Diametrically Opposed
by mountainphile

************
Chapter 14
************

Super 8 Motel, Hocking, Ohio
March 15, 2001
10:45 PM

Spliced frames.  Outtakes from a past perforated by intrigue, 
near misses, and disillusionment.  Blinding light and trial by 
fire.  Always featuring his desperate scrabble onto the scene 
a hairsbreadth too late, to gape at the void she'd left 
behind.

These were the tapes Mulder sought to erase from his memory.  
Yet tonight it was Skyland Mountain, Ruskin Dam, and El Rico 
all rolled into one, catching him unprepared.  

He fell to his knees, knocked breathless by a gunshot of 
ungovernable grief and despair.  

Then, nonsensically, something shifted deep within his psyche.  
A new stirring urged him to take stock and regain control of 
his body, to inhale and wait.  There was always the outside 
chance that Scully had cheated death again, wasn't there?  
They'd both set a precedent for survival that defied all odds.

His mind rambled and grasped, lurching from hope to hope.  

Maybe she stepped out for ice cream or fresh air.  Or coffee.  
No, at night she'd want tea.  Some frou-frou blend with no 
caffeine and a fruity taste he despised.  Unless she'd really 
planned on kicking back, in which case a few bottles of Shiner 
Bock or some other lager would hit the spot nicely for both of 
them as the evening unwound.  

He'd envisioned a preface of soft conversation in front of the 
flickering TV, followed by more serious play when they took to 
the bed.  His hands and mouth roaming the familiar curves of 
her skin.  Scully matching his feints and shoves, her face 
flushed, limbs splayed.  Beneath him, the sweet lips of her 
sex parted and expectant, musk perfuming the air...  

His dream shattered like safety glass when the body bag came 
wheeling from the ruins.  He stumbled forward into the cold, 
waving his FBI badge like a drunken man.  

Wrenched by stampeding emotions, he demanded access.  If it 
were Scully, he of all people would know in an instant.

"Sir, believe me, you'd rather not see this," advised one of 
the men quietly.  His credential indicated he was a fire 
marshal for the city.  He ran interference between the gurney 
with its tragic freight and a distraught Mulder.

"This may be someone I know.  I need to prove to myself it's 
not her, so step out of the way!"

The marshal shook his head.  "Sir, I want you to understand 
that forensics should have a crack at this first.  Proper ID 
is impossible under the circumstances.  The remains are too-- 
"

Unheeding, Mulder made a grab for the zipper, caught it, and 
yanked downward.  The next second he'd crumpled to one knee, 
fighting the grimace that precluded tears and the nausea that 
prairie-dogged into the back of his throat.

It was far worse than he'd imagined.  Like the victims at 
Ruskin Dam and El Rico, this body was charcoal to the bone.  
Seared into a short, slender-limbed twist of blackened cruller 
emitting the smoky-sweet stench of death and finality.  

He retched into empty air, tried to stagger back to his feet.  
Hostetler caught him under one arm and led him away from the 
sirens, smoke, and churning crowd. 

************

Toskala home base
March 15, 2001
10:55 PM 

Scully's mind meandered, unable to settle into anything 
approximating actual sleep.  

After a time she eased from the high cushion and stood 
gingerly, testing her range of motion and the sensitivity of 
the stitched wound on her lower back.  Mobility wasn't yet an 
issue because of the numbing medicine's effect, but her 
tolerance could turn problematic later, when quick moves and 
agility counted.  

Pain, in its various forms, had a penchant for altering even 
the best-laid plans.

Not to mention, her Dollar Store clothes were beyond 
salvaging.  Ripped and stiffened with blood, embarrassingly 
cheap, she admitted they'd served their purpose.  But until 
someone brought in another change of clothing from her car, 
she was stuck with tugging the stained waistband higher over 
her bandage and underwear.  

She stood contemplating her bare toes when a knock at the door 
signaled Tusk's return.  He gave no sign of surprise that she 
was off the bed and pulled up short in front of her.  

Once again her head arced backward, neck straining, in order 
to meet his eyes.  His stance and gravity set off immediate 
alarm bells.

"Tell me straight -- who knew you were in town?" he demanded, 
his voice a low rumble.  "Who around here knows your name and 
why you're here?"

