Pounding on the door woke Scully from a sound sleep at seven in the morning. She answered sullenly, in her robe, holding her gun behind her back.

It was Mulder, wide awake and excited. "I got a call from the police about half an hour ago," he told her. "A girl fitting our girl's description was picked up in Victoria just last night for trying to pawn a piece of stolen jewellery. I'm going to drive down there to talk to her."

"Victoria?" Scully yawned, trying to clear her head. "Where's that?"

"It's about four hours south of here."

"Well, is it Tanya or not? Did you run her prints?"

"The prints didn't match. But I want to talk to her anyway. The jewellery was from the same collection as the stuff we picked up yesterday at Brother John's."

Scully looked at him in dismay. "Four hours, Mulder!"

"Don't worry. You need to stay here and keep our appointment with the local agents. See if they've ever met Roger Young, and what they can come up with on Issie's."

"You're taking the car?"

"I have to," he said. "You can get a cab, can't you?" He gave her his sweetest, most irresistible smile, and reached down to touch her face. "You're really pretty when you first get up in the morning. Did I ever mention that?"

"You are a rat," she told him.

"I'll be back by tomorrow morning at the latest," he promised. "Call Skinner and let him know what's going on."

She watched helplessly as he went out to the parking lot and got into their rental car. Then in a plume of blue exhaust, he was gone.

Scully couldn't help it. She felt ditched again. Four hours in a car was no fun--they'd just done it� but still, she wanted to be with him. There was nothing she hated worse than working on a case alone. Much as she tried to get rid of Mulder half the time, she really missed him when he wasn't around.

Depressed, she went back to bed, and curled up in a ball, feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. In that position, she went back to sleep and didn't wake up until fifteen minutes before her appointment with the FBI agents.

But it was an appointment she wasn't destined to make anyway.

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

Skinner called Mulder's room and got no answer, called his cell phone and got a low battery response. He dialed Scully's room next, and was rewarded with the incredibly sexy sound of her sleepy voice.

"Scully."

"Skinner?"

"What have you come up with?"

"Oh my God!" Her heard her muttering to herself, things being moved around. Water running. "Skinner, can I call you back? I'm late for an appointment."

"Where's Mulder?"

"He's, ah--following a lead."

"Scully..."

"Please, sir. I really have to get dressed and get out of here, and I need to use the phone to call a cab."

"Call me as soon as you find anything out."

He heard her disconnect without saying anything else. What was going on down there? He looked down at the phone in his hand. He really should talk to Young himself. The personal touch. In fact...

Almost two hours later, as he was sitting in his office trying to pay attention to a long rambling story from one of his agents justifying an extra two days of vacation, the phone rang, and Marge said, "Long distance from Houston, sir. It's reversed charges."

Skinner snatched his phone up and said, "Skinner here."

"Assistant Director Skinner, this is Ben Taub Hospital. We have one of your agents here being treated for some traumatic injuries, and we need to verify employment."

"One of my agents?" Skinner felt the plastic receiver crack in his hand.

"Yes, sir, a woman named Dana Scully."

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

Scully had spent an afternoon in hell, and things were only getting worse. Fernandez and Buckland had come down to get her out of the hospital, and she still had to meet with the FBI agents, though the officers pushed hard to get her to go back to the hotel and get some rest. But first she had to go down to the police station again and fill out a complete report on her attack. Fernandez and Buckland agreed to take her there, and Scully told them she could take a cab back to the motel. She called the local branch and asked if Danson and Seagram could meet her at the police station when she got there. After some hesitation, they agreed.

It was almost six o'clock in the evening when Scully finished all the paperwork. The only good news of the day was that her purse had been found near the scene by investigating officers, and nothing in it was missing. Fernandez and Buckland vouched for her, and she got it back with a minimum of fuss.

Shifts were being changed, and people moved in and out, plain clothes officers, uniformed officers, officers who glanced at her without curiosity and then moved on. But Sam Diego, the detective who had taken her report, let her use his office for the meeting with the FBI, so at last she got some privacy.

She sank down into one of the worn chairs in front of Diego's desk and took a sip of machine made coffee in a styrofoam cup. A light sheen of oil floated on the surface, and she stared at it morosely.

The door opened with dramatic suddenness, and an extremely handsome man in a black suit stepped into the room. Behind him, a blonde man slipped in quietly and left the door open for a moment, so that the light from the hall cast his shadow onto the linoleum floor. For some reason Scully thought of crows landing on a tombstone.

