couldn't quite get out any reply that would have changed things, so she touched his hand where it held her. Releasing him, her hip brushed his on her way to the copier. When she turned around, he was gone. As she made her way to the copier, she found a hand thrust out in front of her as a female voice called her name. She looked up questioningly, lost in thought over her earlier exchange with Mulder. "Yes?" "Oh, Agent Scully, this fax just came through for Agent Mulder, but I saw him head out into the hall before I could snag him. Can you take it for him?" The salt and pepper haired woman thrust the paper document into Scully's hand with a warm smile from her brown eyes. "No problem, Agent--", Scully leaned forward to see the woman's badge, "Agent Gilliland." They parted ways, Scully continuing on to the copier. Once she'd set the machine to 'print', she glanced down at the fax in her other hand. Just then, the copier spit out the five pages and she leaned down to retrieve them, now heading back toward her desk. As she walked, she held the document up in front of her, squinting to make out that it was indeed addressed to Fox W. Mulder. There was no cover page, which surprised her. Most transmissions arrived not only with a cover sheet, but marked 'Confidential', 'Classified' or 'Highly Confidential or Classified'. It was rare to find only the document itself. Setting her own paperwork on her blotter, she stopped between her desk and her partner's, still holding the fax, only partially acknowledging that she wanted to know its contents... and that it was really none of her business. And that was when her stomach seized and an icy cold settled into her. The 'To' line did indeed show her partner's name. The 'From' line said 'Diana Fowley, Special Agent'. At that point, there was no way she could not go on, nor could she stop from finishing her quick scan. Flight plans. Roundtrip tickets to Omaha leaving tonight. She'd seen enough--quite enough. Whirling around, the culmination of the last few week's activities collided, threatening to send her into a free-fall. What exactly had Mulder been 'sorry' about a half-hour earlier? Had she misread the look in his eyes, the feel of his hand on her and his response to her touch? Betrayed. Her rational mind told her not to jump to such outlandish conclusions. The part of her mind that dealt with all else overrode her rationality. She fumed inwardly and grew cold and extremely annoyed outwardly. Just in time to see him waltzing toward her, a rather loopy grin pasted on his face. No doubt, he had something exciting to share with her. Well, it wasn't going to happen. Given the way his smile left his eyes and then his mouth, she knew he'd read her mood. She'd give him that; he was a quick study when it came to reading her. Heck, they did it with each other so often it was second nature. That was about the only thing she was glad about right now because she knew there would be no way she could convey in words all that she was feeling as she saw him approach. "Hey, Scully. What's up?" Her inner voice answered him, 'That's the question I've been asking for the last week or so.' Finally managing to make herself move forward, she intercepted him, her arm extended, the fax in her hand. "I believe you're running late?" She heard him calling after her and then heard the sound of his shoes as he ran to try to catch up with her, as the stairwell door closed behind her. Reports all but crunched in her tight fist, Scully made her way to her car. Although she could have just as easily faxed or email attached them, she wanted to personally confer with the assisting pathologist. Driven by the need to get out of the building, she took the stairs down to the garage, not wanting to waste time waiting for the elevator. Within moments of heading into the stairwell, she no longer heard Mulder's voice. So much for his need to make her understand... As she came through the door to the subterranean parking level, She stopped, fist tightening once again on the document. A black late model sedan was parked with the engine running next to her and her partner's vehicles. From behind, Scully could just make out the shoulder length hair and the light color. The agent from the hallway meeting? She didn't have long to wonder. From the corner of her eye, she watched, her heart and head pounding, as her secretive partner popped the trunk on his Taurus and grabbed his overnighter. She was surprised to find that her eyes were rimmed with tears she refused to shed when he smiled and got into the car. The car door slammed shut. -*- end part 3/4