"Why, what's happened?"

"Answer the question first."

"Then let me think for a moment."  Her brow furrowed as, just 
as resolutely, she returned his stare.  "Besides my partner, 
only the Dean of Students and Willow, that psychic woman the 
university supplied for the case.  Cricket and your group, of 
course."  

Prickles of apprehension shot up her back when, unsatisfied, 
his expression never wavered.  

"A handful of students who observed us in Wilson Hall the 
other day," she continued.  "Out of necessity, the motel 
manager where I'm staying; I used my credit card there."

"Anywhere else?"

"No, for everything else I've paid cash.  Why?  What's going 
on here?"

"Sit down, Dana."  

His big hand encircled her forearm, but she pulled free, 
resenting the physical contact.  "No.  Talk to me."  

"I just got a call from Mason," he said quietly, "who happens 
to be over at the Super 8 with half the town, checking out the 
action."

"What action?"

"It appears that somebody went to a lot of trouble tonight 
singling out your motel room for immolation and the ashes are 
still smoking as we speak."

She digested the news, eyes widening in horror.  "My God, 
Mulder was --!"

"He wasn't inside it," Tusk countered brusquely.  "Mason says 
he must've shown up late, because he's out there right now 
with the rest of the crowd, awed by the spectacle of your 
demise.  In fact, firefighters just pulled a body out from 
what's left of your room, cooked beyond recognition."  

She gasped, heart thumping in panic.  "What?  Who was it?"  

"Unknown.  But get this," he said with irony in his voice.  
"Right now everybody out there thinks you're history."

"What about Mulder?"

"I won't lie to you; Mason says he's not taking it very well."

"Then I need to call him right away!"

"I'm sorry, but it ain't gonna happen, Dana."

Her first impulse was to knock Tusk aside and beat her way 
back into town.  This man had no idea, no clue what she was 
capable of doing if provoked or crossed.  Injury forgotten, 
she fought against the thought of Mulder viewing such a sight 
-- with his worst fears confirmed when a body taken for hers 
appeared from the wreckage.  

To spare him, it was time to shove the door of secrecy open a 
little wider.

Her glance shot to the dresser where her service weapon rested 
less than an arms length away.  Glowering at Tusk, she reached 
out and laid one threatening hand over the sig.

"I suggest," she said icily, "that if you want my cooperation 
from here on out, you get me a cell phone -- I don't care the 
hell whose -- and you'd better make it happen fast!" 

************

Ragged little pieces were falling into place for Glenn, as 
though the ash in the dark air drifted down to complete a 
strange puzzle only he could decipher.

His scalp, though not as itchy as before, still irked him.  
More excitement -- or tragedy, he couldn't tell which -- must 
be on its way. 

However, the peak of tonight's disaster was over.  Men in 
uniform still hustled in the aftermath, and tired guests had 
been shepherded into the vacant, far end of the building's 
ell.  The rooms there, untouched and waiting, were deemed safe 
for occupation. 

Twitchy, Jaime worked the desk, checking out a stream of 
washouts that were eager to bail and hit the road.  While 
dealing with police, fire officials, and cranky guests, Glenn 
also made mandatory phone calls to the motel chain's 
headquarters and to their insurance company rep.  Winging 
obligations as they came his way, he was called hither and yon 
to answer questions, solve problems, and assess damages.  

And though he was no Sherlock, he took the opportunity to 
gather clues, which all seemed part and parcel of the same 
strange puzzle.

Funny how things worked out: his desire to insulate Dana 
Scully by keeping the rooms surrounding room 123 vacant also 
ensured that no one else got burned up or lost personal 
property.  Plus, Glenn knew cars.  He surveyed the vehicles 
parked along the front of the L-shaped building.  He matched 
make, model, and license plates to their owners.  

After eyeballing the wreck parked outside room 123 and making 
three separate passes, her car still came up missing.

Were police clueless that this blackened hulk wasn't her 
rental?   Didn't Dana's FBI lover realize that?

To be honest, the guy didn't appear hip toward much of 
anything right now.  Ignoring his sandy-haired buddy in the 
suit who was urging him to get away from the noise and the 
mess, he sat on a bench with knees wide, face in his hands.  
Knocked on his ass by grief, probably.  Every once in a while 
his shoulders hunched and trembled.  