"Agent Scully?" The handsome man did a slow, deliberate scan of her, one eyebrow raised delicately. He didn't offer his hand. Scully felt extra scruffy, her clothes torn, her face bruised. She sensed animosity, and got up, though her five foot two inch frame was at least a foot below eye level of both men.

"Yes," she said coolly, looking from one to the other. "I'm Agent Danson, this is Agent Seagram."

No first names. The men looked at her without any expression at all. She tried to keep her own face blank.

"We expected to meet with your partner as well," Seagram said.

"He had to leave town."

"Leave town?"

"He's investigating a lead in Victoria."

"We expected to pool information," Danson said.

"Well, Agent Mulder isn't here, so you'll have to pool with me," she said. (Because he ditched me, damn him. And left me to face you two jerks by myself.) A longing for Mulder went through her, and at the same time, a powerful resentment. Not just at Mulder, for leaving her, but for men in general, who clearly thought they were going to make this interview go their way.

"Maybe we should wait for Agent Mulder," Danson said. "Then we can find out what he's come up with."

"Agent Mulder and I aren't joined at the hip," Scully said. "If you have any information on Tanya McClean or Liz Ann Young, I suggest you let me have it now."

"Tanya McClean?" Seagram asked.

Scully's patience was wearing thin. "We came here to find a shop called Issie's. We thought it was a pawn shop. We believe it to be the last place Liz Ann Young was seen before she completely disappeared."

She took her copy of the photo from the inside pocket of her jacket; her purse, cell phone, and gun had all been stolen from her in the attack. Both agents looked at it, and from the reactions in their eyes, Scully knew they'd seen the place before. She felt a surge of excitement; Mulder would be so pleased when she told him.

Danson said, "Where did you get this picture?"

"I don't know. It was in one of the files."

Seagram said, "We've had this place under surveillance for some time now. We need to know how this information leaked out."

"Leaked out? May I remind you I am an agent with the FBI as well?"

"But you're not working on this case," Seagram said.

The two men had moved into a flanking position. Their faces were hard masks, their voices sharp, derisive. Scully felt like a badger set upon by dogs. She was familiar with the interrogation tactic, crowding into her personal space, acting suspicious of even simple answers, but she was astonished and outraged that they were using it on her.

"You don't even know what you've gotten yourself into, do you?" Agent Danson said.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me."

Seagram used his height to tower over her deliberately, bending his head in an exaggerated effort to look down at her, but Scully was having none of it. She stared back up at him fiercely, not taking a step back, not even allowing her body to sway from his, essentially daring him to touch her.

"I don't think you need to know the things we know, Agent Scully. I'm not sure from the looks of ..." He gave her another contemptuous overview, "Of THINGS, that you could deal with this right now."

There was a sudden profound silence in the room. Scully turned around and saw that the doorway was almost blacked out by a tall, broad shouldered figure standing stock still, the light behind him making him look like a dark avenging angel. He stepped into the room, his cold eyes surveying the situation detail by detail.

Scully caught her breath.

"Assistant Director Walter Skinner," he said, pulling out his identification. He held it in front of him for a deliberate count of four.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Then moved forward again, stopping to the right and behind Scully, literally backing her up.

Skinner said, "I believe I interrupted you, Agent--was it Seagram? Would you like to continue now?"

Danson had the decency to look abashed, but Seagram tried to brazen it out. "I'm sorry, sir. We were just concerned about Agent Scully's present state of health."

"And questioning her competence, I believe?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."

"That's exactly the way it seemed, and it's not me you owe the apology to."

For just a moment it seemed as if the handsome agent was going to refuse. Scully watched his eyes and saw the rage he had to swallow to humble himself. "I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn, Agent Scully."

Seagram mumbled, "Sorry, Agent Scully."

Skinner said, "Nicely done. But not quite nicely enough. I'll be speaking with your supervisor tomorrow morning. That will be all, gentlemen."

Scully, who had been dismissed in this fashion a few dozen times herself, knew how grating it was, but for the first time in her career she was glad her boss was such a hard ass. For a terrible moment she wrestled with the impulse to blow a kiss at the two departing agents as they slunk out the door. Heroically, she resisted.

Then she turned on Skinner. Her heart was pounding; She could not believe how glad she was to see him again. Had he always been that handsome? Was there any reasonable excuse to touch him?

No.

She said, "Sir, I was doing just fine on my own."

"I could see that, Agent Scully."

She dropped her eyes, unsure of whether or not he was laughing at her. He came forward and took her arm in a gentle grip. "Let's get you out of here."

Outside, he opened the passenger door of a black Taurus to let her in. Scully fastened her seat belt as he came around to the other side and got in and started the car. She had thought she was recovering from him, from the memories of him. Whatever had happened between them seemed like a long time ago. But from the minute she saw him again she knew nothing was over.

His jaw flexed as he watched the road, clearly still angry, but when he spoke to her, his voice was concerned. "Are you okay, Scully?"

"I'm fine, sir."

He gave her a swift glance, his eyes still unreadable. "What happened to your face?"

She touched her cheek self consciously. "I was hailing a cab this morning, just after I talked to you, to go downtown and meet with those two. Two men in a late model white Cadillac pulled up to the curb and got out and jumped me."

"Jumped you?"

"They pushed me into the back seat of the Cadillac and took off. They got my purse, my phone, and my gun."

He sighed, breathing out through his nose in a hiss of anger. "This case is taking some unexpected twists and turns."

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, it has."

"How did you get away from them?"

"I'm not sure, sir. There was a girl. I didn't really see her, but she apparently stepped right in front of the car. They hit the brakes and I jumped out." She rubbed her left arm gingerly. "They hadn't quite come to a full stop."

"Scully..." He seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. "Where's Mulder?"

"He's following a lead in Victoria, Texas."

Skinner sighed again. "Certain higher ups have become very interested in this case, Scully. Did Seagram and Daws tell you what they're working on?"

"No, sir. We hadn't yet reached that point of mutual trust."

His mouth curved despite himself, but he quickly stifled the smile. "They're working on a white slave ring running here in Houston, apparently one that brokers in girls of Liz Ann Young's age. It's possible that this ring is operating at an international level, and has some very big and powerful money behind it."

Following her directions, he took them back to the motel. When he pulled up, he said, "Let me just go check in and get a room."

"You may as well use Mulder's room," she said, opening her purse to get the key.

She held it out to him. He said, "What are you doing with the key to Mulder's room?"

Was that jealousy in his voice? She said, "We always get extras, and exchange them." She handed him the key and waited; each seemed to be waiting for the other to speak.

"We need to talk," he told her. "Let's use Mulder's room."

She waited until he went back to the car to retrieve his duffle bag from the trunk, then she led him to Mulder's room.

Inside, he looked around while Scully folded her arms and leaned against the door. Mulder's bed was unmade, his bag open on the table, clothes scattered around. In a few hours he had managed to make the place look like his apartment.

Skinner laid his bag on the table and turned to look at Scully. She felt like a sullen child, unwilling and unable to face him.

"Scully."

She refused to be coaxed by that soft tone. She hugged herself tighter, head bowed, staring at the floor.

Skinner crossed the room and said, "Let me see."

He put his hand under her chin and raised her face. He touched the bruise over her eye with feather light pressure, and traced her cheekbone with his finger, down to her mouth, where one side was swollen.

Scully closed her eyes, drowning.

They moved closer to each other. With Mulder gone, she was lonely, and she had been scared to death in the attack, and then at the hospital, without her purse, she had felt helpless, the worst feeling in the world. Now however desperately she craved the feel of his protecting arms around her, the last thing Scully needed was to break down. She knew if he touched her she would cry, and that wasn't what she wanted. The slightest gesture of surrender and she would be in his bed again, and there would be no easy way to stop once this thing got started.

Sensing her withdrawal, Skinner let his hands drop by his sides. He said, "You should get some rest."

"Yes, sir." Scully toyed with the doorknob. "Can I go now?"

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily, nodding. "You're going back to your room?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. It's probably too late to do anything at this point, and I'm sure you're tired. I need to go see Senator Young, but I can go by myself. Don't leave the motel without me, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

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

Something in the night woke Scully, and she lay in the dark, trying to figure out what it was. Had someone knocked softly on her door? Mulder?

She sat up, listening, sliding the automatic from its holster on the bedside table, and waited. The room was quiet but for the low hum of the air conditioner.

She got up, went to the bathroom, and then left the bathroom light on. She went to the front door and opened it cautiously, seeing no one there.