Shit, Glenn hated to see a grown man cry.  And dogged if he 
wasn't going to have another one on his hands before long, 
what with Jaime becoming more agitated all the time, looking 
over his shoulder with bug eyes for a quiet little figure that 
wouldn't appear. 

"Hey, maybe she freaked out and split, man," he suggested to 
Glenn when they crossed paths. "What with all these cucaracha 
cops crawlin' around, you know?"
  
Glenn knew better.  In fact, Glenn knew a lot of things no one 
else did or had yet to piece together.

First and foremost, he'd guessed the burned-out hulk in front 
of Dana's room was a plant.  

Second, if someone had tried to off her here, tonight, then it 
made sense she was safe somewhere else.  He hoped...

He also remembered a list of housekeeping chores from earlier 
in the evening, the last checkmark resting beside number 123's 
request for more towels.  

Vaya con Dios, Yolanda.  

Now, like an itch that needed scratching, he felt urgency to 
share his suspicions with the FBI guy slumped on the bench.  
The one who probably spent all last night in Dana's bed, doing 
things with her and to her that Glenn could only imagine in 
his wildest dreams.  Yeah, some guys have good looks and all 
the luck...

But Glenn was no fool, and his itchy head was proof that 
speculation could be dangerous if overheard by the wrong 
people.

His mind in a muddle of indecision, he wandered closer to 
Dana's friend.  Mulder, the name on the envelope had read, 
matching the name on his badge.  But rather than approach the 
man directly, Glenn stood back, waiting and watching, because 
someone else had made the first bold move.

It was no one he recognized, this young bearded guy with green 
and red tattoos showing through the open neck of his coat.  
Glenn watched him crouch before the stricken agent in what 
appeared to be a gesture of comfort, whispering to him.  Then, 
slick as snot, he slipped him a cell phone and stood up, 
shielding him from view.  

In another moment Mr. Beard had engaged Mulder's sandy-haired, 
suited companion in small talk about the fire.     

************ 

Route 33, outside Hocking, Ohio
10:57 PM

"Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell.  Jimmy Rogers on 
the Victrola up high.  Mama's dancin' with a ba-by on her 
shoul-derrr... The sun is settin' like molasses in the skyyy.  
The boy could sing, knew how to move, everything..."

Valerie Pinkerton sniffed, one hand clutching the steering 
wheel.  She felt sorry for herself.  Those streaks of orange 
and pink immortalized by the song had faded hours ago when 
she'd finally concluded, parked up the street from her boss's 
house, that the Dean was a no-show.

For the very first time she'd been stood up.  

Gunning the car homeward, her headlights punched white holes 
into the blackness ahead, the only illumination along this 
lonely strip of country highway.  Her favorite song wailed on 
in the tape player, words pretty, persuasive, and so full of 
haunting pathos that tears filled her eyes again.

"Black vel-vet and that little boy smiiile.  Black vel-vet 
with that slow southern styyyle.  A new religion that'll bring 
ya to your kneees... "

He was smooth, all right, just like the words in the song.  
Valerie was only human, and so what if Dave was her boss?  His 
hands were slow, his mouth deep and warm, with a way about him 
that simply knocked her behind the knees whenever he smiled at 
her from his office door.  No way on earth could she deny 
those pleading eyes, his little flirty kisses that wandered 
all the way up her arm and across her shoulder while she drank 
in the earthy scent of his aftershave...

"Black vel-vet, if you pleeease..."

She groaned in frustration.  What red-blooded girl could 
possibly stand up to that sort of pressure?  Plus, he had a 
house to die for, complete with wet bar and a shower with wall 
jets.

To celebrate the first weekend of spring break they'd planned 
another nighttime rendezvous at his place.  Seven-thirty.  
Valerie knew to be discreet and wait outside until Dave came 
home and put on the back porch light for her, their pre-
arranged signal.