She opened the door wider, and stepped over the threshold. It was a hot Houston night, and the traffic on the freeway had a muted roar, like surf. Cicadas were calling, foretelling rain. Somewhere in the distance a woman laughed, probably on someone's television set.

There was a creak of hinges, and the door next to hers opened. Skinner stepped outside, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. He held his gun loosely in his hand, close to his side so it was hard to see.

"Scully?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Did you just knock on my door?"

"No, sir. I thought I heard someone at my door." Not exactly, though. It was more like she had dreamed someone was there, wanting in.

They both looked around the parking lot for a few minutes. Then Skinner said, "You okay?"

"Yes, sir."

They looked at each other. Skinner's face was a mask of shadows, but she saw the wide sensual curve of his mouth; the outline of his upper lip was like a child's line drawing of a bird.

Scully rubbed her hands on her thighs, then realized she was wiping sweat from her palms. She knew exactly how that mouth would taste, how it would feel on her skin.

She tried to say his name, but couldn't get enough breath for the single word.

Skinner was staring at her. She couldn't move, was fixed to the spot, thinking, I can't do this. I can't. You'll have to do it for us both.

Something in Skinner broke with an almost audible snap. He turned and tossed his gun into his room and shut the door hard, then strode to her and seized her shoulders, pushing her back into her room.

In the dark his mouth found hers and she welcomed it with a groan of longing so deep she felt it reverberate through his ribs, to where his heart was caged. He pulled at her robe and she shrugged it off and let him lift her pyjama top from her so that when they kissed again he could feel the rough hairs of his chest abrading her naked breasts. It was sensation that made them both moan. Scully's gun hit the floor with a little clunk as it slipped from her nerveless fingers.

Neither said a word. He held her to the bed and made her sit down, then knelt before her, eye level in the room lit only by the faint light from the bathroom. In that position she was able to put her arms around his neck when he kissed her again. This time he was gentle, just a touching of the lips. They held each other for a long time, rubbing cheeks, kissing throats, ears, noses. One of his big hands moved between them and rubbed her breasts, pulling her nipples in a gentle, milking motion that made her rub her body against him like a cat.

They were such a perfect fit hat way, so in accord, that every movement seemed intuitive. When he moved forward, she moved back, and then they were on the bed together, Skinner holding his weight off her, raised up on an elbow, but all he wanted to do was kiss her, touch her. It was as if her whole body ached, and only where he touched her did bliss replace the pain.

He slipped her hand down her stomach and into her pyjama bottoms, cupping the juncture of her thighs. She spread her legs a little to accommodate him, and he ran a long thick finger, as big as a young boy's penis, up her labia to her clitoris, where he paused to rub the sensitive spot in small circular motions, like a well oiled marble. Scully bit her lip and raised her hips against his hand, but he only moved with her, never stopping what he was doing.

She undid the button of his jeans and slid the zipper down, her fingers trembling. He raised his hips so she could push his jeans and underwear down, and then he finished the job himself, kicking them to the floor. He pulled her pyjama bottoms down easily, and at last they lay together naked.

"Scully." It was the first time either of them had spoken since they entered her room. She rubbed her chin against his jaw at the sound of her name.

"Scully." She looked up at him, the dark outline of his head, and in the light from the bathroom she could see the look in his eyes.

His voice was so vulnerable it caught something inside her and made it hurt. "I love you, Scully," he whispered.

She made a slight, unexpected movement, as if to pull back from him, but he held her still. His finger moved down, found her entrance, and pushed slowly inside. She gasped at the sensation, and Skinner clenched his teeth; she was as tight and slippery as a glove filled with warm Vaseline. He pulled the finger out slowly, making her feel every slow inch of it.

She felt the sting of tears, saw his face blur. "Then God help us both," she whispered back.

She had begun to cry, and hoped he wouldn't notice, because she couldn't seem to stop herself. His lips found her tears, his tongue tasted them when he kissed her again. The hands that ran over the curves of her breasts, that pulled her thighs apart, that tested her for readiness, touched her with a warmth that had nothing to do with body temperature.

He shifted his weight over her, nudging the head of his penis until he found her entrance again, and then pushed it in as slowly as he had fingered her before.

Scully left out a soft cry as she felt him fill her up, stretching her gradually to accept the thick shaft he was skewering her on. He began to ride her gently, with long slow strokes. No more games. This was lovemaking. Scully turned her face on the pillow, weeping.

Sympathetic as Skinner was, and sensitive to her body, he had no idea why she was crying. In the overwhelming swell of his own passion, he could only murmur one thing: "Just tell me I'm not hurting you."

She shook her head, knowing he could feel from the eager rotation of her hips that he wasn't giving her body anything but pleasure. The pain came from the stretching of that small, small place her heart had shrunk to, from overfilling it with feelings she had long since ceased to dream of, much less to experience. It was more than Skinner, more than anything she could put a name to. It was like a brand new emotion, and it was too sweet to bear. She sobbed softly as he kissed her neck, the side of her face, and gave in to him.

Then they both caught fire, and all tears stopped as he grabbed her hands desperately and pinned them to the mattress, fingers interlaced, and began to pump in furious earnest, quick fierce strokes that jerked her up and down on the bed as she tried to get in synch with him. She wanted it to last forever, but when he began to fuck her powerfully, she could never hold out. Within five minutes she began to come, like hearing a faint noise from far, far away that grew to a roar in her head, and she tried to cry out, to warn him, to speak his name, but it was all she could do to catch her own breath as the locomotive rush and thunder of her orgasm exploded in a deep moan that might have been her, might have been him, might have been the perfect music of the universe which for one brief instant forgave all things and made all things right.

Skinner felt her clenching around him, the convulsive shudder of her stomach and thighs, and came inside her with a whimpering gasp. Even when he was finished he didn't want to stop; he kept thrusting in and out until his penis lost all rigidity. Scully finally lay still, and they fell apart, still clutching fingers.

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

A light wind stirred the curtains, and crickets chirped in the quiet dark.

Skinner lay with Scully in his arms, her head on his chest, her fingertips stroking his skin absently.

"So where do we go from here?" she asked.

"I have some plans," he said. His soft bass voice was like music; there is no other sound like the sound of soft voices speaking deep in the heart of the night, no greater intimacy than those words shared in that secret hour.

He ran a finger down her, and she moved her hips in response. "I want to lick you here, and here..." He drew a map on her body, making her shift deliciously for more. "And I want to try to last longer than ten minutes the next time I screw you."

She laughed softly. "Men!" she said. "I meant, what's next for us, Skinner? You know an affair won't work."

"I don't suppose you'd consider marrying me?"

Scully felt a strange rush of pleasure and horror at the same time. "No," she said. "I don't see how that would work."

He sighed. "I can wear on your nerves, you know. I can make life miserable for you until you give me what I want."

"Ordinarily, that might turn me on, but you know it wouldn't work."

His mouth moved against her ear as he spoke in a low voice. "Then just dream with me a little bit. Think about it. You go to work in some safe and sane environment, whatever it is you want to do, and I go to work at the Bureau. We might meet sometimes for lunch, and I could ask your advice about a case, or you could tell me what you're doing at your job. But each night at five or six or seven, we would end up in our own place, having dinner together, watching television, making love. And every night at three or four in the morning, whenever it is you wake up, you'll be in my bed, and all you ever have to do is move up against me, and I'll put my arms around you like this, and keep you safe from all harm. That's a promise."

Scully sighed and cuddled closer to him. "And if I wanted more than just you holding me?"

"If you ever want sex, just reach down..." he put her hand over his penis, and she cupped it lovingly, "And tug on it three times."

She smiled, remembering the old joke, but playing along anyway. "And if I don't want sex?"

"Then tug on it about seventy five times."

They both laughed. His arms tightened around her briefly and then released her. He said, "Go to sleep, Agent Scully."

Her eyes were already closed. "Yes, sir."

"I'm going to fuck you again as soon as we wake up," he told her. "Remind me to make you call me sir then."

She yawned and took the deep sigh that precedes sleep. "Okay," she murmured. "I'll set the alarm."

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

Sunlight, birds singing. People going to breakfast at Denny's, clashing silverware, the smell of bacon frying. Cars driving by on the freeway, fumes and honking. A motel stirring to life, showers running, keys turning in locks, the morning business begun.

On the bed in a motel room a red haired woman lies with her legs wrapped around the waist of a tall, powerfully built man who is driving his cock into her like a jackhammer, making the headboard shake with each forward thrust.

And further down the road, a girl with a backpack, her shoes caked with mud, walks along the edge of the highway with her thumb held high and hopeful.

click here for chapter 12