"Up in Mem-phis the music's like a heat-waaave.  White 
lightening, bound to drive you wiiild --"

He'd been edgy lately, consumed by his job, this Amanda 
Carmichael investigation, a wacky psychic lady, and that FBI 
agent he'd called into town.  No, there were two agents, 
because he said the man had a partner, a woman.  After just a 
few days with them Dave had begun keeping things from her, 
shutting her out of the loop.  Or was it right after his 
meeting with the big shots up at the Knoll the other morning?

She couldn't quite remember the proper order of things, but 
that didn't really matter.

Now her body ached at the unexpected change of plan.  She'd 
sat wilting like a cast-off flower a short while ago in the 
front seat of her car, her rear end turning numb and her feet 
freezing as the hours passed and Dave never showed.  What 
could be so all-fired important that he'd blow off a steamy 
night of romance without the courtesy of a phone call, 
especially since she was forbidden to make contact with him 
outside the office? 

"The way he moved, it was a sin, so sweet and true... Always 
wanting mooore... he'd leave you longing fooor.... Black Vel-
vet --!"

BAM!

Valerie's head thrust forward from the impact, her nose 
slamming flat against the hub of the steering wheel.  In a 
haze of terror and pain she clutched the rim, trying to keep 
the car under control, blinded by headlights that blazed into 
her rearview mirror from outside the back window. 

But there'd been no one there!  She'd been alone on the road, 
hadn't even seen --

BAM!

Her face and lips dripping, Valerie screamed as the car sailed 
off the stretch of curvy road.  It leapt the guardrail with a 
mind of its own, thumping and barreling down toward deep 
blackness... toward a stand of trees that rushed up like thick 
white columns to cut her off --

************

Toskala home base
11:08 PM

There had been a short, fierce impasse near the bed, a tug-of-
war of wits and desperation.  Tusk's voice and demeanor 
softened considerably, Scully noted, when he realized it was 
foolhardy to call her bluff or stand in her way.   

She slipped her hand from the weapon as a gesture of respect 
and waited while, capitulating, he dug out his cell and put in 
a call to Mason.  "Go ahead," he ordered, holding it out 
toward her.  "This time you might be right."   

Nodding her thanks, she clamped the phone to her ear, hearing 
only the chillingly familiar background sound of disaster 
scene activity. 

"Hello?"  

The stolen opportunity was more than she'd hoped for and worse 
than she'd feared.  No reply came, nothing to indicate someone 
waited on the end of the line other than heavy, staccato 
respiration.  Either Mulder suspected trickery or he was 
emotionally derailed, too stunned by events to respond.

Into the phone Scully spoke the three words she knew would 
shake her partner from his stupor and breathe life back into 
him.  

"Mulder," she said clearly, "it's me."

The long silence was broken by a half-sob, dissolving into a 
ragged, muffled chuckle. 

"*Scully*?"   

"Yes, Mulder, it's really me.  I'm okay, please believe that."
  
She heard a shaky, lung-filling breath and the surrounding 
noise flattened, went cottony in her ear.  Her heart wrenched, 
as she knew he must be on the move, seeking privacy from the 
crowd while trying to absorb this bombshell out of the blue.
  
"Scully, what the hell --"

"I'm nearby.  I'm somewhere safe, but don't let on to *anyone* 
else that you know that.  It's crucial, I can't emphasize it 
enough."

"I thought you --" he mumbled.

"I know.  I'm sorry for that, Mulder.  I have no idea who that 
woman was or why she was in my room.  But for the time being 
everyone must continue to believe that she is me."

At another time and place he might have paid snappy homage to 
an ancient case bearing the same catchphrase.  But she heard 
only sniffing and then another long silence as he thawed to 
the blessed reality of her survival.  

She could picture him as reaction set in, forehead ruffled in 
anguish, eyes crinkled.  Upper teeth clamped to his pouting 
lower lip, a glimmer of the sorrowing little boy that lurked 
within the man.  Mulder, his eyes fixed on what was left of 
her blistered room, blinking back tears of raw relief.  

"Hey, Scully... "

"Yeah?"

"Remember that time I said you always managed to keep me 
guessing?"

She knew the case: a doctor's family, cruelly victimized by a 
rural shaman named Peatie.  "Yes?"

"Well, from now on, do me a favor and don't let it pack such a 
wallop."

"Understood," she whispered, dabbing the corner of her own eye 
furtively.  "Unfortunately, this went way beyond anyone's 
control."

He huffed into her ear.  "Would using the word 'overkill' in 
this situation be considered poor taste... under the 
circumstances?"

"Not at all."

"So what happens now?  Where are you?"

Uncertainty beat within her, deepened by the increasing level 
of danger that overshadowed their movements.  Mulder was the 
one person she could bank on without question, a man who'd 
fashioned distrust, single-mindedness, non-compliance, and 
unorthodoxy into sciences.  Yet she feared the unknown 
repercussions from sharing too much with him too quickly.  

"I can't tell you, Mulder.  Not yet, anyway.  I'm afraid that 
would be imprudent."

"What's imprudent about me wanting to put my arms around you?"

She closed her eyes at the pain in his voice.  "Don't make 
this any harder than it is."

"Hey... I love you, remember?  And tonight... Scully, I swear 
it was down to the wire.  I thought I'd fucking lost you 
again."

A large tear ran to the end of her nose, hung there trembling 
before she blotted it unashamedly onto her sleeve.  The urge 
to dash to her car, to drive away and rejoin Mulder felt 
overpowering, but one glance at Tusk's bowed head wiped all 
such folly from her mind.

"And I love you," she whispered, averting her face.  "But 
let's not forget to keep our heads about what's just happened.  
Someone wanted me dead tonight, so to perpetuate the charade 
you must appear to believe it too.  You're probably under 
surveillance as we speak."

"And here we thought this was just another missing persons 
case with your typical psychic overtones..."

"It still is," she said with emphasis.  "Put in a secure call 
to Skinner as soon as you're able to.  Explain that I'm deeply 
undercover and it's critical the public believes I died in 
that fire -- should an investigation try to prove otherwise, 
which I doubt will happen."

There was a pause, broken by several sniffs and a groan.  
Murmured talk with another party she didn't recognize.

"Mulder, what's going on?"

"I'm just endeavoring to stay in character here for my 
audience.  Hostetler's not more than six feet away." 

"Great."  She rubbed her forehead in exasperation.  "Well, be 
convincing enough that Willow Nightingale herself believes I'm 
deceased.  On second thought, you should stay the hell away 
from her.  Because until we know her true motives, we can't 
afford her one iota of trust, Mulder."

"Do I get an Oscar nod when this is over?"

"We've both been there, done this drill before," she reminded 
him, referring to his staged suicide years ago when she 
battled her cancer.  How she perpetuated that lie to Blevins 
and Skinner in order to expose a covert government conspiracy. 

"I hear you -- but can't totally justify the avoidance tack.  
She'd know something was up."

"Make sure she doesn't touch you at any time then, Mulder; you 
have no idea what kind of vibe she can pick up in close 
proximity."

He made a muffled noise.  "This night is full of surprises."  

"You're supposed to be grieving," she warned softly.  "The 
person whose cell phone you're using... is he still there?"

"The Illustrated Man wannabe?  Yeah..."

"It's too risky for us to talk using our own cells, so he's 
our liaison for now.  His name is Mason.  Be nice to him, he's 
someone we can trust."

"And you're where?" 

"In a safe place, like I said before."

"Scully, at the risk of beating a dead horse, I need to know 
how soon I can see you."

Hesitating, she hoped her show of strength hadn't insulted 
Tusk's pride or damaged the uneasy rapport she'd gained with 
him.  He stood within earshot watching her, his arms crossed, 
biceps taut.  

She resented his presence amid this unforeseen fishtailing of 
events, yet some small part within her welcomed the scrutiny.  
A reality check, it provided the discipline to keep talk with 
Mulder short, contained, and to the point considering the 
dangers they all faced.

Her chin lifted, vision swimming from unshed tears, though her 
voice held a new, hard edge of resolve.
 
"Mulder... please remember everything I've told you.  Lives, 
including ours, may depend on it.  Be careful.  I promise you 
I'll stay in touch, so hand the phone back over to Mason now."
  
"That's it?"

"Well, you might consider how much better you'll sleep tonight 
knowing I'm alive and well.  That should count for something."

"Not even close," he breathed into her ear, a catch in his 
voice.  "It counts for everything."

************
End of Chapter 14
Continued in Chapter 15